10, Drugged

“I’d let you mount and ride me off into the sunset, darlin. If you want it rough, I can buck like hell, I promise.” Special agent Murdock was wobbly but still standing at the bar of a high end night club in Bogota, Columbia. He was very intoxicated, and was realizing that he was probably being drugged too. He didn’t care. He was horny.

“You’re funny, meester,” said the drunk Latina woman in a thick Spanish accent. Unbeknownst to Murdock, this woman was a well paid lady of the evening. She preyed upon tourists and drugged them, then robbed them blind as they were passed out. Tonight’s mark was this six foot tall American white guy with shaggy brown hair and a toothy grin. He laughed easily, he drank like a fish, he flirted tenaciously, and somehow he was still standing after ingesting double the amount of drugs and alcohol that she normally gave a man.

Murdock’s intoxication was evident as he slurred, “your breasts are golden orbs straight from God’s personal melon farms.” He should’ve been working with his team of highly trained professional spies to extract and kill a bad drug lord named Tiberon, but his personal mission had changed. He thought he was going to get laid. “I want to name your boobs Thelma and Louise.”

“Let’s have another drink, meester.” The woman nodded at the bartender. The man nodded back and gave a quick wink to the woman.

Murdock didn’t see any of this, but his friend and coworker special agent Death saw it all. She’d been having a blast dancing to great music until she had to discreetly kick down a bouncer who was trying to apprehend her on the dance floor. She’d done it so fluidly that no one had seen her do it.

Special agent Bradley McVandalay had neutralized another nine bouncers around the club without being detected. For now, there were no bouncers still conscious, at least that either agent knew of. Bradley sent Death a text on her wrist watch communicator.

“gonna go check on Doc and sarge”

Agent Death looked around for McVandalay but the chaos of the dancers and the loud music concealed his whereabouts. She scanned the room for cameras and saw none, but she wasn’t naive enough to think they still didn’t have an eye on her.

Murdock’s eyes opened and closed slowly as he grinned widely. “Your feet must be tired, cuz you’re ass kicking hot.” He hiccuped. “No wait, cuz you’re a runner. Hold on, cuz you’re a heaven runner… no wait.” He tried with all his might to be clever, but the drugs garbled his brain waves.

The bartender put two more drinks in front of his supposed patrons. He wiped his hands on a hand towel and excused himself from behind the bar. He opened a swinging door to a poorly lit room full of shelves of booze.

Agent Death saw Murdock and the woman take sips from their new drinks. “I’ll deal with you in a few, fucker,” she muttered to herself. Death followed the bartender and tried to be stealthy, but the loud music blasted through the open swinging door announcing her arrival. She saw no one and decided to go deeper into the room.

After walking a ways into the very large liquor stock room, she caught a glimpse of the bartender. He was sitting at a desk in an office with the door open. He was talking quickly in Spanish on the phone. She didn’t know a word he was saying, but she could tell he was frantic, as if trying to explain himself to someone on the other end. The bartender gulped and said, “Sí, Tiberon,” then hung up the phone.

As he exited the office, he saw agent Death. His eyes got big as if he knew she was dangerous. Death acted like a drunk girl as she pretend stumbled towards him. “Excuse me, do you know where the bathroom is? El baño, por favor?”

The bartender took in his surroundings and looked like he was going to try to yell, but it was too late. Agent Death had grabbed a bottle off of a shelf and hurled it straight at his forehead. He went down hard, howling with pain. Before he knew it, she was holding the back of his hair and growling in his face. “Where is Tiberon!?”

The man was scared as he said, “sótano,” then said in English, “basement.” Before he knew it, she’d knocked him out cold with a punch to the jaw. She struggled to drag the man back into the office, then left the door open. He was snoring loudly and had a huge welt that was growing on his forehead.

Death snuck back out to the bar to see Murdock swaying back and forth, still hitting on the woman. “I’d collect your sweat in a martini glass and add an olive…”

In the flash of an eye, agent Death walked up behind them and kidney punched the woman hard. The bad woman went down to the ground as Death grabbed Murdocks face. “Hey, cowboy, there are five women in the back room who want to get fucked hard and deep by a white man. Follow me now, Trent.”

Special agent Trent Murdock was wasted as fuck and drugged too, so he instantly forgot about the woman he was hitting on. He could barely stand, but the instinctual desire to have sexual relations with the opposite gender still controlled him. “Death,” he slurred, “show me the way to Valhalla.”

The other bartenders were too busy scrambling to get drinks to other customers to see the white man leave. No one seemed to take notice of the latina lady crumpled up on the ground. Death gently lead Murdock through the swinging door, past the shelves of liquor and lead him into the office where the bartender she’d just knocked out was snoring loudly. “The women are going to meet you in here, Murdock, and they can’t wait for you to fuck their brains out,” she lied.

Murdock tried to sing the hook to the song Show Me The Way by the rock band STYX, but he couldn’t quit remember the melody, not that he could sing in key anyway. His awful voice started to resonate through the room. Somehow the loud music thumping in the other room from the DJ didn’t effect this stock room at all, but when Murdock tried to sing, the bottles on the shelves started to shake from the vibrations emanating from his out of tune voice.

In the distance, wolves howled wildly while men making love to women went flaccid. Gay men continued gleefully in their love making with no ill effects.

Murdock hiccuped and stopped singing. “I need sexual healing, Death.” He tried to sing the new song bouncing around in his head, but all that came out was, “when I get that feel-un…”

Death was barely able to get him into the office before she squeezed his trapezius hard, as if she were doing a Vulcan nerve pinch on him. He collapsed to the floor. Before agent Death had even closed the door, she could hear both men snoring loudly.

Suddenly, her communicator wrist watch lit up with a text from agent Dale O’Connor.

“bare knuckles in basement, send help asap -Doc”

“Shit,” she muttered. “That greasy bartender said Tiberon is down there too.”

She went to exit the stock room when another text message came through from agent Blacktide.

“I’m following the thief who’s wearing Doc’s trench coat and com watch. He’s headed towards the suburbs. Will report back.”

“What the fuck!” agent Death said to nobody but herself. “First Murdock, then fuckin Sarge happens to find a bare knuckles fight, and now Doc’s shit is stolen? This night can’t get anymore fucked.”

A second later general Rice texted. Death read the text and yelled out to the shelves of liquor bottles, “GOD DAMMIT!!!”

Rice’s text read: “satellite imagery shows an army truck full of troops that just left their barracks. intel says they’re headed to the club. will arrive in ten minutes, maybe less. evacuate immediately.”