26, Jewel

 “Those tits are mouth watering.  Seriously, I hear them calling my name.”  Special agent Trent Murdock was drooling on the lapel of his high dollar Armani jacket. 

“Stay focused,” snapped agent Death.  She was wearing a short but elegant evening dress that showed off her curvy hips but revealed only a sliver of her bountiful cleavage.  She continued, “If you fuck this up with your stereotypical libertine, hedonist bullshit, I swear I’ll knock your ass out then leave you tied up and covered in honey in the den of a female grizzly bear with cubs.” 

“I second the motion,” said special agent Bradley McVandalay as he stretched his neck from one side to the other.  All three agents were dressed up elegantly, ready to walk into a ballroom full of very rich and powerful European businessmen and diplomats.  

“Jesus you two, how in the fuck do either of you expect me to focus with tits like that staring me in the face?  They’re begging to be played with,” pleaded Murdock in an insincere salacious tone. 

McVandalay popped the magazine out of his Israeli military issued Desert Eagle hand gun.  He checked to ensure the magazine was fully loaded with hollow point bullets then popped it back into the gun.  He then turned to Murdock.  “Buy a guy a drink first,” he said as he flicked the safety off with his thumb.  He pulled up the bottom end of the black evening gown he was wearing and put the hand gun into an inner leg holster.  “I’ll be honest, Death, I can see why women wear dresses.  This thing is comfy and it’s keeping my nether regions air dried.  It’s great.” 

Murdock reached out to touch McVandalay’s chest but McVandalay swatted Murdock’s left hand away like it was a slow fly.  The knuckle cartilage in Murdock’s hand popped like bubble wrap as Murdock let out a high pitched child like, “ow!” at the top of his lungs.  Murdock nursed his hit hand and said, “seriously McV, your fake tits are a vision of perfection.  The proportions are angelic… and I can only imagine what your fake nipples look like.” 

“You’re a sick fuck, Murdock,” Death quipped.

McVandalay peeked around the corner to see if the coast was clear.  “The gal over at the lab in D.C. made them for me.  She did a great fucking job.”  He squeezed his fake boobs from the sides to make sure the copious cleavage showed a bit better, then readjusted his panties under his evening gown.  “I owe that woman a drink after this mission,” he said as he pulled the sandy blond hair from his wig over his ears and out of his face. 

Murdock shook his head as he checked the ammo in his own compact Smith & Wesson hand gun.  “Amazing breasts.  The rest of you does nothing for me, but your tits are magic, McVandalay.  Pure magic.”  

“Sarge laughed when she saw them and told me I looked like a dime store whore,” McVandalay said through a smile.

“Dime store whore.”  Murdock nodded.  “What a great name for an indie punk band.  Hey, what the hell is Sarge up to lately?  I haven’t seen her around.”  

McVandalay grinned appreciatively.  “She’s chasing her white whale.”

“Come again?” asked Murdock.

McVandalay swooped the hair of his wig behind his ears and made a mental note of what it would be like to have long hair.  “She’s chasing Moby Dick.”

Death smiled and said, “Almost, McV.  She wants a tall, lean brown whale, not a white one.”

The dick joke got a good giggle from Death and McVandalay but Murdock looked confused.  “What in the sweet fuck are you two yammering on about with all of this whale bullshit, eh?”  

McVandalay shrugged.  “You clearly missed the spiritual reference.”  Murdock shrugged too.  McVandalay continued.  “She’s trying to chase something down that she’ll never catch.  She says she’s in love with the man that defeated her.”  He paused for dramatic effect before saying, “oh yeah!  That’s right, Murdock!  You got drugged talking to a bimbo at the bar and got taken hostage, so I guess you’ll just have to take our word for it.”

“Touché, McV, touché.”  Murdock slipped the hand gun into the custom holster of his suit jacket and said, “ok, I’m ready.  Let’s go over the plan one more time.” 

Semi automatic gunfire suddenly erupted in the ball room next door.  Screaming could be heard and it was obvious people were panicking.  Agent Death let out a big frustrated sigh as she rolled her eyes.  “Why does shit always go cattywampus on us?  One of you two fuckers had better tell me why in the fuck we can’t ever have a mission go smoothly?!” 

Murdock calmly answered her, “We don’t find trouble, friend.  It finds us.”  

McVandalay calmly yet murderously said, “Let’s go find out who’s trying to steal the jewel that we’re supposed to steal.”  

The power went out and emergency flood lights went on over the doorways and in hallways.  McVandalay pulled the hem of his dress up and grabbed his Desert Eagle while Death unsheathed a super sharpened butterfly knife from a hidden inner thigh sheath.  

Murdock took point with his Smith & Wesson drawn as he muttered, “I haven’t seen that knife since we took out that corrupt Libyan vizier four years ago.” 

Death grinned, “I’m too sentimental to throw it away.” 

Murdock chuckled as he stopped at a hallway corner, “It’s funny that you’re a methodical killer, yet you’re such a girl sometimes.”  

The screaming from guests had subsided and the gunfire had completely stopped.  The agents popped around the corner to see six men dressed in all black military garb with infrared night vision masks holding automatic rifles.  There was a seventh man with a fully ignited heavy duty industrial acetylene cutting torch that was hissing loudly and fully aflame. It cast an eerie blue light over much of the room.  The man paid no attention to the people in the room. He was intensely focused on a large glass case that held a diamond jewel the size of a baseball.  The man was attempting to cut through 6 solid inches of clear bullet proof glass.  One of the bad guys noticed the three agents and raised his rifle to fire on them.

“Tuck and roll, fuckers,” instructed Death.  

A gun fight broke out.  More screams emanated from the terrified guests who were all on their bellies on the ground.  Over the course of half a minute, McVandalay and Murdock had dropped all but two of the bad guys.  

Death had crept to a vantage point where she could get a better look at the man attempting to steal the jewel.  He had masterfully cut the glass case.  He finished his work and simply threw the cutting torch on the ground.  The acrid smell of melted, burned glass filled the room.  As he grabbed the jewel from it’s pedestal within the case, the torch ignited the rug.  The flames grew unnaturally quickly as the two remaining bad guys pulled out rope harpoon guns from their belt. The hook found purchase on a reinforced air duct vent in the ceiling.  The two bad guys shot up their ropes like they’d been launched out of a potato gun, clearly being pulled by a powerful unseen mechanism.

Agent Death popped up from her hiding place and threw her razor sharp knife at the rope of the last bad guy just as he had reached the ceiling.  As the knife severed the rope, the guard plummeted thirty feet to his demise.  

Murdock hollered, “McVandalay, go after the thief and I’ll clear these people from the room!” 

Smoke was now so thick that the floodlights were blurry.  The fire around the melted case was growing exponentially.  “No time!” replied McVandalay as he stashed his hot hand gun in the thigh holster back under his dress.  The agents all quickly and efficiently moved the guests to safety outside of the building as flames started spitting out of the ballroom.  Amidst the pandemonium and madness, the agents quietly disappeared as emergency vehicles arrived on the scene. 

Sixteen blocks away, McVandalay was sucking wind as he jumped into the back of a limo with the engine running.  He ripped the pretty blond wig off of his head and threw it in disgust on the floor.  Porter was dressed up as a limo driver behind the wheel and saw him in her rear view mirror.  “I can see you’re pissed off, but I just gotta say, those tits are perkier than mine were when I was twenty five.” 

The other two agents piled into the back of the car and Porter punched the gas.  “You’re two hours early and I’ve heard cop sirens everywhere, so I’m betting that we were unsuccessful in our attempt to steal the jewel,” she surmised. 

Death answered as she plopped down catching her breath, “someone beat us to it, and they didn’t even attempt to be subtle about it.” 

McVandalay spoke as he peeled the perfect skin colored latex of his fake boobs off of his chest. “The thief was handy with a cutting torch, but the guards were sloppy shooters with standard issue Russian hardware.  Their exit was really well planned, but there wasn’t any elegance in any of this job.  It’s either the Russian mob, or someone pretending to be the Russian mob.”

“Either way, I can have you in Moscow by midnight,” pilot Porter said confidently as she put the gas pedal to the floor of the limousine. “I’m gonna fly back to Colombia to hang out with Sarge after that.”

“Send our regards,” said McVandalay genuinely.

Murdock took off his suit jacket as Porter expertly wove the large limo through the very narrow streets of old town Madrid.  Murdock exhaled deeply and said, “so now what?” 

Agent Death leaned over to the limo wet bar and grabbed a bottle of twenty one year aged rum.  She took a direct pull from the bottle and said, “We steal the jewel from that thief.” 

Porter turned sharply on an open lane and headed north.  She gingerly asked, “And how do we find out who the thief is, exactly?” 

Death, Murdock and McVandalay all made eye contact with each other, nodded in silent mutual agreement and simply said, “we call Owens.”  

In the distance, a master thief named Owens was exiting out the front door of a high security Swiss bank with stolen contents in his tuxedo pant pockets after having left a single chive in the safety lock box of a high rolling banking criminal.