6, Brownies

“Think of Russian food like Russian life.  It’s supposed to be a kind of punishment, devoid of fun or joy.”  Undercover spy Von Stryker expertly chopped root vegetables into small bits as oil began hissing in a frying pan next to her.  She’d been stationed in Russia for over a decade and fit right into their culture.  “The key is to make sure your guest is fed, but won’t come back.”

“God dammit that’s funny,” remarked master thief Owens.  He was slicing raw beef into thin strips.  “Obviously Boris wants us to pull out all the stops for tonight’s meal then, right?”

“Yup.  Those eight men and their eight personal guards out there are all the highest ranking mobsters in Moscow, and when they get together, they eat like royalty, not poor paupers.”

The aroma dancing through the luxurious kitchen was intoxicating.  The agents were cooking in a multi million dollar mafia mansion owned by the kingpin himself.  Owens inhaled deeply through his nose to enjoy it all and adjusted his silly chef’s hat.  “Boris is such a bullshit cliché Russian mobster name.  Every bad guy in every shitty old spy movie has a bad guy named Boris, I swear.”

“Ha!” snorted Von Stryker.  She regained her composure and replied, “he’s a piece of shit, and everyone who has ever met him knows it.”

“Well if these are his closest mobster friends, then they must be equally shitty, eh?”

“They are angry and cold to their own people and even worse to their victims, but they pay really, really well.  Even though their mafia soldiers hate them, ’til now there hasn’t even been a peep of revolt.”  Von Stryker expertly sliced some mushrooms and threw them in a pan of melted butter.  They cooked gloriously.  “If it weren’t for Mickey expertly spreading the misinformation to these bosses, they wouldn’t all be here tonight.  We have her to thank for this opportunity.”

“I’ve only known her for a few days, but I can honestly say that Mickey has the biggest balls of any woman I’ve met, and you obviously know the killers I work with,” said Owens appreciatively.  “She’s clearly perfect in this undercover role, but without Blitz or Blacktide, I worry how Mickey can handle it if things get violent.”  

Von Stryker turned the veggies as steam and oil fought their high temperature battles.  “Blitz and Blacktide went hunting with her in Idaho before this mission.  They said Mickey make an impossible shot to drop an elk at four hundred yards, then had it gutted and quartered as faster than a virgin finishing in a Nevada brothel.”  She added, “they also saw her cry at a Hallmark commercial later that night, so who knows.  She’s a good shot, at least.” 

Undercover agent Mikayla Doniak went by the nickname Mickey.  She walked through the kitchen doors with a waiters tray covered in empty drink glasses.  She was all business as she spoke.  “When these bastards get together like this, it’s the only time I hear any of them laugh.  They eat like Italians, spend money like Saudi princes and drink like Irishmen on St. Patricks Day.  If they weren’t such terrible ass munchers, I think I’d actually get along with them.”  

“Ass munchers,” Von Stryker said appreciatively.  “I like that one.”

“If they don’t all kill each other first, I call dibs on the two bearded assholes who keep trying to grab my ass.”  Mickey grabbed a few pitchers of water.  “I’m serious about that, and I don’t miss.”  She dropped her scowl to put on a fake smile, then pushed the kitchen door open with her hip and resumed pretending to be a waiter.

“Yup, if shit goes south, she’ll do fine,” Owens said as he finished his meat slicing duties.

Von Stryker and Mikayla Doniak had been working as private chefs for a mob boss the past few months.  They could both speak perfect Russian and could charm their way into any social circle, rich or poor.  After tonight, they wouldn’t be employed by these soon to be dead bosses, so Von Stryker was really enjoying her last night in such a fancy kitchen.

Owens threw the sliced beef on the grill and the melody of sizzling meat filled his ears.  He wiped his hands clean and went about a new task.  “If we can’t get Boris drugged, I fear he’ll be hard to kidnap.”

“I fear that too,” Von Stryker replied.  “He usually drinks his vodka pretty conservatively, so our plan has to go perfectly.  Rice says we can kill him if we need to, but then it’ll just look like an outside job.  The mafia will reorganize instead of collapse internally.”

The mission tonight was to kidnap the kingpin, Boris, and pretend to hold him ransom to his people.  The agents knew his organization would fall apart from the inside.  Those loyal to Boris would start killing the insurrectionists inside their crime family and a power struggle would ensue.  Team Whiskey would clean up the stragglers and make it look like an internal mafia struggle while eliminating all of them.

The unpredictable nature of Russian people was their only problem.  

The two agents plated the first course as Mickey came back into the kitchen.  “I also call dibs on killing the bald piece of shit wearing the glasses.  That limp dick mother fucker just asked how much it would cost to rent me for the night.  I swear to god Von Stryker, if we hadn’t planned this mission for months, I’d gut the lot of them with a dull butter knife right now.”  She looked at Owens and apologized.  “Sorry, Owens, I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I haven’t seen my boyfriend for two months and these fuck faces keep referring to me as their favorite chew toy in Russian.”

Owens smiled, “no need to apologize, friend, you can’t offend me.”  He pointed at Von Stryker.  “I mean, I’ve worked off and on with this crazy bitch for over a decade and I keep coming back!”  That got a laugh from both women and helped settle the tense mood.  “I’m just a simple dude who likes to hunt and fish.  Von Stryker hired me a few days ago for this particular dinner cuz she knows I’m good on a grill and that I was in Russia anyways.  My real thing is that I’m good at stealing shit from bad guys, like really good at stealing shit, so if that helps, I’m your guy.”

Mickey smiled back as she grabbed the plates of food.  They looked and smelled amazing.  “Tell you what, I’ll take you up on that.  My boyfriend is a game warden in the middle of the Rockies.  He’s pretty sure his neighbor is addicted to meth and stole an antique rifle from him a few days ago.  If you can find it and steal it back for me, we’ll take you to the best damn fishing hole on planet earth.”

Owens dropped his jaw in excitement.  “Literally, you just offered me a dream job for a dream payment.”  His enthusiasm for simply being alive was contagious.

The next two hours went off without a hitch.  The mobsters ate and drank assuming they were in safety.  Mickey was a well trained spy but her patience and training were put to the test from the never ending inappropriate harassment.  Von Stryker and Owens cranked out course after course of amazing food.  All was going to plan.  Now it was time to serve the mobsters their drugged desserts.

“Here’s goes nothing!” said Von Stryker enthusiastically.  She mixed a powerful liquid sedative into a chocolate sauce and drizzled it over gooey brownies.  The dessert was exquisite.  Mickey confidently picked up the plates and once again headed into the lions den.  

As she served each of the bosses, Boris yelled in Russian at her, “You!  Chew toy!  Come, let me feed you a bite of this heavenly dessert!”  Mickey pretended to smile, but inside, all she wanted to do was pull out her pistol and extinguish this insult to humanity.  Her acting was perfect as she giggled like a dumb Russian girl.  Instead of using a fork, Boris grabbed a very sharp steak knife to cut off a piece of the brownie.  He held the chunk of dessert on the knife and held it up to her face.  “Chew toy, eat this for me in front of my valued guests!”

The room was silent.  Boris smiled an evil smile, as if he might stab Mickey in the throat.  Mickey couldn’t tell, did he know what was going on?  She pretended to be a little bit nervous, but inside she was only spiteful.  Her instincts were clear, her mind was sharp, and she was ready to improvise in a moment’s notice.

Boris raised the knife to her face.  Mickey carefully took the bite, never breaking character.  She kept eye contact with Boris the whole time as she chewed and swallowed the bite.  She sighed with exuberance.  “That is perfect,” she said in perfect Russian.  She pointed at their plates.  “This is all any of you get because I’m going to go eat the rest in the kitchen right now!  Do not ask for seconds!”  The old men laughed heartily and she laughed too.  “And don’t expect to see me until I’ve finished the whole pan!” she said.  

Upon returning back to the kitchen, she vented to the agents.  “I know we have to keep Boris alive, but when the dust settles, I promise, I’m going to kill that fucker.”  Owens and Von Stryker looked at each other with grins, but Mickey was just getting started.  “I’m going to hang him from his nuts and whip him to death with a radio antenna from an ’88 Cutlass Supreme.”

“How sadistic and oddly specific,” quipped Owens.

“That bag of shit will rue the fucking day he ever fucked with me, I swear to you both.”  She told the agents what had just went down.  They looked worried but she diffused their fear right away.  “He fed me a bite with no sauce.  I’m fine.”  She smiled widely and added, “by the way, Von Stryker, those fucking brownies are something else.  Fuck off, already.”

“I love it when you talk sweet to me, thank you!  Now, we wait.  Anyone want a drink?  I’m a gin girl, myself.”

“Great,” muttered Owens.  “Here comes Ginny…” he said sarcastically.

“Ginny stays in her cage tonight, honey.  I’m only having one, cuz this won’t take long.”

Within ten minutes the mobsters had gotten woozy.  When they realized the were drugged, they started to accuse each other of treachery.  A few of them pulled out hand guns and said threatening things.  One man pulled a trigger as the drugs made him collapse and the shootout began.  When the smoke cleared, half of them were dead and Boris lay passed out.  A few men staggered and escaped.  The internal mafia war had begun.

In the distance, rumors of what had happened became greatly exaggerated and thugs from all levels of the mafia crime family became instantly over confident which would ultimately lead to the demise of their whole evil organization.