60, Snorkeler
“I’ve never seen a bigger butt snorkeler in my life.” Special agent Dale O’Connor adjusted the tie of his tuxedo, then grabbed a tray of champagne flutes filled with very expensive booze. “That asshole hasn’t left the general’s side this whole flippin’ time.”
“He doesn’t seem gay to me, Doc.” Special agent Murdock smelled faintly of shoe polish and whiskey. He adjusted the cuff links of his tuxedo jacket and straightened out the tight, white cotton gloves he wore. Murdock was far from sensitive, but he loved to fuck with is best friend. “Butt snorkeler is pretty offensive, you know.”
“It doesn’t mean gay, you fucking cock licker.”
“Well that sure does,” Murdock retorted.
“Not if you’re bisexual, dummy.” O’Connor ended the conversation as he used his butt to exit backwards through the swinging door of the fancy yacht’s small kitchen prep room while perfectly balancing the glasses of champagne on a large delivery tray.
Confused, Murdock straightened up some fancy hor’dourves in neat little rows and muttered, “There’s no way that butt snorkeler means bisexual. What in the fuck is Doc smoking?” He picked up the large tray of food and noted that it felt heavy and unbalanced. Instinctually, he moved his hand to the center of the tray and it felt weightless as he carried it. “Fuck the haters, I’m a damn good waiter.” He grinned at his accidental poetry. “Hey, that rhymed. I’m a poet and didn’t know it.” With that, he too exited butt first through the swinging door while balancing the large food tray.
The grand ballroom of the yacht held about sixty total people, all dressed to impress. The women wore elegant evening gowns that accentuated their perfect female forms while men wore expensive suits, tuxedos, and a handful of them wore their formal military uniforms to show their wealth or social status. In the corner, a small chubby white man wearing a very cheap grey wool suit was sweating nervously while talking in hushed tones to a tall, lean Mexican army general. The general was decorated with badges that signaled he was the highest ranking man in the Mexican military. The grey suit man had not left the general alone since walking onto the yacht, and this was greatly irritating O’Connor.
Murdock smiled as he offered fancy snacks to guests. Some folks accepted to which he instinctively nodded and smiled, but most declined. This left Murdock free to look around at the crowd. After a few minutes, he was next to O’Connor. “Psssst, Doc. What in the fuck does butt snorkeler mean if it doesn’t mean someone is gay?”
“It means he’s a butt shark, ya fucking dumbass,” O’Connor whispered back.
Even more confused, Murdock made eye contact with an incredibly beautiful Mexican gal who could’ve been a model, or possibly an actress. He smiled a charming smile and from afar, offered the tray of food as if to ask, “would you like a hor’dourve?” The woman shook her head slightly, but then smiled seductively at him. She brought her drink to her lips slowly and took a sensual sip while giving Murdock a playful smile. The sexual power of the moment temporarily made Murdock forget he was on a mission, but a random hand reached onto his tray to grab some finger food and the act brought him back to the moment.
A few minutes later, the two agents were back in the kitchen and could talk in a normal voice. “Butt snorkeler, butt shark, I’m starting to think you want a man to fuck you, Doc. The lie ends today.”
O’Connor cleared his tray of the empty champagne glasses from random guests and paused. “Lie? What lie?”
“What the fuck do you think, dipshit! You’re homophobic because you’re secretly gay!”
The insult made O’Connor chuckle. “It’s not a secret if the fella buys me a few drinks first.”
“Jesus, fucker. You sit here and say that the dude in the grey suit is gay in the most derogatory way I’ve ever heard, then say you’d put out for a drink? What the fuck?”
The pieces of Murdock’s mental puzzle started to fit in O’Connors mind. “Come on Murdock, butt snorkeler doesn’t mean gay, and neither does butt shark. It means that grey suit dude is stuck up the general’s ass.”
“I rest my case,” Murdock said as he loaded up his tray with the next round of fancy schmancy snacks.
“Fuck me running, you really are an idiot.” O’Connor looked up at the tongue in groove ceiling paneling of the prep area and had a moment where he wondered how much money it cost to build just that part of the insanely extravagant yacht. He came back to reality. “Butt shark means he’s kissing his ass. An ass kisser, not an ass banger. He’s a brown noser.”
“What the fuck, Doc. Butt snorkeler means brown noser?”
“Unreal, I can’t take you anywhere. You’re telling me you’ve never chatted with anyone from the navy?”
Murdock momentarily felt embarrassed but the feeling passed quickly. “Not really. We’re army. Why in the fuck are you all of a sudden pretending you’re a sailor?”
“You really are a FLOB, aren’t you?” O’Connor giggled to himself, knowing that Murdock would have no idea about the insult. “It mean’s you’re a Free Loading Oxygen Breather. You’re useless.” The insult was funny but neither man would budge. “It’s another saying from the navy, dummy.”
“I have no clue what any of that bullshit means, but I’m gonna pretend to be insulted.” Murdock gasped and looked like he was taken aback by the insults, but his face went slack a second later. He started to problem solve their situation with the man in the grey suit. “We can’t get the bug on the general with,” he paused, “that snorkeler continuing to keep him trapped up in that corner.” He looked over and saw O’Connor crack a smile. In that moment, he knew he’d scored one point in the never ending war of wits between the two.
“There you go, Murdock. You’ll make a fine sailor yet.”
It was time to put jokes aside. “Boothausen gave me a small vial of this medicine that makes you shit your guts out like you’re a rocket ship trying to break the earth’s gravitational pull. I say we use it on the snorkeler. Give me the champagne tray. You get to deliver this, well, stuff.” Murdock didn’t know what kind of food he was looking at so he said, “You hand out this goo on a cracker.”
“It’s caviar, dude. You clean up nice but have no clue about high society, do you?” O’Connor smiled smugly because he knew he was right. He gestured for Murdock to take his champagne tray and then snagged the trays of overpriced snacks. “See you out there, you B.U.B.” O’Connor put emphasis on each letter. With his butt pushing the door halfway open, he explained, “Barely Useful Body. It means you might as well be injured or handicapped in some way. Useless.” Again, O’Connor went back into the ballroom.
Maybe O’Connor was right, and Murdock should indeed hang out with people from other branches of the military, but he was a secret agent, not a Navy man. The insults were unique, he had to give those ocean faring bastards that.
There were half a dozen champagne flutes full. Murdock took one and put it to the side of the tray and dropped two drops of the poop juice in. The color of the liquid didn’t change, and the bubbles remained the same. He screwed the top back onto the small vial, picked up the tray of drinks and joined the party.
The Mexican general looked like he was engaged in the discussion with the chubby little white guy, but occasionally he’d look around at some of the fine women. Murdock was also distracted temporarily by some of the feminine beauty that surrounded him, but he had one mission. Get the transmitter bug attached to the general’s outfit, someway, somehow. Army intel would take it from there.
Murdock looked over to see O’Connor handing out cracker after cracker covered in fish eggs and he tried not to wretch from the idea of eating the stuff. He envied that O’Connor seemed comfortable, smiling, nodding, and getting little laughs from the guests with clever quips and comments at random times. O’Connor was the most antisocial person Murdock had ever met, but he was an excellent secret agent. When it was time to pour on the charm, O’Connor was excellent under pressure.
The general saw Murdock holding the tray of champagne and scowled. He snapped his fingers and beckoned with his hand to get a drink. “Gotcha,” thought Murdock as he nodded and smiled. He extended and twisted the tray to the general with the spiked flute being closest to the general. He grabbed it and then grabbed another one to hand to the man in the grey suit. “Shit,” Murdock thought. The spiked champagne was supposed to go to the man in the grey suit, not the general.
Murdock nodded and went to deliver the remainder of the drinks to the other guests. He heard the general speak in English, “to a prosperous future!” He was raising a toast with the man in the grey suit and clearly in good spirits. In about fifteen minutes, he’d be shitting his guts out.
Back in the prep room, Murdock updated O’Connor. “The general grabbed the spiked glass before I could offer it to the, what’d you call him, the butt shark?”
“Ass kissing son of a bitch,” O’Connor said dryly. “Let’s just refer to him as the snorkeler. He must be a weapons contractor or something. Our intel for this mission missed that little bit of info.” He grumbled, “Fucking intel pricks.”
“Don’t blame the ivy league boys, they have no idea what the field is like from their sheltered cubicles.” Murdock was out of ideas. “I’m out of ideas,” he defeatedly admitted.
O’Connor snorted. “We’ll figure something out.”
At that moment, a curtain opened in the main ballroom in a corner revealing a stage. A five piece band started playing smooth jazz. The lead singer was a beautiful woman in a long black dress with fair skin, strong muscles and unbelievably sexy curves. Both agents had to do a double take. Murdock looked at O’Connor and asked, “Did you know agent Death was in on tonight’s mission?”
“I had no clue,” O’Connor replied.
The boys knew that special agent Death was an awesome vocalist, but they were surprised that she cleaned up pretty nicely too. The agents had never seen her in formal wear, and she was downright sexy as fuck. She grabbed an old school 50’s vocal mic and brought it to her mouth. In a very sultry tone she said, “Good evening friends, I hope you enjoy the show. We are Close To Toast.” With that, she began singing a slower jazzy song in French that sounded sexy, even though the agents had no clue what she was saying.
Murdock walked close to the stage and made eye contact with agent Death. While she was singing, her eyes got big in recognition. She looked surprised. A moment later, she and O’Connor made eye contact. He nodded slightly and she looked even more surprised. She gave them a quick look as if to say, “what in the fuck are you two assholes doing here?” that the crowd wouldn’t see so only they would notice. Her vocals were smooth and never wavered, and to anyone who didn’t know her, they’d have witnessed nothing peculiar about her performing. The agents could tell, she had no clue they would be there, and Death could tell that they were surprised too.
At the end of the first tune, light applause reverberated off the walls. Agent Death said, “Thank you,” in a very elegant voice, then returned to signing. Her voice was sugar and it warmed the energy of the room. The agents mingled with their trays of consumables while periodically making eye contact with agent Death to have a silent conversation. Death made a look that said, “who’s your mark?” O’Connor scratched his nose and pointed inconspicuously towards the general. Death understood.
A random guest grabbed a snack from his tray and gave him a courteous smile. O’Connor returned the smile, then resumed his secret eye contact chit chat with agent Death. He shrugged and pointed his head at Death as if to say, “who’s your mark?” She naturally sang with her hands, and very subtly she pointed at the man in the grey suit talking with the general. O’Connor grinned and nodded.
Back in the prep room, O’Connor loaded his tray with the next round of yummies for his guests. He updated Murdock, then asked, “What do you think Death is marking the snorkeler for?”
Murdock choked back a joke. “I want to say that she’s a lonely woman who’s desperate for male sexual affection, but I don’t want her to kill me.”
“Too late. You said it.”
“Don’t tattle on me, Doc.”
O’Connor couldn’t help but wonder. “For real, who is the snorkeler and why is she marking him? This evening just gets more and more interesting, does it not?”
Murdock loaded his tray with more glasses of hooch. He tried to be clever by using a little Spanish. “Got a plan for el hener-al?” His Spanish wasn’t half bad. “He’s gonna have the shits anytime now.”
“No, but I’ll figure it out.” In the blink of an eye, the two agents were back to being waiters.
Right on cue, fifteen minutes passed and the general exited the party quickly to find a bathroom. The yacht had private bathrooms that a guest could lock from the inside, but it also had a hallway where a mens restroom was on one side and a women’s on the other. The general couldn’t make it to a private bathroom. He dove into the mens restroom and barely made it to a toilet seat in time. O’Connor and Murdock looked at each other in a look that said, “now what?” Chances were good that the general would not return to the party and their mission would fail.
“We’ve got awhile before he gets off of this boat. Meet me in the prep room,” O’Connor said with a smile. Guests took the remainder of the snacks from his tray as Death sang like an angel.
Back in the prep room, the lads were all business. “We’ve each got a bug and one of us has to get it planted on that general,” O’Connor said. “I’m gonna see if an opportunity opens up in the shitter.”
“There’s not enough pesos in the world for me to go in there, Doc. All you.”
Dale O’Connor had been a drunk since an early age, and the chemical abuse it had put on his body was now an attribute that might come in handy. “Decades of drinking have numbed my senses. I’ll live.”
“You bug the general and I’ll bug the grey suit guy. Maybe it can help Death too.”
O’Connor exited the prep area with no tray. He walked quickly to the restroom and entered with purpose. He could hear the general’s bowels furiously evacuating in the toilet. The man was sitting in the stall right next to a urinal. In that moment, O’Connor figured he’d go for it. He walked up to the urinal, and zipped down his pants to take a leak. Since the general’s pants were around his ankles, his pockets would be accessible from under the stall. O’Connor kneeled down and did his best to sneak the small tracking bug into the general’s pant pocket. The poor man was shitting so violently that he didn’t notice his pants tug ever so slightly from O’Connor’s hand slipping the bug into the pocket.
Meanwhile, Murdock reloaded his trays with sweets. He was informed that for the first go around, no one grabbed sweets. As the alcohol flowed through people’s veins, by the end of the night, every sweet would disappear. He knew that the man in the grey suit could leave at any moment, so he approached his table first.
Murdock looked at the snorkeler with a polite smile and spoke with a pleasant, inviting tone. “Sir, may I interest you in a dessert?” The selection on the tray included small cookies, brownies, and very small bite sized fudge squares of various flavors.
The chubby white man did not smile back, but he was polite enough. “Yes, please.” Murdock noticed his greedy little hands reach for some of the brownies. While his arm was out, Murdock very carefully shifted his weight to hide his free hand from the unsuspecting man’s view. In a move that might make Owens or Boothausen proud, Murdock dropped the small bug into the man’s jacket pocket.
“I’ll be back around in a little bit if you’re craving seconds!” Murdock was beaming inside, excited that he’d pulled it off without being noticed.
“Excuse me!” The man in the grey suit had a scowl, like he was unhappy.
“Shit,” Murdock thought, but he kept his words professional. “Yes sir?”
“I’d like seconds right now, please.” The man spoke in a firm tone, not mean but certainly not friendly.
“Absolutely sir!” Murdock again offered the plate and saw the man’s pig fingers grab another brownie. The men nodded politely to each other and Murdock departed to do his normal walk around the room.
Back in the prep area, the agents shared a few small desserts as they conveyed their success. Murdock spoke optimistically. “Maybe Owens could teach me a thing or two about being a Master Thief. I was good back there, Doc. I mean, really good!”
“The first rule of being a thief is you have to pay attention, Murdock. You’re clueless.”
“I’m telling you, I have a knack for this sort of thing.”
“Then why am I wearing your watch?” O’Connor grinned as he watched his best friend realize that his watch was stolen. O’Connor took it off and handed it back to Murdock. “Rule number two, don’t get cocky.”
“Am I supposed to be writing these rules down?” Murdock put the watch back on but didn’t let the little game they were playing bring him down.
“I’ll be honest, I have no clue what Owens or Ana do. I just do shit like this and blow stuff up when the team has a need for things to go boom.”
The two agents chatted for a few more minutes, then loaded up one last round of desserts onto their trays. Upon returning to the party, they noticed the general and the grey suit man were gone. They nodded at Death and she subtly smiled back. In all, the night appeared to have gone by perfectly.
In the distance, a corrupt arms dealer made a few phone calls to contacts in the middle east while a Mexican general began planning an armed revolution against his government as his guts gurgled and prepared for round two of complete colon evacuation .
