63, Magic

“I watched you drink that pint of soy sauce, and I know you were thinking it was gonna make one of those chicks wanna bang you.  You lost all credibility with me that day, fuck face.”  Special agent Trent Murdock was undercover, posing as a chef in a ritzy restaurant in Mexico City.  He arranged the plate of Brussels sprouts cooked with bacon.  He expertly drizzled on a sweetened balsamic vinaigrette reduction in a perfect grid pattern, then topped them with crumbled feta cheese.  His mouth watered a little but he didn’t drool on the plate.

Demolitions expert Dale O’Connor was also undercover as a waiter at the fancy dining establishment.  “I admit that I was drinking heavily in a bar when some hot Asian chicks told me they liked men who visibly ate lots of salt.”  He didn’t speak defensively.  He took the plate that Murdock had prepared and went to exit the kitchen to deliver the food to the dining room.

“You have no game, Doc.”

O’Connor didn’t argue.  “I had the best sex of my life that night with those two double agents.  My boner wouldn’t go away.  That much salt does something to a man.”  Whether he was lying or not, the statement wasn’t what Murdock was expecting to hear.  O’Connor exited the kitchen before Murdock could start asking questions.

Out in the dining room, O’Connor politely delivered the plate to a table filled with crooked oil tycoons.  Despite being nervous, he delicately sat the delicious food in front of a Russian man named Gosavich whom the agents were spying on.  Gosavich was a slender dude with an iron jaw that had undoubtedly seen its share of many fist fights on rough Russian streets.  The man sat up straight and had a permanent sly grin.  “Gracias,” he said in perfect Spanish.

Gosavich was the second whitest man in the room behind O’Connor.  Although both men looked like their skin hadn’t seen the sun for decades, both could speak perfect Mexican Spanish with no hint of American or Russian accents.  “De nada, señor.”  

O’Connor turned to head back to the kitchen and made eye contact with a beautiful female cocktail waitress.  It was special agent Alexi Blacktide.  Her skin was so tan that she looked Latina and fit right in with the rest of the Mexican wait staff.  As he walked by her, he asked under his breath, “who is the new bartender?  Is he with us?”

“No,” she answered.  “I’ve never seen him, but he’s working so hard with his head down that I don’t think he’s with Mexican intelligence.”  With that, Blacktide grabbed her tray and did some rounds to her customers.

“Roar, get a camera on him,” O’Connor said under his breath to his communicator wrist watch.

In their ear pieces, the agents heard computer expert Yen Roar’s voice answer, “Roger.”  From a computer in a control center set up in a Mexican hotel across the street, Roar clicked buttons at her console to adjust the angle of a hidden camera so she could record the bartender.  As Blacktide and O’Connor parted ways to go back to their waiting duties, they heard Roar follow up in their ear pieces.  “I have eyes on the bartender.  I’ll let you know if I see anything.”

O’Connor grabbed empty plates from guests at the adjacent table next to the oilmen and asked in Spanish if anyone wanted dessert.  As he did this, he kept an eye on Gosavich in his peripheral vision.  Right as he looked away, he caught Gosavich look his way, as if the Russian knew he were being watched.  

The agents all had great instincts in the field about people but O’Connor couldn’t read Gosavich to save his life.  The Russian man made him nervous but O’Connor remained cool and didn’t show it.  He’d heard that Gosavich could bend spoons with his mind, and this mental nugget felt like a boulder in his brain.  O’Connor was afraid of magic.  The American agent took the armful of dishes back to the kitchen.

As if no time had passed between their chat, Murdock was quick to ask questions upon O’Connor’s return.  “Are you serious that you had crazy sex with both of those traitors?  Was it a threesome?  Or did you bang them each at different times?”

O’Connor was too nervous about the idea of Gosavich cursing him with magic and had completely forgotten about his earlier chat with Murdock.  “What in the sweet fuck are you going on about?”

Murdock got instantly pissed.  “Fuck you!  If you’re lying to me, I’ll slit your throat with this, this… knife thing!”  He waved a very small pastry butter knife in the general direction of his best friend.

O’Connor didn’t flinch.  “Being your friend since youth has been awful.  I welcome death to not have to listen to your bullshit anymore.”  He offered his neck half heartedly, then farted.  Murdock did nothing, so O’Connor quit playing along.  “Sorry for dropping that air biscuit.  I hope it doesn’t stink too much.”

He wanted details from his friend about the sexual conquest he’d spoken of, but Murdock had to walk away from the stench.  “You stink.”

Without commenting on the awful smell, O’Connor gave a genuine compliment.  “These look amazing, dude.”  He grabbed a plate of bacon wrapped dates that had some sort of green herbal sauce dabbed on top of each one as a garnish.  

“McVandalay made them,” Murdock said defeatedly.  

Special agent Bradley McVandalay’s face became visible as his head popped out from the side of a wall that hid him from view.  His work station table was behind the wall, so he wasn’t a part of the chit chat as he prepped food for the patrons of the restaurant.  His chef hat almost fell off but he caught it easily and said, “Thanks, Doc.”

“You’re the man, Bradley.  Now if you’ll excuse me…”  O’Connor started to head out.

“I’m serious, Doc!  I want to know why those two double agents tag teamed a soy sauce smelling asshole like you!  What the fuck!”

The story clicked in O’Connor’s brain as he was exiting.  “Oh yeah, that.”  He was through the kitchen door before he could say anything else.

The restaurant was busy with the white collar investment class elites of Mexico City.  The patrons included businessmen, all of whom were movers and shakers in the Mexican stock market.  They were enjoying a normal day of wheeling and dealing over a fancy brunch.  

The room had small cameras that had been installed in hidden places by the agents before the regular employees of the restaurant got to work that morning.  O’Connor walked to the oilmen’s table and set the plate of finger foods in the center of the table as he grabbed a few more empty plates.  Despite being nervous, he spoke perfect Spanish as he asked if anyone needed anything else.

The grin on Gosavich’s face grew.  “Sí amigo.”  In perfect Spanish he replied by asking if O’Connor wanted to have a drink with the table.  

O’Connor knew, Gosavich was testing him.  He smiled and made eye contact with the Russian and his insides grew instantly cold.  O’Connor knew, it was too late.  The Russian was casting some sort of magical spell on him and he was powerless to stop it.  O’Connor wanted to cry but he kept a perfect poker face.  In Spanish, he politely said that he was on shift and shouldn’t be drinking on the job.

The table of Mexican oilmen all laughed and insisted that O’Connor have a shot with them.  With his insides chilled, he took a rocks glass from Gosavich that was half full with a double shot of a blue drink that smelled of pineapple and rum.  “To the future!” the Russian said in Spanish.

Everyone downed their shot and sounds of happy giggles followed.  

O’Connor instantly felt like he had been cursed but he couldn’t put his finger on what kind of magic he’d been hit with.  Still playing the perfect part of a waiter, he dutifully gathered the empty glasses and took them on a tray to the bar.  The bartender flinched in surprise. He was so focused on cleaning some wine glasses that he didn’t see anyone approach him.  He thanked O’Connor politely and began his cleaning.

Dale O’Connor walked back into the kitchen and before he’d said anything, Murdock was pressing him again.  “Tell me everything, Doc.  Soy sauce makes your dick hard if you drink a pint of it?  What did you say to those women to get them to sleep with you?  Don’t fuck with me.”  Murdock was sounding like a desperate teenager looking for the secret to get women to like him.

“He got me, Murdock.  I’m fucked.”

“Don’t ignore me, Doc!  I’m not letting you walk back out there until you tell me everything!”

“I’m telling you.  Gosavich cast a spell on me and I didn’t know how to block it or avoid it or anything.  I was a sitting duck.”

Murdock was used to O’Connor saying weird shit, but this was confusing as hell.  “What in the fuck are you talking about?”

“I couldn’t dodge it.  I’m fucked, I can feel it.  I gotta sit down.”  O’Connor walked over to a corner and slid down the wall.  When his butt hit the ground, he dropped his head into his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs, then squeezed himself in a leg hug.

McVandalay’s head popped back around the wall as his hand held the chef’s hat on his head.  “You good, Doc?  What gives?”

O’Connor lifted his head from his knees.  His eyes were closed and his forehead started to sweat.  “He’s magical.  I was defenseless.”

“Gosavich?” McVandalay asked genuinely. O’Connor normally would’ve laughed at the comedy of seeing McVandalays face protruding sideways from around the wall, but he was too shaken up by the spell he’d just absorbed.

“Yup.  He got me, Bradley.  I couldn’t stop it.  I’m fucked.  I’m fucking up the whole mission.”  O’Connor shook his head.  “I’m like Luke Skywalker in the Return of the Jedi.  Darth Vader felt him with the force and he fucked everything up.” 

Murdock was now defensively mad at his best friend.  “Dude, the man is not magical, do you understand!  There’s no such thing!”

O’Connor was superstitious as fuck.  He was sheepish to admit it, but he’d been afraid that Gosavich might be a wizard.  “I can handle a lot of shit, but I’m no match for magic.  He got me.  Dammit.”  O’Connor suddenly had difficulty keeping his head up.

McVandalay took a look and made a decision in that moment.  “Lemme whip up a magical potion that might help you, Doc.”  His head disappeared.

“Fuck.”  Murdock lifted his wrist watch to his face and spoke quickly.  “Yen, Murdock here.  Doc is being a superstitious dumbass and he’s slumped in a corner of the kitchen currently.  I’ll keep you posted.  What’s going on in the dining room right now?”

The voice of Yen Roar came through their ears.  “Well the table of oil guys has no action.  They’re all laughing and clearly enjoying the appetizers that Doc delivered.  Um, the bartender is cleaning glasses and Blacktide is delivering drinks to the room.  Nothing looks out of place, Trent.”

Trent Murdock flinched at hearing his first name.  “Call me Murdock, Roar, I beg of you.  Trent is my slave name.  Murdock is the name of a champion.”

Without meaning to, Roar burst out laughing in his ears.  She didn’t mean to mock him, but her laughter betrayed how lowly she thought of his desire to be a warrior.  “Sorry about that.  Ok.”  She gathered herself and with good composure said, “Murdock.  I won’t make that mistake again.”

Sheepishly, Murdock replied, “Thanks Roar.”

“Seriously, what’s going on with Doc?”

O’Connor could hear her voice in his ear piece and he struggled to lift his wrist watch to his face.  His voice was slurred.  “He got me, Roar.  Gosavich stole a part of my soul.  Maybe all of it.  I’m going cold.  I can’t compete with magic.”

The agents could hear Roar’s confusion.  “What in the fuck is Doc talking about?”

McVandalay was out of sight behind the wall but his voice was calm in their ear pieces.  “Roar, you keep an eye on those oilmen.  I’ll take care of Doc.”  He walked around the corner with a shot glass full of Jameson whiskey and dropped down to one knee in front of O’Connor.  “Hey buddy, drink this.”  He reached out and lifted O’Connor’s chin.  It took some effort, but O’Connor lifted his head.  “Open up, pal.”

O’Connor instinctually trusted his friend and did as McVandalay said.  McVandalay poured the shot into O’Connor’s mouth, then helped hold up his head so he could swallow.  “Thanks, Bradley,” O’Connor muttered as his chin dropped to his chest.

McVandalay was compassionate and caring as he said, “Doc, don’t you worry.  My magic is stronger than Gosavich’s will ever be.  I made you a power potion that’ll protect you from his dark magic.”  Suddenly his demeanor changed completely as he looked at Murdock with a stern face.   “Get those stuffed peppers seared, right now, chef!”  As if nothing were amiss, McVandalay walked back around the corner to his work station and disappeared from view.

“Murdock, what is going on?” Roar asked with genuine concern.

O’Connor spoke up.  “Bradley gave me a shot of his magic.  I’m fine.”  Murdock’s eyes got big as O’Connor stood up and yawned.  “Damn, I feel great.  Wow.  Thank God for Bradley, eh?”  He cracked his neck from side to side, then stretched his arms out as if he were Rose from the movie Titanic, standing on the front of the ship and letting the imaginary Atlantic wind blow through his hair.  When his stretch was done, he looked at Murdock and said with confidence and power, “Well fuck, dude, get Bradley those stuffed peppers already.  We have intel to gather, dammit.”  He grabbed a few plates of different appetizers and walked back out to the dining room leaving Murdock standing with his mouth agape, all alone, looking at a plate of mostly stuffed peppers that needed to be finished.  

Murdock was confused as fuck by how fast everything had gone down.  O’Connor had fallen and gotten back up all in less than two minutes.  “I have no clue what’s going on right now.”

McVandalay’s head popped back out from around the wall with his hand on his head holding the chef’s hat in place.  “Get me those peppers, asshole, that’s what’s going on.”

Trying to gather himself, Murdock said, “None of what just occurred bothers you, Bradley? What the fuck?”

McVandalay crinkled his brow in disappointment towards Murdock. “Doc is superstitious as hell, dude.  We gotta treat him like the idiot he is sometimes.  This surprises you?”

“Well…” Murdock had no words.  “Fuck.”

“He’s like a child.  You gotta tell him the things he needs to hear or he won’t listen to you.  Clearly, you missed that somehow he got drugged.  I gave him different drugs to counteract whatever sedative he drank.  Mainly amphetamines, caffeine and alcohol.”

“Jesus, Bradley!  Are you trying to kill the man?”

“Fuck off, Murdock, it’s Doc.  His body runs off of gasoline and nail polish remover.”  Murdock was even more confused by that statement so McVandalay cut to the chase.  “He’ll be fine for a few hours.  Now sear those fucking peppers, asshole.”  His head disappeared and Murdock could hear a knife chop at crazy fast speeds on a cutting board out of sight around the corner.  It sounded like a wood pecker was in the other room.  McVandalay was a crazy good chef.

Back in the dining room, O’Connor walked up to the table with a polite smile on his face.  In perfect Spanish, he asked if anyone needed anything else.  In his peripheral vision, he could see Gosavich flinch in disbelief, but then compose himself just as quickly.  O’Connor thought to himself, “You might have your Russian magic, fucker, but American magic is more, well, um, magical.  Yeah.”  His superstition gave him strange confidence as he listened intently while an oilman ordered more appetizers.  As he departed, he could see Gosavich watching him the whole way back to the kitchen.

“Lads,” O’Connor announced, “I’m happy to report that Gosavich’s magic can’t get me anymore.  That potion that Bradley gave me is defending me from his Russian magic spells.”

McVandalay again popped his head out from around the corner while holding his chef hat to keep it from flying off.  “Good to hear, Doc.  You’ll be fine.  I’ve got the brie platter ready and we’ll have those stuffed peppers to you as soon as Murdock pulls his head out of his ass.”

“I hate today, and I hate you both,” Murdock muttered as he stuffed the last of the long, slender peppers with their cream cheese and herb mixture.  He started laying them on a very hot grill and the smell of grilled peppers filled the kitchen with their intoxicating aroma.

Yen Roar’s voice filled their ear pieces.  “Boys, Gosavich is getting up to leave.  He’s gathering his stuff like he’s not sticking around for the next round of drinks or food.”  

“Shit,” O’Connor muttered.  “I’m gonna get the Brie plate to the table and try to get a read on him.”  He grabbed the grub and headed to the dining room in time to see Gosavich walk over and leave a massive tip for the bartender, then nod at him.  The bartender saw the tip and quickly removed it from the counter and stuff it into a tip jar under the bar.  He nodded back to Gosavich and went back to cleaning his glass as the Russian exited the room.

Yen Roar’s voice filled their ears.  “I just watched Gosavich tip the bartender a massive amount.  I don’t know if that means that the bartender is on his payroll or what, but it might be worth looking into.”

The voice of Bradley McVandalay filled their ears.  “It’s certainly worth looking into.”

As O’Connor dropped off the next round of appetizers, he noticed that the other oilmen were talking about Gosavich in hushed tones now that he’d left.  He got the impression that they were all collectively scared of him, and O’Connor understood that a couple of them feared his Russian magic as well.  O’Connor’s insides felt indestructible, and he reminded himself to ask McVandalay to teach him some preventative magic for future run ins with the Russian wizard.

In the distance, Gosavich was angry and yelling at a pharmacist for not selling him the right kind of sedative because clearly the one he’d purchased the day before hadn’t been effective enough to knock out the waiter who was clearly an undercover American secret agent sent to spy on him.