[I had fun with this one.  It’s in the spirit of Men in Black and Heinlein’s Glory Road, but with a few twists.  It’s also a product of one night’s insomnia.  Enjoy.]

Chauffeur

Steven M. Moore

Copyright 2015

                “Miss Fogg will see you now.”  The butler opened the door to the library and walked away, returning to the labyrinth.

He hoped the old man would return.  He wasn’t sure he could find his way out of the old mansion.  He adjusted his Yankees cap and entered.  There were so many books, he felt he was in the New York Public Library.  Ladders on rails could run along the shelves that reached to the high ceiling.  At the other end, in front of an ornate desk, was an exercise mat.  A woman was balancing on her head.  He moved forward.  She waved, flipped onto her feet, and offered her hand.

“Misty Fogg,” she said, “and you’re Sam Richardson.  I have your resume.”  She went behind the desk and plopped into an antique leather chair.  “Thank you for applying.  Besides the Army, why are you qualified?  A lot of New Yorkers can’t drive worth shit.”

“I’m from New Jersey.”

She checked the sheets.  “So you are.  New Brunswick.  I have no idea where that is.  That’s why I need a chauffeur.  Dobbs is a New Yorker, and he can’t drive worth shit.”

“The butler?”

“Butler, majordomo, chief steward, call him what you want.  With Dobbs and Dora, my house staff is complete.  Dora’s the cook, and I hire a cleaning service that comes in every Friday.  Can you drive a Mercedes?”

“Stick?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Does it have a clutch?”

“No, it’s an automatic.  A diesel.  It used to be considered a green vehicle until the electrics came out.  It’s a rich woman’s car.  I’m rich, in case you’re wondering.”

And also in excellent shape, he thought.  “I can drive you anywhere you want in your Mercedes.”

“That remains to be seen.  I don’t want to be involved in any accidents.  There are a lot of crazy drivers on the road.  They make me nervous.  I don’t like to be nervous.  My life is hectic enough as it is.”
Was she so rich she didn’t have to work?  If so, why was her life hectic?  He’d have to learn that with time—he wasn’t about to ask her.  “Does that mean you want to examine me for my driving skills?”

She came in around the desk and squeezed his bicep.  He was dressed casually—he didn’t own a suit—so the black T showed he was fit too.

“Maybe just examine you, period,” she said with a wink, “but that can come later.  Do you have a girlfriend, Sam?”

“I’m a returning vet looking for a job, ma’am.  I have my priorities.  Romance isn’t exactly one of them right now.”

“You’re not one of those girly-men, as the Terminator called them, are you?”  She misinterpreted his frown.  “Oh, I’m not a homophobe, but I have my priorities too.  Wasting time on a good-looking fellow who turns out to be gay isn’t one of them.  I’d still hire you, but let’s get everything out in the open.  I can be bi, but that’s not a priority either.”  She punched him lightly in the gut and watched the abs tense.  “When can you start?”

Didn’t she have other applicants for the job?  “Right now, if you want.  I need the job.  The sooner the better.”

She went back to the desk, looked again at the papers.  “You were a flight mechanic.  Choppers, I presume.  I have one of those toys.  It’s parked out back.  I’d like you to check it out sometime because I don’t trust the pilots to do it.  With your skills, though, why this job?  You could work in aviation almost anywhere.”

She’s prying—I don’t need that.  “I saw the ad, and it seemed to match my skill set.  I’m not saying it would be my first choice, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Ah, the clichés.  How I love them.  Sam, you don’t look like a beggar, so you’re hired.  See Dobbs on your way out.  He’ll get you some decent clothes and have them ready for you by tomorrow morning.  Be here at eight so you can dress properly.  At nine, you’re taking me for a ride in the country.”

“Does your Mercedes have a GPS?”

“Doesn’t every new car?”

“If it didn’t, I’d bring mine.  My old car doesn’t have one.”

“Go see Dobbs.  Tomorrow morning I’ll have a contract and nondisclosure agreement for you to sign.  Be on time.”  She went back to the mat and began stretching.  “And don’t stare.  It’s rude.”

***

                “Two pages to sign and the rest to initial.”

Sam was back in the library.  Misty Fogg was behind the desk dressed in a sleek, black power suit.  A red blouse with a frilly lace collar completed the wardrobe.  He couldn’t see any makeup, and her long black hair was done in a bun.

“This is a lot to read,” he said.

“I’ll summarize.  The nondisclosure says you’ll keep your mouth shut about my private life, who I see, and what I do.  The contract says you will chauffeur me and be my bodyguard for $5 K per month–that’s clean, by the way.  I’ll pay your taxes—there’s federal, state, and city here, unfortunately—and you’ll have the same health insurance that Dobbs, Dora, and I have.  That’s about it.  Oh, and you’re to move here from that hellish abode you call your apartment.  What a dung heap!”

“You went to my apartment?”

“Dobbs did.  He forgot to ask for your sizes.  You have big feet, you know.”

“How’d he get in?  The landlord?”

“Picked the lock.  He saw the landlord was high on something.  I’m ready to report that slum to the health department.”

“It’s what I could afford at the time.  What do I do?  Break the lease?”

“It’s broken and the penalty is paid.  Don’t worry about it.  You look great, by the way, except for the white socks.”

Sam looked at the socks in his tasseled lawyer-style loafers.  “Dobbs forgot to buy black socks.”

“He’ll remedy that.  Otherwise you look like Daniel Craig in Casino Royale.”

“I’ll take that as a complement.  About these bodyguard duties?  What does that involve?”

“You don’t want to take a bullet for me, love?”

“Not really.  I don’t even own a gun.  I don’t want to be at the other end of one either.”

“We’ll work into that with time if everything goes well.  Right now, just be a chauffeur.”  She hooked her arm with his.  “Lead the way, James.”

***

                The estate the car’s GPS led them to was up and off the thruway.  It looked abandoned.  Part of the roof had caved in, and shingles were missing.  Old paint was peeling.  The yard was overgrown.

“Drive up the driveway, Sam.  Stop under that oak.”  He did as Misty requested.  “Pop the trunk and wait here.”

He watched in the side mirror as she took a duffel bag from the trunk.  She removed an armored vest and smock like a surgeon’s from the bag, put on the vest, and put the smock over it.  When she took out an automatic rifle and sword, he began to get nervous.  What’s going on?

As she passed his driver’s window, she smiled at him.  “Be patient.  I might have to negotiate.”  She looked at her Rolex.  “If I’m not back by eleven, hightail it out of here and return to the house.  Dobbs will take care of the rest.”

Good Lord, what is she going to do?  He watched her climb the steps to the porch, gun in hand, sword at her back like a Samurai.

She was back in ten.  There were splotches of green all over the surgeon’s smock and on the sword she held at her side.  The rifle was now on her back.  “We negotiated, but it didn’t work out.”  She went to the back of the car, wrapped all her equipment in plastic garbage bags, and put it all back in the duffel.  When she slammed the trunk, Sam jumped.  He was almost in shock.  She must be some kind of assassin!  But what is the green stuff?

                He kept stealing glances at her in the rearview mirror all the way back to Manhattan.  She kept smiling back at him, but it was a strange, knowing smile.  God, she’s creepy!

***

                “That was an excellent soup, Dobbs.  My compliments to Dora.”

Dobbs smiled, nodded, and removed the soup bowls.

She sat at one end of the huge dining table; Sam, still dressed like James Bond, sat at the other.  So far, he hadn’t had much to say.

“You’re the silent fellow but a good driver.  I like that.  I saw the way you slowed down when you spotted that state trooper.  The last thing I need is a trooper going through my duffel bag.”

I bet!  “I slowed to the pace of everyone else.  That way they don’t know who to stop, and one usually wins the statistics game.”

“An interesting concept.  You’re also a smart fellow.”  She bit into a slice of French bread, chewed, and swallowed, studying him all the time.  “I’ll bet you know all the erogenous zones in a human female.”

He put down his glass.  “I didn’t see gigolo in the contract I signed.”

“I thought you didn’t have time to read it.”

“More like I needed time to think about it.  I’m a speed reader.  And I have an eidetic memory.  The latter is a problem sometimes, especially when your friends are blown to hell by IEDs.”

She shivered.  “This planet’s warfare is still primitive.”  She flashed a sly grin.  “I use that to my advantage, of course.”

“What did you do in that house?”

She shrugged.  “My job.  We’ll talk over cognac after dinner.”

Dinner was steak and roasted asparagus.  After an excellent baklava for dessert, he followed her into the library.  They sat in one corner diagonally across from her desk in two comfortable wing chairs, each with their own reading lamp.  Dobbs brought them cognac.  She studied him over the rim of her brandy sniffer, her nostrils wriggling in pleasure from the vapors.  He thought it was sexy.  Maybe she’s Bond, and I’m her conquest for tonight?  While that appealed to him, there was still that aura of creepiness he had felt during the return to Manhattan.

He took a sip and decided to lay out his doubts.  “I’m thinking you’re doing something illegal, Misty, and I don’t want any part of that.”

She laughed.  “Oh, please.  Your courts couldn’t begin to handle what I do.  They can’t even keep up with the high tech cases.“ She sipped and swallowed.  “Have you been keeping up with science enough that you’ve heard about all those planets being discovered?”

“Somewhat.  Geeks and nerds seem excited about them.  I think there are hundreds, right?”  Interesting change of subject.

She nodded.  “And many more that haven’t been discovered, just in our galaxy alone.  It’s amazing to me that you people are so complacent about it.”

“You’re not going to tell me you were abducted by ETs, are you?”

“Heavens no!”  Her laugh seemed genuine.

She passed a hand in front of her face.  He spilled the cognac.  That beautiful human face had become a gray mouse-like face with fur surrounding leathery, ebony skin.  She did the hand thing again, and the human face returned.

***

“I was sent here with Dobbs and Dora,” Misty said, seeming to enjoy his discomfort.  “But we need human help.  In a big crowd, it’s hard to maintain the body mask for everyone.  I’m willing to do the dirty work, but gathering all the intel isn’t easy either, especially in those situations.”

Sam stared at his pants.  Although he knew it was cognac, he put one hand in his lap to cover the embarrassing damage.  He took a sip from what remained in his glass and cleared his throat.  “This isn’t some party trick, is it?  You’re leveling with me?”

“Sam, there are many humanoid groups populating the galaxy.  Contrary to the opinion of your NASA, ESA, Chinese, and Russian scientists, you don’t need spaceships to get around.  That’s low tech.  And some of those humanoids and even nastier non-humanoids see innocent Earth and its human population as easy targets.  The water dragon I killed at that house was a serial killer wanted on over one hundred planets.  She sucked the life force out of every sentient she could and absorbed all its memories.  They are evil incarnate.  Fortunately, few are left.  One more is gone.”

“You’re an interstellar vigilante?”

“Something like that.  Samurai?  Guardian?  Posse of one? There’s no appropriate name in English or any other human language.  I’m also a princess from the court of—” The word she uttered sounded throaty and garbled, containing whistles and clicks.  “Dobbs is my uncle and Dora is my cousin.  The key question here is: Would you like to help us?”

He finished the cognac and stared at her for a bit.  “What if I say no?”

“That’s your choice.  I would have to apply a bit of mind-wipe then.  It’s painless, except that you won’t be able to remember the last few days.  Please be assured, we’re doing this to protect you humans.  You’re basically innocents in spite of your warring ways.”

“Am I allowed a trial period?  I’ll admit I’m intrigued.”

“Of course.  And you can bail anytime, in spite of what your contract says.  Of course, the nondisclosure is real until I can do the mind-wipe.”

“I’d love to see you take me to court about that, but it’s not even necessary.  Who would believe me?  I’d sound like those UFO nuts.”

“There are no UFOs.  Only portals.”  She gave a thumbs-up.  “Check in with Dobbs tomorrow morning.  He’ll begin your training.  It will be intense.”

She stood and stretched.  With her hands on her hips, she still looked ravishing, but he realized that he’d only seen her true face, not the rest of the body.  The face hadn’t been monstrous—just strange.  He remembered the eyes.  They were sly, more like a rat’s than a mouse’s.  He knew that was a false interpretation, though, a trick of his brain to get past the strangeness, if what she said was true.  These ETs are looking out for us.

“I have to make a quick trip to Patagonia,” she said, “but I’ll be back in a day or two.  If Dobbs gives the OK, we’ll then go on a more challenging assignment.”

“Where?”

“Beijing.  You’ll remember there are a few crowds there to contend with.”

“Will I have to kill an ET?  I don’t know how to do that.  I don’t know if I could, even with Dobbs’ training.  I’m just a mechanic.”

“We don’t always kill the bad guys, Sam.  Sometimes they listen to reason.  You just never know, though, when they’ll get me, and you’ll have to step in and fight for your life and your own kind.  No outcome is certain in these cases.”

With that, she left the room, leaving him to wonder if he had wrecked an expensive antique chair by spilling the cognac.  The self-criticism didn’t last long.  Soiled slacks was the least of his worries.  But he was now filled with a purpose he hadn’t had since returning from overseas.

***

[Hopefully this little tale was a distraction from the serious problems of terrorism afflicting our world.  Misty is an army of one fighting galactic terrorism.  We don’t have that quite yet, but what we have is troubling.  It’s a theme in many of books—see the second edition of The Midas Bomb, available now in all ebook formats and paper.  Free short stories, book and movie reviews, interviews, articles on writing, and op-ed posts are all part of this blog, all paid for by my books sales, so help a poor writer out.]

In libris libertas….

 

 

This entry was posted on Wednesday, December 16th, 2015 at 4:00 am and is filed under Steve's Shorts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.