The Society
OK, here’s all of it. It is a rather long part, but I might put this up on fictionpress.com or something.
Just as I sat down at my desk, cup of coffee in my hand, Soon-Lee, my secretary, paged me.
"Yes?"
"A Mrs. Fredrickson to see you. Philanderous husband." If there's a cuter way to say "philanderous" I'll never know.
"Send her in."
Somehow her expensive perfume followed her in, and I knew the kind of client I was going to be dealing with. It was a "rich" perfume, the kind whose only purpose is to say "The person wearing this has a lot of money". I wouldn't call her old quite yet. Maybe 50. Botox injections evident.
She sat without introduction or invitation. "I need you to find my husband." To the point. Interesting.
"Who's your husband?" I asked.
"Darius Fredrickson." She said, almost like I should know already.
"OK. How long has Darius been missing?"
Mr. Frederickson has been missing for 2 weeks. He went on a business trip, and a few days after he left I couldn't get to him on his cell phone. Didn't answer email, either. I bet you he's banging some broad."
"I assume you want me to find out for sure."
"Yes, why else would I be here?"
She was right, of course. I didn't need to escape to find out. I played along.
"I see, well," I paused, watching her. "The going rate would normally be about $100, all in advance."
"Whatever it takes."
"Do you know where he is?"
"He said he went to St. Louis, but apart from that, I don't know."
I nodded and sighed. "Right. Before I escape, I will need the payment."
She sighed, and took her check book out. "I assume you take checks?"
"Of course. Make it out to 'Patrick Flannigan.' I spelled my name out for her, just in case.
"How long does this...trip...take?"
"They're escapes, Mrs. Fredrickson, and usually no more than 2 minutes."
She slides the check across the desk. "Again, it will be just a moment; I may be unresponsive." I leaned back in my chair and escaped.
We were right.
I came back. "Darius...is in St. Louis. Ramada Inn, room 213."
She looked puzzled. "How do you know it's him?"
"You two are very faintly connected, for now. He feels guilty."
"Well, tell me about the person you found. I want to make sure it's my Darius."
"He's about 30, right?"
"Yeah, 32."
"Let's see. Muscular, fit. Short brown hair."
"Sounds like him. How tall is he?"
"Well...ma'am. I couldn't tell you."
"And why not?"
"I can't judge height while he's on the bed."
Color flushed her cheeks. "He...he's sleeping."
"I don't think so, ma'am. He was having rather active sex with a red head."
She got flustered. I don't think she expected to be right. "Well...I...it's not him. I know it. He doesn't like red heads anyways."
"He does like it rough, though, right? Ropes and handcuffs and all that."
"What?!"
I was trying to not be blunt, but I couldn't help it.
"Is his mother a red head?"
"Um...yes...but, why...why do you ask?"
"If you see him again, I'd suggest taking him to a psychiatrist. That's all I will say." I pulled out a piece of paper, and wrote the phone number to Darius' room. "This is his number, if you need it."
She stood up, looked at me with a don't-you-dare-tell-anyone-about-this look. Snatching the paper out of my hands, she says, "Thank you very much for your services, Patrick, and -"
"Mr. Flannigan."
"Yes. Well. Mr. Flannigan. I hope you're happy." She stormed out of the office, shouting "Get out of my way!" to Soon-Lee.
I sipped at my coffee, putting the check in the drawer. I had 5 minutes of peace until Soon-Lee paged me.
"Yes, Soon-Lee?"
"A Mr. Jackson to see you. Philanderous wife."
"Ok, send him in."
I should start charging more.
-----
5 at night. It was a busy day, which is odd, considering it was a Thursday. Soon-Lee and I left the office together, locking up behind us. We parted ways with a "See you tomorrow!"
Ah. Home. It's a humble apartment, in the nice-but-not-too-rich part of Salt Lake City. My cats, Spenser and Spike greeted me at the door. Spenser, being a Siamese, likes to talk. Spike, a black cat, stayed silent. Spike was the bigger of the two, and by the scars, seemed to be the one protecting Spenser.
I called for some pizza, then, on a whim, called Soon-Lee on her cell phone.
"Hello?"
"Anyonghaseyo!" I said, with a horrible accent.
"Hey, Patrick! What's up?" I could hear cars in the background. She lived in Layton, about 20 miles north of SLC.
"Not much. I'm going to an Irish pub up in Ogden that's playing the Sox game tomorrow night. You want to come?"
She almost gasped. "I would love to! Oh my god, the Sox are amazing! It's game seven, right? Against the Yankees?"
I was surprised. "Yep, it should be a good game."
"We are so going. What time?"
"The game starts about 7. Shall I pick you up, say, around 6?"
"Sure, that would be good! Um, we might have to leave the office a bit earlier, though."
"Don't worry about it." I thought for a second. "We'll close up about 2 or 3, depending."
"Ok, cool. Listen, I need to get going the traffic is getting heavy."
"Of course. I will see you tomorrow, then. Drive safe."
"Ok! Good night!" She hung up a bit too late, I think, since I heard a happy-sounding squeal.
I set the phone down, just as the pizza came. I wiped the sweat off my hands.
24 years old, and I still get nervous asking a girl on a date.
-----
Somewhere in London
“I have bad news, sir.”
“Hello to you too. What’s wrong?
“The Grand Citizen has been murdered.”
“What? How?
“Phone bomb, sir.”
“A what?”
“A phone bomb. The GC was about to make a call from a pay phone. Only managed to say a word before the mouthpiece exploded. The only good news is that there was nothing left of the GC’s skull to identify him.”
“Comforting. Was it one of our phones?”
“Sir, it’s 2008. They’re all ours.”
“Good point. Did anyone use that phone before the GC did?”
“Not that we can tell, sir.”
“Has the GC used the phone before?”
“Once, about 10 years ago. Both times the GC was dialing the emergency line to the Elder Council.”
“I see. How does this phone bomb work, anyways?”
“From what we’ve ascertained, it was a simple voice recognition circuit board wired up to a decent bit of C4. There’s no way that thing would be perfectly accurate, based on how little room there is in the mouthpiece. The lab guesses that it would’ve gone off on about 3000 other people in London. Not accurate at all.”
“It didn’t need to be accurate. But why would they have to be even as accurate as it was?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir. My guess is that maybe it’s been there a while, and they didn’t want anyone else to ruin the surprise for the GC.”
“How did anyone outside of the Elder Council know what the GC sounds like? Furthermore, how did they get a recording?”
“I don’t know sir. Someone on the inside more like. Um. Hold on, sir. I need to take this, it’s the Chief Citizen in America…hello? Yes, we’re both here…what?...An American?...How do you know?...I see. He can help?...Of course I trust your judgement…OK. Go ahead and tap him. Hurry, if you can…OK. Cheers.”
“What was that all about?
“A man by the name of Patrick Flannigan. Apparently he could help us out. He lives in Salt Lake City, running a detective agency.”
“So much faith in an outsider?”
“He won’t be for long. Their Messengers will take care of that.”
“They better not scare him off. I want to go there, send my personal invitation.”
“Of course sir. Let me get my jet ready. Ooh, wait.”
“What?”
“You owe me 20 quid.”
“Why?”
“The Grand Citizen was male.”
----
Friday was slow, only 3 cases. I got directions to Soon-Lee's place, and we left around 1:30.
Once home, I took my time getting ready. I showered, shaving around my goatee.
I dressed a little "up" for the night, deciding on a single breasted black pinstripe blazer. Underneath I had a deep, burgundy button-down shirt, which was tucked in the front of my light denim jeans, showing off a simple black belt and silver buckle. My loafers matched the belt (of course). The shirt had the top 4 buttons unbuttoned, showing the head of Manny Ramirez peeking out.
I put on cologne, giving myself the once-over twice in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair, wondering about a hat. No, no hat tonight.
I checked on my car, cleaning it up, then just hung out, watching the pre-game coverage on TV.
Around 5, I gave myself the once-over again, deciding for, then against the hat. Realizing I was about as ready as ever, I left for Soon-Lee's place.
She lived in a small, single family house. Right at 6 I knocked at her door. And, right at 6, she opened it.
"Punctual," we both said at the same time.
"Gorgeous, as well," I said, producing a rose from my sleeve. Which was about all I could say, at the moment.
I said "gorgeous" before. "Stunning" might have been a better word. For one thing, in a manner that defied logic, her top was the same shade of deep burgundy as my shirt. (Every time I tell this story I have to swear that I did not escape for this fact. Completely coincidental.) She wore a halter-top, with an adventurous (well, for Utah in October) but not whorish neckline. The midriff of her top was sheer. Her skirt was black silk, about knee-length, and wasn't too tight. Her hair was unbound, drifting over her shoulders and down to about the middle of her back. The perfume she wore was something the French might call "I cannot believe zis is American!" No make up, from what I could tell.
She smiled at me, carrying her purse and jacket in the same hand. I offered my elbow, and she took it. (That's the nice thing about Utah; the dating rules are about 50 years behind everyone else. Refreshing.)
We get in the car and we drive on to Ogden, Dave Brubeck playing on the stereo. There was small talk, mostly about work and some of my weirder cases. It was relaxed, no awkwardness.
There was valet service at the pub, which I made use of.
My usual booth was open, a corner one with a great view of the TV. We both ordered a pint of Guinness. She ordered a steak with French fries, and I ordered their cheeseburger.
The food was delicious, like always. The game had started, and we both watched for a while. Nothing interesting was happening in the game yet.
Soon-Lee caught sight of a dart board. She looked back at me and grinned.
"Uh oh." I quickly finished my drink.
"Come on, let's play!" She grabbed my hand and I stood up.
I won't go into details about the darts game, since she thoroughly kicked my ass. I blame it on A-Rod hitting a grand slam in the bottom of the 3rd as I was about to throw. Apparently it really went foul, but the umpire called it fair. That's what I gather, anyways, from the loud boos and shouts of "Kill the ump!"
After the darts game I ordered my third pint and a large batch of fries. I was feeling a little tipsy. She was about half way done with her third and still looked sober.
It was the bottom of the 5th, and the Yankees were up 6 - 1. Soon-Lee chugged the rest of her drink down, and said, “I bet I could kick your ass in pool.”
“You’re on. Name your game, beautiful.”
“9 ball,” she said simply. She took my hand when I stood up, and led me to the pool table.
Big Papi hit a 2 run single during one of my shots. I grumbled something that would’ve got me tossed out on my ear if I said it any louder.
I actually won a game, though! I was surprised at myself, not playing pool much before. Watching her play was reward enough, I think.
We sat back down after pool and ordering more drinks. We watched the game, now that it got interesting with Manny hitting 3 runs in at the top of the 7th, tying it up. Soon-Lee snuggled up to me, and I put an arm around her, causing no objection from her. She looked a little buzzed, even though she's had at least 2 pints more than me by now.
(I could almost imagine my Irish ancestors yelling, "Ach! Yer bein' out-drunk by a KOREAN? I dinna know ye anymore, lad.")
For a change of pace, I ordered 2 shots of Baileys and 2 half-pints of Guinness. "You ever hear of an Irish Car Bomb?" I asked Soon-Lee. (Note: NEVER order an Irish Car Bomb at an Irish pub. Baaad idea.)
She looked at me. "You know...I can't say that I have."
I told her the technique, and we were about to have a toast to our health, when there was a shadow that crossed our table. "An Irish Car Bomb. Ironic choice of drink, Mr. Flannigan."
I looked up at him, sobering instantly, staring at a man in a black, government-style suit, with a solid silver pin on his lapel. "That was a long time ago, sir."
He opened his hands wide. "We were and still are eternally grateful."
"Listen," I started. "I am enjoying a fantastic evening with this lady. Explain yourself, please. I don't like violence, especially in front of ladies." Soon-Lee looked between me and him, a puzzled look on her face.
He bowed his head slightly, "Very well, Mr. Flannigan. I represent the Society. We would like...no, we require your services. We will pay, of course, many times what you make right now." He slides a business card across the table. "Call this number. Any time. Do not feel pressured."
"Too late," I said.
He smiles slightly, and then bows his head to each of us in turn. "Ms. Kim...Mr. Flannigan. I bid you good evening." He then turns on his heel, and leaves.
I pick up the card. "The Society. Call us day or night." Simple. I slipped the card in my inner jacket pocket.
Apparently the Bo-Sox won the game during the encounter. I think we were too shook up to be excited about it. We finished our pints in near silence, though conversation seemed to pick up after we finished. Found out she’s lived in Utah all 24 years of her life, was a 4th generation Korean, and doesn’t speak a lick of the language.
We left around midnight, deciding the night was pretty much over. No way in hell we’d try to drive. Finding a cab was impossible, but there was a limousine waiting out front. A man was leaning against the car, in a government-style suit, wearing a silver pin in his lapel. He smiled at us when we walked by.
“Can’t find a taxi, sir?” Wasn’t the same guy.
“No, doesn’t seem that way.”
“Where are you heading?”
“Um…Layton, then to downtown SLC.” Soon-Lee looked up at me, but said nothing.
The man smiled. “I can take you two home.”
“Sorry, sir, we can’t afford a limo.”
“No charge.”
I stared at him. I pulled the card out of my jacket pocket, looking at it. “Who are you guys?”
“We are Messengers from the Society.”
“Which Society?”
“The Society.”
I quirked an eyebrow at him. I didn’t want the Vaudeville act. “OK, Costello. Why the sudden interest in me?”
“I do not know. It is not my business to know. All I am required to do is drive you two home. No harm will come to you. I promise.”
Soon-Lee and I both stared at him. I leaned in to Soon-Lee. “Seems genuine enough.”
“Are you sure?” Soon-Lee asked.
“No, but we don’t have a choice. And besides, he doesn’t look trustworthy. Which means he is.” To the driver, “OK. We’re going with you.”
The man smiled again, and opened the door for us. Soon-Lee went in first, and I followed after her. He shut the door,
The ride was silent. No music or anything. Soon-Lee dozed off at my shoulder. We made it back to her place rather quick, taking about 15 minutes. I woke her up, letting her know we were back. She yawned and stretched. “Mmm…OK. Could you stay over? I’d feel better knowing there was someone else in the house. I have a couch you can sleep on.”
“Of course. I’d feel better, too, I think.” She opened the door and got out, with me following.
As we walked up to her house, the driver said, “Have a good night, Mr. Flannigan. Sleep well.” I waved back, half-heartedly.
In the house, Soon-Lee grabbed a blanket and a pillow, and laid it on the couch. She walked up to me and gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Good night, Pat. See you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
-----
Morning came quick. I must have passed out at an odd angle on the couch, since my back and arms were sore. I checked my watch. 10:25. I heard soft snoring coming from Soon-Lee’s room, so she was still asleep.
I stood up to go to the kitchen, then sat right back down again. My head was pounding. When I stood up again, I went to the kitchen and put some coffee on. As I was waiting for that, I scrounged around for a pan and a spatula. Looking in her fridge I found a full carton of eggs and a package of link sausages. No pancake batter from what I could tell. Ah well. Sausage, eggs, and toast will do fine.
While I was cooking the sausage, I heard a rather tired sounding “Good morning” from behind me.
“Not so loud!”
She giggled, then “Ow. Don’t make me laugh…”
“Coffee’s on. And breakfast should be about 5 more minutes.”
“Ooh, thank you.”
Breakfast was good, like it always is. We chatted about the game last night, mostly to see if we still remembered it. The bits and I remembered and the bits she remembered pieced together to form a rather entertaining game. We avoided talking about the two guys in suits for now, seeing as how we weren’t in much of a state of mind to think too heavily.
Soon-Lee said she’d run me by the bar so I could get my car. I opened the door, and there in the driveway, behind her car, was mine, with a man leaning on it, wearing a government-style suit and a silver pin in his lapel.
“Good morning, Mr. Flannigan. Ms. Kim. I trust you slept well?”
I stared at him. “Very well, thank you. How did you-“
“We have our ways, Mr. Flannigan.” He walked around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and started the car. “See? No bombs.” The man smiled at me. He bowed slightly. “The Messengers will bother you no more. We have done what we can. The rest is up to you.” He bowed again. “Good-bye, Mr. Flannigan.” He walked next door where there was a limo waiting for him.
I turned to Soon-Lee. “All things considered, I had a pretty fantastic time. We should go out again, sometime.”
“Of course. Hopefully without any government-types scaring us.”
We hug, both of us holding on to each other tight. Both of us manage to kiss each other on the cheek. Her head pulls back, then leans in, kissing me full on the mouth. After about a couple of days of bliss (or maybe a couple of seconds), we break the kiss. She hugs me again. “Have a good day, Pat. See you on Monday.”
I hug back. “Yep. See you then.” I get in my car, and drive home.
-------
Aaah that is a lot! Please provide comments, good or bad. And constructive criticism, please. This is still more or less a rough draft.
Just as I sat down at my desk, cup of coffee in my hand, Soon-Lee, my secretary, paged me.
"Yes?"
"A Mrs. Fredrickson to see you. Philanderous husband." If there's a cuter way to say "philanderous" I'll never know.
"Send her in."
Somehow her expensive perfume followed her in, and I knew the kind of client I was going to be dealing with. It was a "rich" perfume, the kind whose only purpose is to say "The person wearing this has a lot of money". I wouldn't call her old quite yet. Maybe 50. Botox injections evident.
She sat without introduction or invitation. "I need you to find my husband." To the point. Interesting.
"Who's your husband?" I asked.
"Darius Fredrickson." She said, almost like I should know already.
"OK. How long has Darius been missing?"
Mr. Frederickson has been missing for 2 weeks. He went on a business trip, and a few days after he left I couldn't get to him on his cell phone. Didn't answer email, either. I bet you he's banging some broad."
"I assume you want me to find out for sure."
"Yes, why else would I be here?"
She was right, of course. I didn't need to escape to find out. I played along.
"I see, well," I paused, watching her. "The going rate would normally be about $100, all in advance."
"Whatever it takes."
"Do you know where he is?"
"He said he went to St. Louis, but apart from that, I don't know."
I nodded and sighed. "Right. Before I escape, I will need the payment."
She sighed, and took her check book out. "I assume you take checks?"
"Of course. Make it out to 'Patrick Flannigan.' I spelled my name out for her, just in case.
"How long does this...trip...take?"
"They're escapes, Mrs. Fredrickson, and usually no more than 2 minutes."
She slides the check across the desk. "Again, it will be just a moment; I may be unresponsive." I leaned back in my chair and escaped.
We were right.
I came back. "Darius...is in St. Louis. Ramada Inn, room 213."
She looked puzzled. "How do you know it's him?"
"You two are very faintly connected, for now. He feels guilty."
"Well, tell me about the person you found. I want to make sure it's my Darius."
"He's about 30, right?"
"Yeah, 32."
"Let's see. Muscular, fit. Short brown hair."
"Sounds like him. How tall is he?"
"Well...ma'am. I couldn't tell you."
"And why not?"
"I can't judge height while he's on the bed."
Color flushed her cheeks. "He...he's sleeping."
"I don't think so, ma'am. He was having rather active sex with a red head."
She got flustered. I don't think she expected to be right. "Well...I...it's not him. I know it. He doesn't like red heads anyways."
"He does like it rough, though, right? Ropes and handcuffs and all that."
"What?!"
I was trying to not be blunt, but I couldn't help it.
"Is his mother a red head?"
"Um...yes...but, why...why do you ask?"
"If you see him again, I'd suggest taking him to a psychiatrist. That's all I will say." I pulled out a piece of paper, and wrote the phone number to Darius' room. "This is his number, if you need it."
She stood up, looked at me with a don't-you-dare-tell-anyone-about-this look. Snatching the paper out of my hands, she says, "Thank you very much for your services, Patrick, and -"
"Mr. Flannigan."
"Yes. Well. Mr. Flannigan. I hope you're happy." She stormed out of the office, shouting "Get out of my way!" to Soon-Lee.
I sipped at my coffee, putting the check in the drawer. I had 5 minutes of peace until Soon-Lee paged me.
"Yes, Soon-Lee?"
"A Mr. Jackson to see you. Philanderous wife."
"Ok, send him in."
I should start charging more.
-----
5 at night. It was a busy day, which is odd, considering it was a Thursday. Soon-Lee and I left the office together, locking up behind us. We parted ways with a "See you tomorrow!"
Ah. Home. It's a humble apartment, in the nice-but-not-too-rich part of Salt Lake City. My cats, Spenser and Spike greeted me at the door. Spenser, being a Siamese, likes to talk. Spike, a black cat, stayed silent. Spike was the bigger of the two, and by the scars, seemed to be the one protecting Spenser.
I called for some pizza, then, on a whim, called Soon-Lee on her cell phone.
"Hello?"
"Anyonghaseyo!" I said, with a horrible accent.
"Hey, Patrick! What's up?" I could hear cars in the background. She lived in Layton, about 20 miles north of SLC.
"Not much. I'm going to an Irish pub up in Ogden that's playing the Sox game tomorrow night. You want to come?"
She almost gasped. "I would love to! Oh my god, the Sox are amazing! It's game seven, right? Against the Yankees?"
I was surprised. "Yep, it should be a good game."
"We are so going. What time?"
"The game starts about 7. Shall I pick you up, say, around 6?"
"Sure, that would be good! Um, we might have to leave the office a bit earlier, though."
"Don't worry about it." I thought for a second. "We'll close up about 2 or 3, depending."
"Ok, cool. Listen, I need to get going the traffic is getting heavy."
"Of course. I will see you tomorrow, then. Drive safe."
"Ok! Good night!" She hung up a bit too late, I think, since I heard a happy-sounding squeal.
I set the phone down, just as the pizza came. I wiped the sweat off my hands.
24 years old, and I still get nervous asking a girl on a date.
-----
Somewhere in London
“I have bad news, sir.”
“Hello to you too. What’s wrong?
“The Grand Citizen has been murdered.”
“What? How?
“Phone bomb, sir.”
“A what?”
“A phone bomb. The GC was about to make a call from a pay phone. Only managed to say a word before the mouthpiece exploded. The only good news is that there was nothing left of the GC’s skull to identify him.”
“Comforting. Was it one of our phones?”
“Sir, it’s 2008. They’re all ours.”
“Good point. Did anyone use that phone before the GC did?”
“Not that we can tell, sir.”
“Has the GC used the phone before?”
“Once, about 10 years ago. Both times the GC was dialing the emergency line to the Elder Council.”
“I see. How does this phone bomb work, anyways?”
“From what we’ve ascertained, it was a simple voice recognition circuit board wired up to a decent bit of C4. There’s no way that thing would be perfectly accurate, based on how little room there is in the mouthpiece. The lab guesses that it would’ve gone off on about 3000 other people in London. Not accurate at all.”
“It didn’t need to be accurate. But why would they have to be even as accurate as it was?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir. My guess is that maybe it’s been there a while, and they didn’t want anyone else to ruin the surprise for the GC.”
“How did anyone outside of the Elder Council know what the GC sounds like? Furthermore, how did they get a recording?”
“I don’t know sir. Someone on the inside more like. Um. Hold on, sir. I need to take this, it’s the Chief Citizen in America…hello? Yes, we’re both here…what?...An American?...How do you know?...I see. He can help?...Of course I trust your judgement…OK. Go ahead and tap him. Hurry, if you can…OK. Cheers.”
“What was that all about?
“A man by the name of Patrick Flannigan. Apparently he could help us out. He lives in Salt Lake City, running a detective agency.”
“So much faith in an outsider?”
“He won’t be for long. Their Messengers will take care of that.”
“They better not scare him off. I want to go there, send my personal invitation.”
“Of course sir. Let me get my jet ready. Ooh, wait.”
“What?”
“You owe me 20 quid.”
“Why?”
“The Grand Citizen was male.”
----
Friday was slow, only 3 cases. I got directions to Soon-Lee's place, and we left around 1:30.
Once home, I took my time getting ready. I showered, shaving around my goatee.
I dressed a little "up" for the night, deciding on a single breasted black pinstripe blazer. Underneath I had a deep, burgundy button-down shirt, which was tucked in the front of my light denim jeans, showing off a simple black belt and silver buckle. My loafers matched the belt (of course). The shirt had the top 4 buttons unbuttoned, showing the head of Manny Ramirez peeking out.
I put on cologne, giving myself the once-over twice in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair, wondering about a hat. No, no hat tonight.
I checked on my car, cleaning it up, then just hung out, watching the pre-game coverage on TV.
Around 5, I gave myself the once-over again, deciding for, then against the hat. Realizing I was about as ready as ever, I left for Soon-Lee's place.
She lived in a small, single family house. Right at 6 I knocked at her door. And, right at 6, she opened it.
"Punctual," we both said at the same time.
"Gorgeous, as well," I said, producing a rose from my sleeve. Which was about all I could say, at the moment.
I said "gorgeous" before. "Stunning" might have been a better word. For one thing, in a manner that defied logic, her top was the same shade of deep burgundy as my shirt. (Every time I tell this story I have to swear that I did not escape for this fact. Completely coincidental.) She wore a halter-top, with an adventurous (well, for Utah in October) but not whorish neckline. The midriff of her top was sheer. Her skirt was black silk, about knee-length, and wasn't too tight. Her hair was unbound, drifting over her shoulders and down to about the middle of her back. The perfume she wore was something the French might call "I cannot believe zis is American!" No make up, from what I could tell.
She smiled at me, carrying her purse and jacket in the same hand. I offered my elbow, and she took it. (That's the nice thing about Utah; the dating rules are about 50 years behind everyone else. Refreshing.)
We get in the car and we drive on to Ogden, Dave Brubeck playing on the stereo. There was small talk, mostly about work and some of my weirder cases. It was relaxed, no awkwardness.
There was valet service at the pub, which I made use of.
My usual booth was open, a corner one with a great view of the TV. We both ordered a pint of Guinness. She ordered a steak with French fries, and I ordered their cheeseburger.
The food was delicious, like always. The game had started, and we both watched for a while. Nothing interesting was happening in the game yet.
Soon-Lee caught sight of a dart board. She looked back at me and grinned.
"Uh oh." I quickly finished my drink.
"Come on, let's play!" She grabbed my hand and I stood up.
I won't go into details about the darts game, since she thoroughly kicked my ass. I blame it on A-Rod hitting a grand slam in the bottom of the 3rd as I was about to throw. Apparently it really went foul, but the umpire called it fair. That's what I gather, anyways, from the loud boos and shouts of "Kill the ump!"
After the darts game I ordered my third pint and a large batch of fries. I was feeling a little tipsy. She was about half way done with her third and still looked sober.
It was the bottom of the 5th, and the Yankees were up 6 - 1. Soon-Lee chugged the rest of her drink down, and said, “I bet I could kick your ass in pool.”
“You’re on. Name your game, beautiful.”
“9 ball,” she said simply. She took my hand when I stood up, and led me to the pool table.
Big Papi hit a 2 run single during one of my shots. I grumbled something that would’ve got me tossed out on my ear if I said it any louder.
I actually won a game, though! I was surprised at myself, not playing pool much before. Watching her play was reward enough, I think.
We sat back down after pool and ordering more drinks. We watched the game, now that it got interesting with Manny hitting 3 runs in at the top of the 7th, tying it up. Soon-Lee snuggled up to me, and I put an arm around her, causing no objection from her. She looked a little buzzed, even though she's had at least 2 pints more than me by now.
(I could almost imagine my Irish ancestors yelling, "Ach! Yer bein' out-drunk by a KOREAN? I dinna know ye anymore, lad.")
For a change of pace, I ordered 2 shots of Baileys and 2 half-pints of Guinness. "You ever hear of an Irish Car Bomb?" I asked Soon-Lee. (Note: NEVER order an Irish Car Bomb at an Irish pub. Baaad idea.)
She looked at me. "You know...I can't say that I have."
I told her the technique, and we were about to have a toast to our health, when there was a shadow that crossed our table. "An Irish Car Bomb. Ironic choice of drink, Mr. Flannigan."
I looked up at him, sobering instantly, staring at a man in a black, government-style suit, with a solid silver pin on his lapel. "That was a long time ago, sir."
He opened his hands wide. "We were and still are eternally grateful."
"Listen," I started. "I am enjoying a fantastic evening with this lady. Explain yourself, please. I don't like violence, especially in front of ladies." Soon-Lee looked between me and him, a puzzled look on her face.
He bowed his head slightly, "Very well, Mr. Flannigan. I represent the Society. We would like...no, we require your services. We will pay, of course, many times what you make right now." He slides a business card across the table. "Call this number. Any time. Do not feel pressured."
"Too late," I said.
He smiles slightly, and then bows his head to each of us in turn. "Ms. Kim...Mr. Flannigan. I bid you good evening." He then turns on his heel, and leaves.
I pick up the card. "The Society. Call us day or night." Simple. I slipped the card in my inner jacket pocket.
Apparently the Bo-Sox won the game during the encounter. I think we were too shook up to be excited about it. We finished our pints in near silence, though conversation seemed to pick up after we finished. Found out she’s lived in Utah all 24 years of her life, was a 4th generation Korean, and doesn’t speak a lick of the language.
We left around midnight, deciding the night was pretty much over. No way in hell we’d try to drive. Finding a cab was impossible, but there was a limousine waiting out front. A man was leaning against the car, in a government-style suit, wearing a silver pin in his lapel. He smiled at us when we walked by.
“Can’t find a taxi, sir?” Wasn’t the same guy.
“No, doesn’t seem that way.”
“Where are you heading?”
“Um…Layton, then to downtown SLC.” Soon-Lee looked up at me, but said nothing.
The man smiled. “I can take you two home.”
“Sorry, sir, we can’t afford a limo.”
“No charge.”
I stared at him. I pulled the card out of my jacket pocket, looking at it. “Who are you guys?”
“We are Messengers from the Society.”
“Which Society?”
“The Society.”
I quirked an eyebrow at him. I didn’t want the Vaudeville act. “OK, Costello. Why the sudden interest in me?”
“I do not know. It is not my business to know. All I am required to do is drive you two home. No harm will come to you. I promise.”
Soon-Lee and I both stared at him. I leaned in to Soon-Lee. “Seems genuine enough.”
“Are you sure?” Soon-Lee asked.
“No, but we don’t have a choice. And besides, he doesn’t look trustworthy. Which means he is.” To the driver, “OK. We’re going with you.”
The man smiled again, and opened the door for us. Soon-Lee went in first, and I followed after her. He shut the door,
The ride was silent. No music or anything. Soon-Lee dozed off at my shoulder. We made it back to her place rather quick, taking about 15 minutes. I woke her up, letting her know we were back. She yawned and stretched. “Mmm…OK. Could you stay over? I’d feel better knowing there was someone else in the house. I have a couch you can sleep on.”
“Of course. I’d feel better, too, I think.” She opened the door and got out, with me following.
As we walked up to her house, the driver said, “Have a good night, Mr. Flannigan. Sleep well.” I waved back, half-heartedly.
In the house, Soon-Lee grabbed a blanket and a pillow, and laid it on the couch. She walked up to me and gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Good night, Pat. See you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
-----
Morning came quick. I must have passed out at an odd angle on the couch, since my back and arms were sore. I checked my watch. 10:25. I heard soft snoring coming from Soon-Lee’s room, so she was still asleep.
I stood up to go to the kitchen, then sat right back down again. My head was pounding. When I stood up again, I went to the kitchen and put some coffee on. As I was waiting for that, I scrounged around for a pan and a spatula. Looking in her fridge I found a full carton of eggs and a package of link sausages. No pancake batter from what I could tell. Ah well. Sausage, eggs, and toast will do fine.
While I was cooking the sausage, I heard a rather tired sounding “Good morning” from behind me.
“Not so loud!”
She giggled, then “Ow. Don’t make me laugh…”
“Coffee’s on. And breakfast should be about 5 more minutes.”
“Ooh, thank you.”
Breakfast was good, like it always is. We chatted about the game last night, mostly to see if we still remembered it. The bits and I remembered and the bits she remembered pieced together to form a rather entertaining game. We avoided talking about the two guys in suits for now, seeing as how we weren’t in much of a state of mind to think too heavily.
Soon-Lee said she’d run me by the bar so I could get my car. I opened the door, and there in the driveway, behind her car, was mine, with a man leaning on it, wearing a government-style suit and a silver pin in his lapel.
“Good morning, Mr. Flannigan. Ms. Kim. I trust you slept well?”
I stared at him. “Very well, thank you. How did you-“
“We have our ways, Mr. Flannigan.” He walked around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and started the car. “See? No bombs.” The man smiled at me. He bowed slightly. “The Messengers will bother you no more. We have done what we can. The rest is up to you.” He bowed again. “Good-bye, Mr. Flannigan.” He walked next door where there was a limo waiting for him.
I turned to Soon-Lee. “All things considered, I had a pretty fantastic time. We should go out again, sometime.”
“Of course. Hopefully without any government-types scaring us.”
We hug, both of us holding on to each other tight. Both of us manage to kiss each other on the cheek. Her head pulls back, then leans in, kissing me full on the mouth. After about a couple of days of bliss (or maybe a couple of seconds), we break the kiss. She hugs me again. “Have a good day, Pat. See you on Monday.”
I hug back. “Yep. See you then.” I get in my car, and drive home.
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Aaah that is a lot! Please provide comments, good or bad. And constructive criticism, please. This is still more or less a rough draft.