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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Fanfiction · #1631746
An interesting thing happens at the table next to a couple on their first date.
The restaurant would not have been my first choice, but that was where Julie and I were going to eat. After months of build up, the time was finally right. To say I was nervous when we walked into the restaurant would be a monumental understatement. As the host showed us to our table, I hoped she could not see my hand shake as I pulled her chair out. If she did, she was a very good sport. She smiled graciously and even seemed to blush slightly.

“So, how are you liking your new job,” I asked somewhat sheepishly, “is it nice?”

“Yes,” she replied, smiling, “it’s very nice. I like it better here than my last job.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

My mind had gone blank. This was supposed to be a date, and after waiting so long to get here, I was blowing it. The night was complete with awkward silences, incoherent muttering on my part, feigned interest and constant watch checking on her part, and even a spilled water glass. At least I didn’t trip the waiter. Julie seemed much more interested in the conversation going on at the table next to us. The man was tall, had dark hair, and looked to be in his mid to late forties. The woman was slightly younger than the man, and had a very dark complexion. She looked like she might have been from South America, but she did not speak with an accent at all. They were obviously a couple, and they were arguing.

“I told you honey, sometimes these things take time, and the world doesn’t always revolve on YOUR schedule,” the man said as he pointed an accusing finger at the woman, “just be patient…”

“I’m done being patient,” interrupted the woman, “you’ve had this job now for three months, and I’m not going to wait any more.”

“Well, what would you like me to say? I don’t have anything to tell you right now.”

This was much more interesting than the strained adolescent conversation Julie and I were having.

“If you can’t get the information, then I’ll just have to find someone else in your department that can,” said the woman in a mock-seductive voice, “then what will you do? You can’t really tell on me, now can you?” The woman smiled.

“No, I can’t tell on you, but this has gone far enough! I’m done. Let’s just walk away from this before it gets any bigger. I’m already facing some heat at work.”

“That is not my problem. You said you could get it, so get it. You’re the one that found me, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, then I suggest you remember about the rest of our deal the next time you come in here saying ‘I don’t have anything’.” The woman looked for a moment as if she was going to throw her drink in the man’s face, but she quickly composed herself, and when she spoke again, her voice was much more calm, and she seemed to exude a quiet confidence that had been absent before.

“Let’s not fight,” she pleaded, “can’t you just give me something, anything at all?”

“Fine,” conceded the man as he reached into his pocket and removed a small USB drive. He reached across the table and placed the drive next to the woman’s wine glass. She looked at him for a brief moment, and with a satisfied grin, removed the drive from the table and placed it in her handbag.

“Very good Marv,” she said, “I knew you had one more good job left in you.” The woman took a white envelope from her handbag and slid it across the table to Marv, who accepted it with the look of a prize fighter who had just taken a dive, and was none too proud of it. When Marv looked in the envelope, I could see a stack of one-hundred dollar bills. I looked back at my date. By the look on her face, I guessed Julie must have seen the money too, and as we looked into each other’s eyes, we each knew what the other was thinking.

We both reached for our guns at the same time.

“Freeze! FBI,” we both shouted, pointing our guns at the surprised couple, “don’t move!”

A dozen other agents moved in from around the restaurant to surround the spy and his handler. A year of investigative work had finally paid off.
© Copyright 2010 TJ Fitzgerald (chieftj at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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