"International Caper" story segment

[temporarybreakdown]

This was written a few nights ago. I've tried to catch any glaring spelling/grammar mistakes, but it's otherwise unedited! =D

Feedback appreciated! (Obviously)

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Blue eyes met blue eyes. One pair, penetrating gray, resided beneath a mop of graying dark brown hair, and above an aristocratic nose. The other pair, sparkling green, was hidden by a shaft of dyed-black bangs, and mirrored the sass of a petulant mouth.
"More ginger ale, Abby?" The bartender broke the spell of the moment.
"Abigail?" the handsome stranger inquired.
"Abra," the girl corrected, pushing her glass towards the bartender with an affirmative nod.
"Parker," the gentleman extended his hand.
Abra took it.
"For you sir?" the bartender directed his attentions towards Parker, after placing Abra's refilled champagne flute in front of her.
"More of the same," Parker indicated Abra's ginger ale and sat down beside her.
Abra spun her barstool so she faced the stranger's profile. "You know, you intelligence men really do stick out like sore thumbs," she murmured, watching the bartender out of the corner of her eye.
Parker's jump was so minuscule, it was more of a flinch. "We try not to." A fizzing mug appeared in front of him. Parker contemplated it for a moment, then beckoned the bartender. "A spike of rum, if you don't mind," Parker pushed the mug towards him. "I think I'm going to need some support, dealing with this one," he muttered under his breath.
The bartender obliged, grinning.
Abra grinned, smugly.
Parker downed about half of the mug in one gulp, then turned to Abra, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You can laugh. Do you know I've been all over London looking for you? I've been on this assignment for six weeks-- they were about to call me back to headquarters and replace me with some kid!"
"So sorry," Abra didn't bother to hide her amusement, deftly taking the mug from Parker's hand and sipping from it.
Parker appeared to contemplate Abra for a moment. "And I thought all the stories about you were just urban legends," he finally mused out loud, "I had no idea you really were this difficult."
Abra spluttered a little, returning to her own ginger ale. "Did you expect me to fall into your arms in gratitude?"
"Well, no, but you could at least appreciate the fact that they sent an experienced old codger like myself, instead of somebody still wet behind the ears, fresh from the academy."
"If you put it that way..."
"Enough of the chit chat," Parker interrupted her, abruptly quitting his barstool, "We have an appointment to keep."
Abra looked at Parker through narrow eyes over the rim of her flute. "I don't remember anything on my calender for this afternoon."
"It's not this afternoon, it's tomorrow, but I would rather make it to Paris by tonight, if you don't mind."
"Erm, Paris?" Abra showed the first sign of discomposure Parker had seen during their meeting, "I don't know anyone in..."
"Exactly. That's why we're going," Parker held out his hand to help Abra down, then at the silent protest in her eyes, explained further, "So you can meet him."
"You know," Abra claimed her jacket from a rack by the door as they left the pub, "If you weren't so obviously one of them, I would be demanding some proof of identification."
"Of course you would. You're no dummy."
"You don't think so? I'm flattered."
"I'm just quoting the general opinion of you at headquarters."
"Oh, so you do think so!"
"I didn't say that," Parker hedged, flustered.
Abra laughed. "I supposed you're at my hotel?" she changed the subject after a moment of awkward (on Parker's part) silence.
"No, they advised against it." Parker seemed distracted.
"Do you do everything they advise?" Abra ribbed, trying to draw his attention back.
"In this case," Parker replied, slowly swinging his eyes back to her, "yes."
Abra stopped still in the middle of the teeming London crowd, trying to catch the hidden implication in Parker's eyes. Something sinister, something she hadn't expected, was afoot. "This isn’t a standard calling in of reinforcements, is it?" She finally asked, surprised breathless by the implications of Parker’s words and tone.
"Not exactly," Parker gingerly pushed a crumpled newspaper off the curb into the street with his toe. "Could we wait to talk until we’re at your hotel?"
"You think I’m going to let you come up to my room?" Abra squeaked, indignant.
"I assure you, I’m a perfectly respectable and well-behaved gentleman," Parker looked down at Abra, who was almost young enough to be his daughter, with something like amusement playing with the corners of his mouth.
"Nevertheless," Abra retorted, hands on her hips, "I’m a respectable and well-behaved young woman with a reputation to maintain. You American men can afford to be seen at all hours, in all places, with all manners of company, and no one thinks the less of you for it! Females, on the other hand--"
Parker held up a hand to stop her tirade. "You’re American too, remember!"
"Originally, yes. Quit trying to change the subject!"
"Look, we need someplace private to talk. Now is it going to be your hotel or mine?"
"Oh, mine I suppose." Abra gave an irritated shrug of her shoulders, accompanied by a sharp huff of air. "I can tell the bellboy that you’re my dear Uncle Alberto, or something."
"Roberto."
"What?"
"If I must be such an unsavory creature as your uncle, I would rather it be under the pseudonym of Roberto."
Abra looked at Parker, expressionless, for several long moments, then threw back her head and laughed.

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I might write more... I might not. I kinda like it the way it is, just a little "snapshot"... but then again, Abra is a really fun character to write, so this tale just might end up being told in its entirety. =D

 

[elf_lady_9]

I like it! it's very interesting! I think you should write more of it.

 

[temporarybreakdown]

Thanks! =D
Turns out, I did write more... and I'll hopefully be writing more, yet!
Critiques always welcome.
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Twenty minutes later found them in Abra's hotel room; Parker in the only, and very uncomfortable, chair, and Abra perched on the foot of the bed.
"DuChene himself isn't above dealing with us," Parker was saying, "but there seems to be some third person influencing him from their side."
"So he's delaying the transaction?"
"Right. Carson gave us carte blanche to get his blueprints back, but only until the end of November. By then, he figures the plans will have already been copied, and he might as well invest the money in new research."
"But it's taken him-- how many years to develop this set of plans?" Abra's eyes were wide.
"Oh, fifteen at the least." Parker shrugged. It was the American "think-tank" president's money and time, not his.
"So it's rather important that we find out who this third party is, why they're interested, and ultimately how we can convince DuChene to sell, in spite of their influence."
"You catch on quick." Parker's tone was half approving, half sarcastic.
"Thanks. But that doesn't exactly explain why the agency needed me to do the job, and you to help me. Or is it the other way around?"
"Oh, I'd say it's pretty evenly split. As to why you were assigned... you have to ask?" His smile was mischievous.
Abra blinked. "Maybe," she said after a pause.
"Okay, then, for clarity's sake. You'll be doing what you do best-- mingling. Blending, infiltrating, gate-crashing, whatever. You find the outside influence and get the dirt on them. Then it will be my job, once we hold all the cards in our hands, so to speak, to negotiate with DuChene."
Abra laughed in self-deprecating humor. "What, they don't think I have a head for business?"
Parker smirked. "Mmm, rather the opposite."
"A girl drives a hard bargain once too often, and look what happens."
"Uh-huh. You've still got scars from that one, don't you?"
Abra pushed her bangs off her forehead, so Parker could see the white line that began just above her left eyebrow and disappeared into her hairline. "And elsewhere," she admitted after a few moments under Parker's stare.
He looked at her a heartbeat longer, then changed the subject. "You spy, I deal. Capiche?"
"Yea, I capiche. Guess I'd better start packing..."
"I'll meet you in the lobby at four."

Dawn found a clean, crisp fog hovering over Paris. Abra strained to see the top of the Eiffel Tower through the white mist, but Parker walked along with his collar up and chin down.
"You act like you've never seen Paris before," his words were teasing, but his voice was on edge.
"You act like you're afraid of being seen!" Abra giggled softly, and skipped ahead of him.
"I'm cold," Parker shot back, as Abra stopped, waited for him, then slipped her arm through his as they continued walking.

A single doorway between two seedy shops, the words printed on the glass long unreadable. A narrow flight of stairs, a sharp turn to the right, an upper room in the back of the building.
Parker knocked briskly, then walked in without waiting for an answer. His arm was around Abra, herding her.
She stepped into the dingy room, stamping her feet in the shadowy cold. There were no curtains or shutters on the windows, but they had been papered over with something yellow and oily, and the building across the alley didn't allow much light in, anyway.
"DuChene," Parker called, his voice still tense and harsh.
Abra gasped. She had forgotten to ask Parker who the "him" they were going to meet was. She had assumed it was a contact from the agency, not the criminal mastermind himself! She laughed at herself. Criminal mastermind, indeed. Even if dime-novel talk like that was justified, it certainly didn't apply to a man who used an old, dark, and freezing storage room for an office, no matter how many minions he had working for him!
Parker had left Abra to her thoughts, standing in the middle of the room and shivering, while he walked around.
Abra finally determined that he wasn't actually looking for anything, just pacing. "I suppose it would be, er, unethical to search his desk?"
"At this stage in the game, yes."
"I, uh,"
Parker spun around instantly at the frightened, strangled note in Abra's voice.
She was gulping, white-faced, and staring. She swallowed once, twice, before squeaking, "Is that a foot?" And pointing to the desk.
Parker followed the line her shaking fingered indicated. A brown shoe, barely visible in the murky shadows and against the fake wood wastepaper basket, projected from behind the desk. Parker walked slowly towards it. He was perfectly comfortable risking his own life; not so comfortable dealing with those who had lost theirs. He finally stood behind the desk, staring down at whatever was lying behind it.
"Parker?" Abra's voice was still squeaky.
"Abra, go call the police." Parker said, almost absentmindedly.
"By myself?" Her voice instantly leapt back down to its normal register.
Parker looked up at her, snapping out of his morbid reverie. "There was a policeman just down the street, wasn't there?" He smiled encouragingly at her.
"Right," Abra bolted, hoping first to catch the policeman before he left, and second to drown her fright in physical exertion.
Parker waited until he heard her feet pounding down the stairs, then knelt down by the corpse. It wasn't pretty. Nothing with a bullet through its head could be, he supposed, but he'd seen worse. Parker remembered vividly the suicide of a foreign agent that had been under surveillance. The thief-- that's all he had been, a stealer of information-- had realized the game was up, but out of spite (sure not out of loyalty to some mother crime syndicate!) had blown his own brains out. That really hadn't been pretty. Now this... this was almost neat, in comparison. The wound was so clean, in fact, that though it had been mortal, it had left the face recognizable. A shot fired from a distance, then! A simple deduction. Still, Parker was puzzled. Because in DuChene's left hand was a gun. A set-up, obviously enough. Except for one fact... DuChene was left-handed, and practically no one knew it! The advantage of having the government's file on a man... If it were a frame, Parker would have expected to find the gun in his right hand... Parker shook his head. Abra would be back with the police any minute. He began a methodical and cautious search through the dead man's pockets, then through the drawers of the desk.

The policeman was still standing on the corner, a disinterested, almost bored look on his face.
Abra ran up to him, feeling for a fleeting moment like a madwoman. "Murder! Body! Upstairs--!" She gasped, pointing, pulling the officer's sleeve.
He stared at her, shocked.
The madwoman sensation returned, stronger and more sustained, and Abra took a deep breath to calm herself. She ran a hand through her hair, sure it had been standing on end, and addressed the policeman again in her most official voice. "Abra Douglas," she pulled her ID badge out of her pocket and waved it under his nose, "I'm with the--"
The policeman grabbed her arm and started walking briskly in the direction he had seen her running from. "Let's go."

Parker was waiting at the upstairs door for them. "Over there, by the desk." He stepped back, seeming content to let the policeman do his job.
Abra watched her companion with growing curiosity. In the short time she'd known him, Parker hadn't struck Abra as the type to let a stranger appear on the scene and take charge. She would have expected Parker to be over there, telling the officer not only how they had stumbled across the body, but suggesting several theories on what happened before their arrival. Instead, he stood detachedly to the side, rocking back and forth on his feet in a bemused way that bordered on impatience! Abra squinted, trying to see his face in the dim light. Yes, there was a veiled excitement there, a tightness of his jaw, that told her his impatience was not only justified, but based on some new discovery. She suppressed her desire to run to his side and shake the secret out of him.
Parker felt Abra's stare. He turned to her, and Abra could see even more clearly the glitter in his eyes. A quick glance at the policeman told Parker that he wasn't paying any attention to them. Parker moved his hand, the slightest twitch, and patted the pocket of his coat. He nodded, ever so slightly. First in affirmation, then towards the desk that hid the body from their view.
Abra's pulse missed a few beats, then resumed at a racing speed. Her wide eyes gleamed, and she pursed her mouth, the sweet taste of adrenaline springing to her tongue.
Parker frowned, his eyes warning her not to betray anything.
Abra schooled her features, just as the policeman turned from his study of the corpse.
"So then," he said, his English so perfect that his French accent was hardly detectable, "Is this how you found him?"
Abra nodded, then thought to admit, "But I didn't go over and look at him."
"Just like that," was Parker's monosyllabic confirmation.

 

[LordoflordsKingofkings777]

Are you writing more? I'm really enjoying...

 

[temporarybreakdown]

Heh... yep, I'm writing more. Not in mass quantities, since my schedule until Christmas is c-r-a-z-y... but here's the latest, anyway.Thanks for reading it. Glad you liked it! =D

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Once a forensic team arrived and a semblance of a statement was taken from Parker and Abra, the two agents were ushered away from the crime scene with surprising rapidity.
Parker looked back over his shoulder at the building as they walked away from it. "Funny how they were in such a hurry to get us out of there, with minimal fuss. You would almost think they knew we were..." he stopped. "Abra, did you tell them?"
"I showed the officer my badge. He didn't believe me at first, about the body." Abra tried not to sound as defensive as she felt. "Should I have not told him?" Or sarcastic.
"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter..." he trailed off.
By now, Abra was used to Parker's habit of staring off into space. Instead of trying to regain his attention, she merely waited it out. She looked in the direction of his stare for several minutes without seeing anything. When Parker spoke again, it startled her.
"Thanks for not saying anything in front of the officer."
"Oh-- you mean about-- say, what did you find, anyway?" Abra bounced on her toes, excited.
"Let's get back to the hotel. I'd rather not show you here in the middle of the street."
"Could we stop for something to eat and talk then? We've missed lunch by a long shot, you know. Or is this a 'walls-have-ears' type of sensitive subject?"
"I suppose we can talk at the restaurant. I'm rather hungry myself, now that you mention it."

Abra barely gave herself time to swallow a mouthful of pasta before demanding, "Show and tell time! What'd you lift?"
Smiling, enjoying the upper hand he held, Parker slowly pulled a small envelope from his pocket. He let Abra stare at it, drool over it, for several long moments before tossing it over to her and saying with feigned nonchalance, "A party invitation."
"A what?! Parker, you..." Abra picked the envelope up and slipped a small card from inside it. Her expression slowly changed from confused shock to delight. "You genius! And DuChene's name isn't even on here!"
"Once again, Abby wins first prize for perception."
"Shut up, and don't call me Abby. Did you bring any formal wear? I sure didn't."
"Are you kidding? I always pack my tuxedo." Parker rolled his eyes. "And didn't I hear the chap at the pub in London calling you Abby?"
"An old family friend. What could I do? So does this mean we get to go shopping in Paris?" Abra bounced in her seat like a little girl who had been promised a ride on the merry-go-round.
"Yes, but you don't have to look so happy about it." Parker glowered.

"I hate rented tuxedos!" Parker muttered, running a finger around his collar.
"Don't--! Oh, now look what you've done. Your tie is all crooked!" Abra fussed over him, straightening his tie and lapels, brushing a stray piece of lint from his shoulder.
"Enough, enough!" Parker gently pushed her away. He looked impatiently out the taxi window. "I wasn't expecting to go all the way to the other side of Paris!"
"We've hardly been driving for ten minutes," Abra shot back, fidgeting with her earrings.
Shortly, the taxi driver pulled up in front of a brightly-lit mansion. The grounds were far from extensive, but large trees gave it an air of seclusion.
"Well, here we go!" Parker opened Abra's door and helped her out of the taxi. He offered her his arm after paying the driver, and they walked to the front door.
A uniformed servant greeted them, "Your invitation?"
Parker held out the small piece of paper.
The attendant gave it the briefest glance, then nodded. "Enjoy your evening."
Parker and Abra stepped into the cacophonous swirl of lights and sound, smiling at each other in relief.
"That was the easy part," Parker bent down to whisper in Abra's ear. "The fun is just beginning."
"Tell me about it," Abra whispered back. She gave Parker's arm a tiny squeeze, then left his side and disappeared into the crowd.

There was a shadowy corner of the ball room, home to a few plush couches. It was here Parker secluded himself in order to keep an eye on Abra, realizing with chagrin that the men already sprawled on the couches, fast asleep and snoring heavily, weren't much older than himself.
The contrast of Abra's dark hair against the cream satin of her dress made her easy to pick out of the teeming mass. Still, Parker found it hard to keep up with her exact location. One minute she was in the middle of a laughing group of Parisian belles, the next she was on the dance floor with a handsome young man in uniform. Parker found himself stifling a yawn. He got up and began wandering around, studying the architecture of the house. It wasn't as old as he'd guessed from first appearances; turn-of-the-century, he decided. From the outside, the house had appeared to be squarely built, but the inside proved that assumption wrong, as well. More doors led out of the ball-room itself than Parker had seen in some entire houses. Glimpses through these doors showed dark, narrow hallways leading off in multiple directions. There was a spiral staircase, opposite the corner that held the couches. It led to a small balcony that ran across two walls before terminating in a narrow, straight staircase.
Couples occupied the balcony, sitting close together on love-seats upholstered in rich brocades. Large, ornate portraits decorated the plain wood walls of the dimly lit balcony, in contrast to the gilded walls of the rest of the ballroom. Parker's attention was drawn to the doorway directly at the bottom of the straight stairway. Except for the floor-to-ceiling main entrance, most of the other doors seemed to be utilized by servants only. The door by the stairs, however, was honored by several men in tuxedos-- dignitaries, if Parker knew the mark of a good tailor when he saw one-- and even a few richly dressed women. Parker decided to touch bases with Abra. It took him a minute to spot her smiling up at a blond, bohemian sort of fellow as he waltzed her around the room. Parker politely cut in.
Abra curtsied to her partner, and waited until he was gone to show any sign of recognition to Parker.
"Tired of missing out on the fun?" She smiled up at him, her eyes glistening with a strange mix of joi de vivre and bloodlust. Situations like these were the whole reason Abra Douglas worked for the agency.
"You looked like you were enjoying yourself." Parker returned her smile. He found it amusing that Abra danced with him in content silence for several minutes. He was just beginning to enjoy the situation when Abra finally spoke, in aggravated tones.
"All right, pal. You didn't come over here to dance me off my feet. What have you found?"
Parker bit his lower lip. Laughing hysterically, even though he longed to do it, would only get them stared at. "Who says I found anything? How do you know I simply didn't suffer an acute attack of jealousy, seeing you flirt with all those gigolos?"
"Don't taunt-- it's not nice. What did you fin--" Abra almost stopped dancing in her surprise. Parker expertly caught her, steadying her on her feet.
"You saw the door, too!" Abra hissed excitedly.
Parker allowed himself a hearty chuckle. All during their waltz, he had been slowly leading Abra across the dance floor towards the suspicious doorway.
They broke away from the group, repairing to the shadow of the staircase.
"Any ideas?" Parker assumed a posture of casual intimacy, leaning an arm against the wall, making it only natural that he should bend close to Abra. Should anyone happen to be watching them, Parker intended to look like anything but a couple of spies.
"Not one." Abra didn't quite catch on to the guise Parker had adopted, but leaned into his half-embrace in her professional zeal.
"I don't suppose you could just, say, barge in? Pretend you mistook the door for another? It's not like there aren't dozens to choose from in this room," Parker ended with a scoff.
"Sorry, that's no good unless I play drunk. I've tried it before, sober, and gotten myself locked in a closet. And before you ask, no, I'm no good at playing drunk."
"Have you ever been drunk?" Parker raised his eyebrows, smirking.
"Well, not completely knackered."
"You are just a baby, aren't you?" Parker shook his head in mock dismay.
If he was trying to get Abra riled, he failed, because she just rolled her eyes and changed the subject.
"So what's your next brilliant idea?"
"We could just tell them the truth--"
"That we're American agents on assignment to get Carson's blueprints back, and find out who murdered DuChene?!"
Parker's head snapped up. "Wait a minute," he held up his hands. "Nobody said we were supposed to find DuChene's murderer."
"But--"
"No buts! Let the police handle that one. We don't need to meddle with something that they're completely capable of doing. It would just slow us down, and we're running out of time as it is."
Abra frowned, but nodded. She stood in thoughtful silence for a moment, then slowly mused, "So what you meant was... just wander in, and admit that we're a couple of nosy Americans?"
"Something like that." Parker smiled.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to mosey in that direction. There are times when the closer to the truth you are, the less suspicion you arouse."
"My thoughts exactly. So how many times have you been proposed to tonight?"
"What?!" Abra stopped walking to stare up at Parker.
"It's another story they tell about you at headquarters. Every case you work on, you get at least twenty marriage proposals."
"Do you believe everything they say about me?"
"So far you've done nothing but prove them right."
"I'll have to work on being a little less predictable," Abra muttered, and Parker laughed.
"Predictable isn't the word for you, dear. You've just been well-documented."