“Needs a woman’s touch, Xander, but I’ll give you kudos, this place is nice. I think I’ll like it here just fine,” she said to the empty room, her hands resting on her slender hips. She didn’t care for Agent Papa’s hideaway which was at a marina, it was okay, but smelled of rotting fish. Agent Lima’s hideaway was in the inner city of Chicago as was Agent Vector’s apartment, Zahara suspected that it was where the men had grown up. Not very imaginative. Agent Vector was dull and by the book. If he weren’t an agent, he’d be a great pencil pushing robot. Zahara didn’t have a hideaway, she preferred to drift the highways during her downtimes. She’d grown up in Atlanta, Georgia, a fourth-generation Turkish immigrant. Her grandfather had served in Vietnam and had come home with a few medals. Her father had served in Desert Storm and came home with a Purple Heart and a drug habit. Her mother and father had died before her eyes when she’d been five. She’d been placed in foster care after that and had been bounced around and abused until she turned eighteen.
She’d learned early on to depend only on herself. She’d gotten her education and then had gone to the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia and told them point-blank that she was an unprecedented asset they could not afford to pass her over. She’d taught herself three other languages besides her native Turkish roots. She’d become quite fluent in Farsi, figuring that would be one of her greatest skill sets. She’d been correct and had gone through extensive training with determination and a slow simmering rage. She figured rage was just part of her DNA, because it was always there, like a second skin. A lot of agents were like her, something drove them and it was usually rage. You had to have something wrong with you if you killed for a living. She figured pretty much all the agents were broken in some way. Well, maybe not Agent Vector, he was just an anal-retentive prick.
Zahara came back out to the porch and sat back in the rocking chair, then got back up and picked up Xander’s pipe. She wasn’t a smoker, but took a puff of his pipe. She smiled, she really liked it.
Ž
Reginald Watergrass slammed the heel of his palm on the steering wheel. He felt the heat of fear and frustration climb up from his chest, lodge in his throat and strangle him. Ahead of him the traffic was at a near standstill. What in the hell was going on? He’d been listening to the news about some kind of virus and everyone was warned to wear their masks, wash their hands and take precautions. Nothing really new. He’d switched from radio stations WAHR, WBHY and WBZR-FM and none of them had any explanations. Then he’d heard on several stations that some of the hospitals were being inundated with too many new patients and those folks were being evaluated, then sent home with no care given. He’d talked to his wife, Marney, yesterday and she said she and the boys were fine. They were sticking close to home.
Reggie was an electrical engineer and was sometimes called away from home for out-of-town jobs. It wasn’t often but the money was good. He’d been called away again and he was only four hours away from Huntsville, Alabama. He and Marney had gotten into it just before he left. Now he couldn’t get her on the phone and there were now mixed reports about the infected and the virus that was running rampant across the world. Some kind of pandemic but they were vague about death tolls. He wondered if the chinks were responsible for this one or the camel jockeys? Fucking scabs. He dialed up Bobby, hoping the man could swing by the house.
Bobby was a member of his Klavern. He’d tried to reach some of his other friends and neighbors, but no one was picking up and once more he felt the wave of panic wash over him. He heard the call go through.
“Bobby, this is Reg. Need a big favor. I can’t get in touch with Marney, can you swing by and take a look? Make sure her and the boys are okay?”
“Hey son, sure, but it might take me a bit. I’m at the dealership and my people have gone AWOL. Not that there’s anyone buying right now. Fuckin’ virus. You think them Chinese slanted eyed bastards did this? Anyway, got people just walkin’ round in a daze. No sense at all, they should be home in bed, not spreadin’ their sickness,” Bobby Dealer grumbled.
“Thanks. I tried just about everyone else. No one’s pickin’ up,” Reggie said and saw more taillights ahead go red and swore under his breath. It was stop, go, stop, go.
“I’m thinkin’ they’re takin’ advantage of me and just not comin’ ta work. Okay, gotta go.” Bobby hung up and Reggie had wanted to know if he’d call back? Or have Marney call him. He flung the phone to the seat beside him. His thoughts went to the fight they’d had. He had thought he’d married a conservative, old-fashioned girl but over the years, Marney had become more liberal. Especially, since Jeb and Hunter were born. He couldn’t say the N word or even coon. She’d jumped up his ass when he’d called some boy down the street a beaner. Where had his wife gone and who was the woman in her place?
He was a hard-working white man in an increasingly OTWW, other than white world and when they’d first married, his affiliations with the Klavern and KKK never bothered her. Hell, her own father had been a member. His father, grandfather had all been members. It was what he grew up knowing. He knew that some
