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November 16, 2005

The Real Story

When Yabu and I first really “met,� I was working undercover for the NOPD. There is a long and varied story behind how I came to choose that path that I may or may not one day share.

Through a series of events orchestrated by all that is vile and corrupt in Louisiana, particularly New Orleans, my cover was ultimately compromised. Rather than adopt a uniform and hit the beat, I opted to take my skills for weaponry and language, natural talent for blending into a multitude of cultures (a blessing of multiracial ethnicity), and experience and free-lance.

Though our contact over time was few and infrequent, Yabu eventually came to know of my status and revealed to me his position of a purveyor of information and antiquities.

Yabu is and has always been well-connected. He has the means to lead a comfortable life, but chooses the life of a nomad and adventurer. I simply think he is insane.

As dear as he is to me on occasion, his eternal optimism has placed him and, more importantly, me in more than one compromising situation. As a result, I have had to think long and carefully whether I would not be better off slitting his throat first, then attending to my enemies. Fortunately for him, his pocketbook and connections equal his incorrigible charm and I still find I have use of him, despite my proclivity and penchant for solo travel.

When discussing our circumstances in Spain, Yabu failed to mention why we were stranded, running, and in a bind.

While concluding a transaction in Morocco, Yabu got word to me he required something of a plant to touch a guy in Spain who had something he dearly wanted.

Apparently, Yabu had been bested in a deal for some ancient piece of six-inch Japanese steel that he was obsessed about possessing. While the request was somewhat unusual, even for Yabu, I knew he would not rest until he had it and without sane assistance, probably would do something crazed and demented.

The good news was the mark lived on a small island off the coast of mainland Spain where security was non-existent, there were several options of ingress and egress without the necessity of formalities, and the only sign of governmental authority was a farmer acting as justice of the peace. The bad news was he lived in a compound atop steep and rocky cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean. There was only one road to the house and it was heavily guarded by men, dogs, and at least three check points, although my guess was there were probably more.

If we had tried to climb the sheer wall of stone on the seaside, it would have taken us the better part of a night to scale it and leave us with very little stamina to complete our objective. That would have been a fool's errand.

Yabu does have his moments and his wily charm and deep pockets were able to learn our mark had an appetite for ladies and gambling. Outfitting me handsomely before assuming the role of my driver and guard, Yabu ensured I was dressed to kill and had a seat at the high stakes table at one of the private casinos on the mainland.

It required several nights and several hundred thousand pesetas (this was years before the adoption of the Euro) before our man finally appeared.

There had been a couple of times in my career when a mark’s picture wholly failed to convey the individual’s appearance. While he looked very much like the photos I had seen, I was a bit on tilt and ill-prepared for the man’s sheer presence.

There was little room for role-playing at the table that night because our chemistry sparked like stone on flint. By the twelfth bell of the witching hour the man was busily trying to persuade me to return to his hotel with him. As tempted as I was, I feigned modesty and explained I had an ancient husband who indulged my gambling and travel but would not tolerate allegations of infidelity in his own back yard.

It worked.

I was then extended a weekend invitation to his island compound for me and my valet.

Everything moved along swimmingly well. More of Yabu’s money was spent to outfit me in glorious silks and baubles, and I was actually looking forward to “playing the game� with such a worthy and virile opponent.

What I failed to anticipate was Yabu’s reaction to my response to the mark. This was one of those incidents where Yabu was damned lucky I did not slice him first!

Once at the villa and only after we dined on a sumptuous meal with free flowing wine, did we begin to enjoy one another and the moonlight on a balcony overlooking the sea. My plan was to slip him a Versed-like cocktail, put him to bed, strip him, ruffle his hair and the sheets, and leave him with a note on a pillow and a pair of my panties discreetly tucked under him. The drug would have rendered him awake and pliable, but with no memory of what did or did not occur.

It was then I was going to question him regarding the location of the blade, collect it and Yabu, and be gone, as in leave in the manner in which we came.

Yabu, damn him had other plans.

Before I had the opportunity to administer the mickey, Yabu appeared to confront him and while they were exchanging blows I had no choice but to bean the guy with the butt of my pistola for fear their ruckus would alert servants and guards alike.

Too late, the alarm was sounded and we had to flee and the only available option was the cliff.

As destiny’s fortune would have it, we found the hang glider; however, I suspect Yabu may had had more to do with that than he has admitted. I have always known Yabu to be a Plan B and C guy. For his personality, mutliple optional plans are not just bonuses, but requirements.

While he would cast me as a handmaiden of death, I assert death is only a resort of last means. The Captain was not likely to give us his boat willingly, thus the last option was the only one. Witnessing his fate, the crew members were more easily persuaded to take their chances swimming to the island than staying aboard with me. Fair enough.

It was only after our borrowed boat made it to Morocco did Yabu reveal the blade was his. A few more contacts were made and wallets lined and we left there to enter the city of ancient Byzantium to regroup and allow me to engage my next client.

Impatient as always, Yabu wanted to leave immediately for Bavaria.

Not a woman to be rushed, I introduced him to a seraglio and offered him the opportunity to slake his pleasure there.

Posted by Domino at November 16, 2005 06:26 PM | Domino

Posted by: Ironnerd at November 16, 2005 10:26 PM

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Posted by: Yabu at November 17, 2005 11:42 AM

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Posted by: Kelly at November 17, 2005 11:59 AM

Posted by: Yabu at November 17, 2005 12:30 PM

Posted by: Ironnerd at November 17, 2005 01:03 PM

Posted by: Yabu at November 17, 2005 01:56 PM