Agent Clarissa

This story was inspired by my friend, Melissa Craig and her mysterious background.

Clarissa was an agent for the Australian secret service.  She had spent her whole career infiltrating the mob and now it was ruined by a partner she hadn’t wanted in the first place.  She told the chief up front Mackenzie was no good.  But he didn’t listen.  The men at the station all thought she couldn’t handle herself.  It wasn’t true.  She’d taken on more than any of them had.  Who was at the casino the night Baby Face Cortez was moving the shipment?  Who broke it up?  Who bankrupted the biggest family in Sydney for almost a year?  It was all her: Clarissa Pfeiffer.  But the papers didn’t know and no one gave her credit.  She was undercover.  Glory wasn’t the point of what she did but, damn it, she could use a little.

Now, a gun was pointed straight at her head.  Clarissa wasn’t afraid of death.  She knew it was a part of life, especially in her line of work.  If they wanted to shoot her they would.  There was little she could do to stop them.  It only killed her no one listened.  Men never did; especially back at the department.

She remembered starting out; thinking she could make a difference.  The only place to go was up and Clarissa relished it.  Life was simple and clear-cut.  She didn’t worry over power games, or gender bias as a street cop.  She went wherever Sydney needed her.

Mackenzie stared at her with guilty eyes.  He was crooked.  But he hadn’t always been that way.  Mackenzie had been a good cop at one time or another.  He just let the job get to him; the long hours, the strain on his family.  He started looking for a way out.  That’s how the families turned cops; always offered them a little more than what they had.  On the city’s budget that wasn’t a hard thing to do.

A goon or two approached to disarm Clarissa.  One tried to cop a feel and she gave him a swift elbow to the groin.  He smacked her back across the face but she refused to flinch.  Mackenzie looked sick watching the whole scene.  He cared for her.  They had dated for a short while, before he met his wife, but things didn’t work out.  Their personal relationship started interfering with work and they called it quits.  It was mutual but both kept feelings for each other.  Or at least, Clarissa thought they had…

She was lost in thought and didn’t see one of the other goons come at her.  He grabbed her hair and forced her to a corner.  It was painful but she knew it would be over soon.  The mob didn’t waste time with undercover agents caught in the act.

“Mackenzie tells us, you’re a spy,” said the lead boss, punching her in the stomach.  “That’s good news for him but very bad for you.”

Clarissa coughed up a small amount of blood but refused to give him the satisfaction of begging.  That’s one thing he would never get from her.  She’d seen good cops after they broke; they were never quite the same.  It was one thing to have your body wrecked, but another thing to feel like you’d betrayed a cause you fought for and believed in.

“We’ll let you live.  We only want one, little thing.”  He was holding Clarissa’s cheek up as his goons held her back.  “Tell us the names of the other agents, Mackenzie didn’t know.”

“Eat shit,” replied Clarissa, spitting at his face.  He wiped it off and smirked at her.

“It looks like this one’s going in the river.”

The two goons grabbed her by both arms and led her out the door.  Mackenzie stood watching, hating himself for it.  She had loved him.  But, he couldn’t love her back.  She was too perfect.  Mackenzie needed to feel like he was better.  It was in his nature; why his relationships, especially his marriage, failed.

It was getting to him.  He needed the money.  He needed to get away.  But damn it, the way they were touching her.  It lit a fire inside him.  Those fucking goons, he thought as one forced a kiss on her lips.  She was getting closer to the door that led to the car that drove to the river.

The boss’s holster was within reach.  He wasn’t a careless crime lord.  He just knew a guy like Mackenzie didn’t have the guts to make the move and ninety-nine times out of a hundred he would have been right.  But, not the day they laid their hands on Clarissa.  He was married to someone else but she was his.

Mackenzie grabbed the gun.  In a flash he shot the boss and went running after the two goons.  They were surprised but unshaken.  Clarissa was pushed in the car by one while the other stayed to deal with the rogue informant. 

“Give her up and this won’t get ugly,” said Mackenzie.

“The pig’s already headed away.  There’s nothing you can do.  Maybe next time you shouldn’t turn in the girl you’re crushing on.”

“And maybe,” said Clarissa pointing a gun from behind him, “you shouldn’t leave an Aussie secret agent alone with your partner.”

Before he turned around she threw a punch and knocked him out cold.  He would join his partner, already handcuffed in the car.  In the meantime, however, Mackenzie and Clarissa were left to face each other.

“I didn’t think you’d come through,” she said.

“You know me.  I always stick to the plan.”

They didn’t waste more time talking.  Mackenzie ran up to Clarissa and wrapped his arms around her.  She did the same.  It was the moment both had waited for.  Their lips touched and soon more.  The criminals were watching but neither cared.  Clarissa undid Mackenzie’s belt.  He took off her shirt and started working on her bra.  Before long, they had made love in the grass nearby.

“So, what do we do now?”  Mackenzie asked.  Both were staring at the stars.

“I’m done with it.  I hope you are too.  Maybe we can settle down somewhere.”

“What will we do?”

“Oh, I have a few dreams.  I’ve always wanted to write erotica.”

They laughed together; Mackenzie not knowing she was serious.  But she was.  Clarissa had never been more certain.

The Hoarder

She was not angry at the world. She was not abusive or mean spirited. Beth was an average woman with a problem. We all have our tics. Some people bite their nails, others grind their teeth and Beth hoarded.

It started innocently enough. Her husband had died a year before and her last child was finally leaving her for college. Beth threw a wrapper on the floor that day, cursing her loneliness. She looked at it for a minute in consideration before thinking what’s the point. And that’s how it began. Much as the first drop of snow causes an avalanche, or the first gale of wind begins a storm. Beth started to acquire things.

A broken table here, a smashed lamp there. Tissues; empty milk jugs; medicine containers; toilet paper rolls and picture frames. The list was endless.

She still collected on her husband’s pension therefore she never worked, and hardly left the house. The only time that anyone saw her was at the Supermarket. Beth’s cart was always full; full of cheap toys, kids clothes and other things she had no reason to buy. The cashiers just laughed, however, finding her quirky and senile. They never sensed a serious problem.

Winter came and with it snow that year. Her daughter Millie wasn’t coming home for Christmas. She had scheduled a ski trip somewhere off in Colorado. Beth remembered hearing Aspen but she wasn’t sure. It certainly felt like a slope inside her house as she huddled in her blanket to keep warm. A myriad of paper plates, bottles and other trash blocked her way to the thermostat.

She got up, pulling the blanket around her body. Beth stumbled over a rocking horse she had compulsively bought one afternoon. It hurt the arthritis in her hip as most things did.

Beth sat on the floor aching. Pushing the wooden horse out of the way revealed a heater. It seemed a godsend. If only there was a plug to reach, she thought. But it seemed an impossible task getting to one.

Gathering all her strength Beth began to move objects. It had been long since she found any motivation to do so. It felt liberating. A jacket was cleared, some pants, eggshells, moldy bread, etc. until she saw the dusty once-white outline of an electrical socket. She wiped it off with her blanket and then went to get the power cord for the heater.

It still worked. The heat warmed her in a way the blanket never could. Beth began to take off layers of unwashed, dingy clothes. Perhaps, she thought, it was possible to get things cleaned up again.

Papers and fabrics up against the heater began to smolder. Small flames flickered to life. Beth panicked in her head, wondering where on earth she had put even one of the fire extinguishers she bought.

The temperature rose, the oxygen began to disappear. Beth took one consolation as she gasped, falling to her knees. Her daughter Millie was alive and making the most of all the time she had remaining. That was something she held onto through the agonizing pain that ate at her before blacking out.