Paranoir

Ashjyr's Journal, October 3 2009, Saturday

The place looks familiar. Smells familiar. Aye, I have been here before.

Greying hair and wrinkled hands show me the way, no doubt agents planted to mislead me from uncovering the truth. With crystal clarity, I can see their malicious intent hidden behind a veil of forced smiles.

No. I must be inconspicuous. I must vanish from plain sight. Then, as if to read my mind, one of the cronies makes a passing comment on my attire.

'Next time cannot wear. Boss not happy.'

I have been marked. Damn.

So much for blending in. This assignment will not be easy. I will have to earn my keep this time.

With eager hands, I reach out for the manifest, casually left discarded on a table. As I begin reading, I realize this is no ordinary document. It has been deviously coded in a language I cannot understand.

What is this? Le French? Ze German?

No matter. My excellent memory will prevail. I was given this assignment for a reason, after all. Reaching into the deepest recesses of my mind, I unearth vivid mental images connecting all the dots in this kaleidoscope of misinformation.

Number 38.

Yes. That's the one. Entree Number 38. The rest is irrelevant. Accomplices. Decoys.

I must have struck gold. The agent that appears shortly after calling their bluff is suspiciously younger. Demure, yet seductive. Long hair, pleasing smile.

The enemy knows my weakness. Damn.

But I can see right through her. I mean her guise. Not her clothes. It is fairly dark and I forgot my xray glasses.

See, few people in this country will tell you that you are welcome when you thank them. She always remembered. Her training has given her away. Like how you can tell a hardened killer by the calluses on his hands.

Then, as if to cement my suspicions, I hear a query from just within earshot.

'Baked Alaska?'

The voice sounds like it came from a lesbian trapped in male body.

It appears there are others like me.

I mean about coming for the Baked Alaska. Not about being a Girly Man.

The reply is reassuring.

'1.5 hours.'

It appears The Master is in today. This will not be a wasted trip.