Scarecrow and Mrs. King
“A Bump in the Road”
Anne Riener
References made to the following Scarecrow and Mrs. King episodes: “Ship of Spies,” “There Goes the Neighborhood,” “Double Agent,” and “The First Time.”
“A Bump in the Road”
Anne Riener
References made to the following Scarecrow and Mrs. King episodes: “Ship of Spies,” “There Goes the Neighborhood,” “Double Agent,” and “The First Time.”
“What do you mean, we’re married?” Lee Stetson cradled the telephone between his shoulder and chin as he swiftly unfastened the last remaining buttons on his dress shirt. He rolled his eyes heavenward. “I thought legal had. . .” he stopped midsentence as the caller on the end of the line interrupted him. “Okay. Okay. Well, just take care of it.” He switched the receiver to his other ear; a growl of frustration rumbled deep in his throat. “Quiet is better than quick. Oh, and breathe one word of this to Francine and you’ll be eating soup through a straw for a month!” He slammed the phone down on the cradle and stared at it, almost daring it to talk back to him.
Toeing out of his shoes, Lee then shoved his hands deep into his pockets and paced the room of his Georgetown apartment. His stocking feet shuffled on the plush carpet. Abruptly, he stopped where he had thrown his overcoat over the back of the sofa, reached into the wool pocket and pulled out a diamond solitaire ring. Holding it up, it sparkled in the light that stretched from his bedroom. Eighteen-karat, he had told Amanda. He should know, it had been his mother’s engagement ring. He had been offered a ring from the scenario boys, but refused. This one seemed more fitting for. . . he shook his head in bewilderment from that thought. Yes, strange things had happened on that assignment, but again Amanda had been instrumental in helping him stop the trafficking of gold into San Angelo and finding his missing informant Orlando. He walked over to the wet bar and poured himself a drink. Lee swirled the amber liquid and then took a sip, the bitter warmth washed over his tongue. He then threw back the glass, emptying its contents, licked his lips and poured himself another two fingers. He shook his head. Orlando had been quite smitten with Amanda. The final night of the cruise, they were up most of the night in the lounge drinking and talking, she seemed to laugh at all of his jokes. “They weren’t even funny,” he mused. Lee clenched his teeth, feeling the muscles in his jaw twitch rhythmically. Confused, he blew out a deep breath. Why should he be jealous of Orlando? It wasn’t like HE had feelings for Amanda. He briefly touched his mouth, remembering her soft lips on his. They were just playing their covers—nothing more to it. He opened a secret drawer from under the wet bar and punched in a number combination, then placed the ring back into the safe. The hardened Federal agent stood there for a moment, before quickly grabbing his shoes and buttoning his shirt back up again. Clutching his car keys, he headed out the door.
****
“What did you say, Mother?” Amanda King feigned; she knew exactly what her mother was asking. It was the same questions over and over again ever since she and Lee had gotten back from San Angelo. Amanda busied herself with her hands buried deep in hot sudsy water cleaning the night’s dinner dishes at her home she shared with her mother and two sons in Arlington. She tried to blow a wisp of hair from her face that was threatening to fall into her eyes. Giving up, she drew her fingers across her forehead, tucking the hair back into place. Lathery soap covered her face as her mother handed her a dishtowel. “Thanks, Mother.”
“I just don’t understand you, Amanda.” Dotty West went back to drying the dishes. She finished a dinner plate, then opening the cabinet, she placed the dish on the shelf. “That film company of yours pays you to go on a cruise to the Caribbean as a location scout. A trip I might add, that got you to cancel your visit with your friend Kitty Holcomb. I mean, she was only in town for a few days, and you are closed lipped about it. When your Father and I came back from Hawaii, I couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful it was in paradise.” She threw the dishtowel over her shoulder and stared at her daughter. “Now, it was beautiful?”
Amanda paused for a moment thinking about the tiny island of San Angelo. It wasn’t as if she’d had time to do anything touristy as she and Lee had been a little busy trying not to get themselves killed. A lot had happened on that assignment. She thought about the streamlined wedding she had had with Lee. The flowers were nice, and so was the cake. Lee certainly was ruggedly handsome in his white tux. She then thought about the kiss they had shared after the minister had declared them husband and wife and her right hand involuntarily touched her mouth. Her lips still tingled. "Very.”
“Mmm-hmm,” her mother responded skeptically. She then took the silverware from the dishrack and after sorting them put them away. “And how is Mr. Simpson?”
Amanda could feel the color rise in her cheeks, as she pulled the strainer from the sink. Stuffing her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans, she rocked back and forth on her heels. “It’s kind of stuffy in the house tonight. I think I’ll step outside for a moment to cool down.”
“Whatever you say, Dear.” Dotty returned the towel to the dishrack and then padded over to the family room. She sat down on the couch and turned on the television. The voice of the evening anchor from the 10:00 o’clock news filled the room. “Tonight’s top story. . .” he droned on. She sat there for a moment then a confused expression crossed her face. “But it’s January.” She shook her head. “I’m never going to understand that girl.”
Amanda sat on a bench inside the gazebo as she fingered the pendant on her necklace. Her mind in a fog, she wondered what Lee was up to this evening. Her husband, albeit for a fleeting moment in time. Well, whatever it was, she alleged, he certainly wasn’t up to his elbows in dirty dishes. Thank goodness that was over. Not the dishes, but her “marriage” to Lee. She couldn’t imagine being really married to him, although, “How can a man look so damn sexy in a tux? she pondered. She shook her head in disbelief, but caught a glimpse of a comet shooting across the sky. “Make a wish,” she thought. “I wish.” She closed her eyes for a brief second.
"Hi, there," Lee’s rich baritone voice forced her to quickly open her eyes.
“Oh, my gosh!” She held her hand to her chest. “Lee, you scared me half to death!”
Lee shrugged and gave her a nervous smile. He watched her scoot over, silently inviting him to sit and he sat down on the bench next to her. A winter chill was in the air as a light wind began to pick up. Cold crept quickly through his coat and he saw Amanda shiver. He removed his overcoat and draped it over her. She began to protest, but he shook his head. They sat watching the clouds roll in blanketing the stars. Lee broke the silence, “What did you wish for?”
“Huh?” Her eyes widened in surprise.
He pointed to the heavens. “The shooting star.”
“Oh, you saw that?” She blushed slightly, snuggling deeper into the warmth of his overcoat, she smelled the lingering scent of his aftershave. “Nothing much,” she supplied, shrugging a little, “just wished for good health and happiness for my family.”
Lee nodded. He was silent for a couple of minutes. “Family’s important to you.”
“Of course, it is. You know that.” She looked over at him, and watched him nervously lick his lips. “What’s wrong?”
Lee stood up and blew out his cheeks like a pufferfish. He looked like he was about to say something then changed his mind. She watched the emotions play across his face. “Lee Matthew Stetson, you tell me right now what’s wrong?!” Worry was evident in her voice.
“Oh, no, I’m in trouble now,” Lee thought. Mother’s only use your full name when you’re in trouble. His mind wandered back to the last time he heard his mother use that tone of voice with him. It was after he had eaten a whole jar of canned peaches his mother had kept in the pantry. “Lee, please,” Amanda’s pleading voice echoed in the background bringing him back from his musings.
“I’m sorry, Amanda. I was just momentarily lost in thought.” He ran a weary hand through his hair. “Wait a minute. How do you know my middle name? I never told you.”
She let herself be lighthearted for a moment but still felt uneasy. “I have my ways.”
Lee gave her a sideways glance. “Hey, that’s my line.”
A smile teased the corner of her lips, then her face turned to all business again, as she patted the empty space on the bench next to her.
Lee sat back down, but couldn’t look at her. "Well,” he began. “Umm, well, yes. You see, it’s really not bad news or good news depending on a certain point of view.” His left hand sliced the air as he gestured.
“A certain point of view.” It was a statement more than a question.
“Yes,” he paused and licked his lips nervously again. “Remember earlier when Francine said our wedding was technically invalid?”
He heard her suck in a breath and then a barely audible sound squeaked out of her mouth, “Yes.” She wagged a finger between the two of them. “Are you telling me we’re still technically married?!” Her voice rose an octave. At his nod, she grumbled, “Great! Just GREAT! I bet you and Francine and the steno pool are getting a big chuckle out of all this!!”
Lee recoiled like he had been shot. “Amanda, please! Your mother is only a few yards away from us.” He tenderly put his hand on her shoulder, but before she could pull away, he explained. “No one knows, I swear. Well, maybe Billy, but he wouldn’t say anything. I know how important family is to you and how you wouldn’t go into marriage lightly. It was wrong of me to not tell you the truth about the wedding cruise. I honestly thought we would have the case solved before we docked in San Angelo. We’ve just hit a bump in the road. Technically, the marriage is still invalid. Legal will make it right; I can promise you that. However, it might just take a day or two. Okay?”
Amanda mentally counted to ten and then took a deep breath. “Better?” she heard Lee ask her. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded.
“Do you trust me?” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Of course, I trust you, Lee.”
“And have I ever steered you wrong?” Amanda gave him a sour look. “I mean, when it really mattered?”
She thought about it for a moment and shook her head no. Then she slapped her knees and stood up, “No honeymoon tonight, Pal.”
“Aw, shucks.” He smiled at her, his hazel eyes twinkling. Awkwardness continued to hang in the air, but he knew in her own way, she was trying to sweep it aside.
“I better get back inside before Mother comes out here looking for me.” She handed Lee his coat back. “And you look bushed.” After a brief wave, she opened the backdoor, and slipped into the house.
He paused for a moment, listening for the clicking sound of the deadbolt latching, and after seeing the porch light turn off, he shrugged on his jacket and flipped up the collar to keep the winter chill at bay. Tiny snowflakes that had just begun to gently fall, glistening on his coat as he rounded the corner of the gazebo and walked down the street to his waiting Corvette.
****
“Okay, folks,” section chief Billy Melrose’s voice boomed across the conference room inside the Agency. “We have received some credible reports that there will be an assassination attempt on President Reagan.”
“Has anyone interviewed Hinkley yet?” He heard one of his agent’s ask.
“Yes,” another voice replied. Billy turned looking up at the taller, solidly-built man standing next to him. He was wearing a well-fitted suit and carried an air of position about him. Billy introduced the man, “Many of you may remember Brock James. He was Agency, until the Secret Service stole him from us. The Agency will be working in conjunction with the Secret Service on this one. I will give the floor to him, so listen up.”
Brock stepped up to the podium, as Billy stepped aside. “John Hinkley, Jr. is still confined to a psychiatric facility here in D.C. The Secret Service has already interviewed him. He is still listed as mentality unstable, but based on the results of the extensive interview, we believe he is not behind this latest threat. Nor do we believe anyone who has visited him or has had contact with him is involved.”
“What do we know?” Francine Desmond asked, turning slightly she angled herself closer to him and leaned forward.
Brock’s warm brown eyes drank in the sight of her, before he cleared his throat and continued, “Glad you asked.” He motioned to the folders laying on the desk in front of the agents. “Now, if you’ll open to page one. . .”
****
Brock was standing next to the coffee station with Francine in the bullpen when he suddenly noticed an attractive woman he had never seen before.
“Sugar, right?” He heard Francine ask him.
“Huh?” He still was watching the woman with the shoulder-length wavy, chestnut hair wearing a sweater vest over a coordinating pink button-down shirt sitting at Lee Stetson’s desk, typing. “Yes, two please,” he replied absently.
Francine dropped two cubes of sugar into his coffee and after stirring its contents, passed the coffee mug to him.
He took a sip of his coffee, the warm thick liquid slid down his throat and he shivered with pleasure. “You still make a mean cup of coffee, Francine.” He brought the mug up to his mouth again, gesturing with the cup, “Who’s the good looking brunette? New agent? Maybe I should come back to the Agency.”
“Who?” Francine almost snorted coffee out of her nose, after she turned to see who he was looking at. “Oh, pul-lease. Amanda?! Kinky, Special Agent James. Are you now into frumpy housewives?”
“Oh, she’s married.” Brock tried not to sound dejected.
“No, divorced.” She flirtingly ran a long-manicured finger up his arm. “Me on the other hand.”
Brock continued to watch Amanda from a distance as he saw Lee Stetson come up behind her and say something to her. She smiled at him, then standing up and grabbing her purse from the back of the chair, she slipped the purse strap over her right shoulder. Then the two of them walked out of the bullpen. Lee’s hand was resting gently on the small of her back as he led her down the hallway. “Is there anything going on with her and Lee?”
With a smirk on her face and arching an eyebrow, she replied, “Only in her dreams.” Francine then burst out laughing, seeing the confused look on Brock’s face.
****
Amanda was sitting in the passenger seat of Lee’s Corvette as he turned into a gas station. She was sure if Lee looked at her at that moment, he would see the look of confusion on her face after she glanced at his fuel gauge. It was at full. “Um, Lee?”
“Yes, Amanda.” He was using that condescending tone of voice that drove her crazy, like he was talking to a small child.
Amanda clasped her slender hands together, placing them in her lap. “What are we doing again?”
“Well, Billy thought it would be a good idea to have you come with me while I talk to some of my contacts. For some reason, he thinks you are good at reading people.” Pulling in front of a pump, he then turned off the ignition.
“And why are we here at a gas station?”
“To talk to one of my family.”
“Your family? But I thought your uncle. . .”
He sneered. “The Colonel. No, civilian eyes and ears. Part of my network. People I trust pass information on things that they might have seen or heard.”
“Ohh.”
Lee stepped out of the car, with Amanda falling close behind him. A pretty girl dressed in greasy beige-colored coveralls and her hair pulled back into a messy bun approached them. “Fill'er up, Folks?”
Lee shook his head. “No thanks, but could you give a listen to my engine? I think I hear a rattle.”
“Sure thing,” the attendant replied. “Pop the hood.”
Lee opened the door and pulled the release. He then went around to the front of the car to help lift the hood. After securing the hood prop, he said, “I think the sound might be coming from the transmission.”
As the lady pulled out the transmission dipstick and wiped it down with a rag, Lee continued, “Rhonda, this is my associate Amanda King.” He introduced the two women. “She helps me out from time to time. And Amanda, this is Rhonda. Not only a great mechanic, but she makes a mean medovik.”
“Oh, so you’re. . .”
“Russian,” Rhonda finished the sentence for her. “No, American, but raised by my maternal grandmother, who came to America to raise my brother and I after our parents passed.”
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said empathically.
“Don’t be. I mean, thanks, it’s okay.” She put the dipstick back in and pulled it out once more. “You appear to be about a half quart low. Let me refill it for you.” Rhonda walked into the garage and headed to a shelf where the station kept everything from engine oil to gas additives. Coming back out she poured some of the liquid into the reservoir.
“Heard anything?” Lee asked her while they were under the hood again.
Rhonda shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know if it’s anything, but there’s a lot of grumblings coming from truck drivers regarding the increased cost of diesel and the new tax and regulations on diesel fuel. But if you want to know more, I suggest hanging out at Drifters. It’s a greasy spoon where a lot of the truckers stop and eat and fuel up before heading out to make their deliveries. It’s just off the next off-ramp.” Unlatching the prop, she expertly slammed the hood lid shut. She then wiped her hands with a shop rag. “That will be ten dollars.”
Lee handed her a ten and twenty-dollar bill.
She pocketed the money into her coveralls pocket. “Thanks, come again,” Rhonda called out to them as they climbed back into the Corvette and drove off.
****
Lee pulled the Corvette into a parking spot and shifted it into park. Amanda rolled her eyes when she saw they had pulled in front of the Here’s Mud in Your Eye bar. She made a bitter face.
Lee apologized. “I know, I know.” He got out and then walked around the car to the passenger side and opened the door.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said grabbing her purse. She then handed Lee his car keys.
Lee and Amanda walked into the sleazy mud wrestling bar owned by Lee’s snitch Augie Swann. The bar was strangely empty for a late Friday afternoon just before the evening dinner rush. Lee spied Augie behind the counter suspiciously hiding something. Augie relaxed once he realized who had entered his establishment. “Lee, my man. Good to see you. Oh, and the scrumptious Mrs. King. Still hanging out with this loser?”
“Augie,” Lee made a low guttural sound.
Augie stepped out from around the counter, wiping his hands with a bar towel. “Give me a break, Lee. My business is dying.” He gestured with a wide sweep of his hand.
“Couldn’t help but notice there’s no crowd,” Amanda queried, her head tilted slightly to one side.
“Yeah, the state took away my liquor license.” He leaned against the counter. “Can you believe it?”
“Shocked, I tell you, shocked,” Lee said sarcastically.
“I know, right? Oh, where are my manners? Can I get you anythin’? Water, soda, beer?”
“Beer?” Amanda asked, somewhat taken aback.
Augie went behind the bar again. “Sure.” He then glanced around the room; Amanda’s eyes followed his. Lee just rolled his eyes. Seeing no one else in the building, he opened a secret compartment where he kept the spirits. “The bar dates back to the days of prohibition. All these neat nooks and crannies just burstin’ with liquor.”
Lee shook his head in disbelief. “Augie, you do realize that is contraband?”
“Aw, come on man. I ain’t hurtin’ no one.” He pulled out a beer bottle and after twisting off the top, took a sip. “Quit being such a stick in the mud.” Augie laughed at his own joke but then his laugh turned into a strangled cry. “Besides, the bank’s gonna be taking the place soon anyway.” He took another swig, taking a moment to compose himself. “Really, can I get you anythin’?”
“No thanks, Augie,” Amanda answered for both of them. “We’re working.”
Pitching forward, Lee cleared his throat. “Heard anything recently?”
Augie took another swig while simultaneously dipping his hand into a bowl of pretzels on the counter. He tossed some pretzels into his mouth, chewed briefly then washed them down. He surveyed his surroundings once more. “Not much, I’m afraid.”
“Well, that’s too bad.” Lee said, grabbing Amanda’s elbow, he started to lead them out of the bar. “I guess we’ll just have to leave now.”
“No, wait!” Looking pathetic, he held out his hand. “Maybe I do have something for you.” Eager to earn some money, a smile teased the corner of his mouth when he saw Lee reach into his wallet and take out a twenty-dollar bill. His smile brightened when he saw the look Amanda gave Lee and he reached into his wallet grabbing another twenty. “Yes, now I remember, I was hanging out at Drifters the other night.”
Amanda interrupted, “You have your own bar and grill, why would you be eating out?”
“The cook quit,” Augie said matter-of-factly.
“Maybe if you paid him—” Lee’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Augie threw up his hands. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Go ahead, Augie,” Amanda encouraged him to continue.
“Okay, for you Mrs. King. I don’t know how you put up with him day after day.”
“Well, he does have his moments.”
“Amanda!” Lee spoke through his teeth.
“What’s your problem with Augie? He’s harmless.”
“Harmless? Harmless!?” Lee’s nostrils flared. “Don’t you remember last time we were here, he offered you a job mud wrestling for him?” He raked both his hands through his hair, his face hot with anger. “He’s scum. He’s lower than scum. He’s pond scum.”
“Well, you are the one who keeps coming to him for information. And he deserves to be heard and deserves the benefit of the doubt.” Amanda’s arms folded stiffly across her chest.
Lee scoffed. “He’s a two-bit snitch.”
“Information broker,” Augie interjected, with a touch of indignation. “And I am right here, if you didn’t notice.”
Lee massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off a headache he felt coming on, and sighed. “You’re right.” He softened his tone. “Now Augie, what did you hear?”
****
Lee smacked the steering wheel in frustration and honked the horn. They were stuck in Friday night traffic on the Beltway and there was little he could do to get around the mess. Amanda put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and he relaxed a little. The vehicles in front of him began to edge forward.
“Lee?”
“Yeah,” Lee answered without taking his eyes off the road.
“Why do you hate Augie?”
“I don’t hate him.” From the passenger seat, he heard Amanda scoff. “I tolerate him, because sometimes, occasionally he has something usual.”
“But what’s the difference between someone like Augie and someone like Rhonda?”
Lee thought for a moment before answering. “Well, I guess most of those who give information are patriots. Nurses, grocery clerks, gas station attendants, even housewives,” he acknowledged with a wink, before continuing, “People who want to see the good guys win.” Leaning his head against the headrest, Lee let out a sigh. “Some, like Augie are after nothing more than turning a quick buck. And sometimes he gives not the most reliable information. He steered me wrong once or twice.” Lee chuckled and shook his head. “I remember this one time—”
“What?” Her eyebrow arched in curiosity.
“Later.” Lee replied, seeing a break in the flow of cars, he punched through the rush-hour traffic.
“Later, means never.” Disappointment was evident in her voice.
****
A few days later, Amanda was sitting at a desk in the bullpen, headphones covering her ears as she was speedily typing what she heard on the tape, when she felt someone was behind her. Thinking it was Lee she thought, “Not this time, Buster.” She whirled her office chair toward the presence. However, her knees made contact with a good-looking gentleman whom she had never met before.
“Oh, my gosh!” She quickly slid the headphones around her neck. “I’m so sorry.”
The gentleman rubbed his knees. “No need to apologize. It was all my fault.” Amanda drank in the sight of him. He was tall, probably even a little taller than Lee, she surmised. Attractive too, his dark brown hair was lightly gelled and he had welcoming brown eyes and a continual smile as he introduced himself.
“Brock James, Secret Service. And you are Agent. . .?”
“No Agent. Just plain old Amanda. Amanda King. Civilian Auxiliary. Part-time. I don’t even own a gun. Or have a codename. Or a badge. Just a visitor’s pass,” she rambled, as she held up the pass. Amanda was sure color was rising from her chest to her cheeks.
He extended his hand toward her. “Nice to meet you, Amanda.” Holding her hand a bit longer, he held her attention and added, “And you are neither plain, nor old.”
Amanda was sure she was growing more crimson by the minute, but mustering a smile, she returned the greeting.
Brock then perched himself on the edge of the desk.
Lee strode through the double doors of the bullpen. Abruptly he stopped when he noticed Amanda chatting amiably with Brock. They were both sitting at his desk. He watched as Amanda laughed heartily at something Brock had said. She then gently touched his arm. “She’s not his type,” he thought. The muscle in Lee's jaw pulsated, as he crossed the remaining space between them in three long strides. “What’s up?”
“Hi, Lee,” Amanda said, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Amanda was just telling me about the first time you two met and the whirlybird, sugar in the gas tank, and the dreaded Killick hitch.”
“Who can undo the Killick hitch?” She laughed.
“Who indeed?” Brock started laughing again and Amanda’s laugh mingled with his.
Amanda stopped, seeing the look of annoyance on Lee’s face.
“If you two are quite done, our covers are ready for us,” Lee said, his arms folded firmly across his chest.
“Sure Lee.” Amanda stood up, grabbing her purse, she slung it over her shoulder. “Nice meeting you, Special Agent Brock James. Maybe we can do this again sometime.”
Brock was going to return the sentiment but seeing the icy glare on Lee’s face, he changed his mind. “Good luck, you two.” He watched Lee quickly school his features, before turning on his heel and breezing out of the room. “Who do you think you are fooling, Scarecrow?” Brock said to no one in particular.
****
Placing the order ticket on the wheel, Amanda hollered, “I need a bowl of red with a bow wow all the way, a hockey puck, make it cry, two dots and a dash, and a cowboy western.” Lee’s head popped up through the small opening between the front and the kitchen. She had to repress a smile as the usually meticulously dressed Lee Stetson, was dressed like a short order cook. Sweat beaded on his forehead and using his apron, he swiped it across his brow. “You're really doing very well. Really,” she encouraged.
He shot her a venomous look as he rang the counter bell. “Order up.”
She grabbed the plates and turned toward her waiting and hungry customers. Amanda surveyed the chaotic scene in front of her. Drifters was a typical truck stop diner, one of those low-price-point restaurants serving standard American fare and all-day breakfast. Along the wall of windows were the booths, where families usually sat. The truckers liked to congregate at the counter stools talking and commiserating with themselves and the waitstaff that would bend a friendly ear. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted, while a jukebox in the counter played a 50s tune. Amanda, who was dressed in a pale pink waitress uniform with a matching hat, and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, stopped at a nearby table. “Biscuits and gravy, with a side of bacon,” she slid the plate toward the patron, before continuing, “and for you a Western omelet.” She slid the second plate toward the gentleman’s dinner companion. “Can I get you anything else?” After seeing them shake their heads no, she walked behind the counter with a fresh pot of coffee, refilling coffee cups for the four truckers who sat at the counter barstools.
“I’m telling you, if we don’t do something soon, our way of life is going to end,” she heard one of the truckers tell his companions. She saw the three other truckers nod their heads in agreement.
“Can you believe the price of diesel? It’s BS! If the government doesn’t do something soon, there will not be one of us free-sprinted souls left. Trucking will be taken over by the big corporations, there will be no more husband-and-wife teams just out to support our families,” another trucker said with a thick Texan drawl.
“We gotta do something,” the third trucker said, stirring cream into his coffee, he took a sip and then leaned forward with his elbows on the counter. “Makes me want to go down to the White House; give him a piece of my mind.”
“Yeah!” The truckers all agreed.
Lee came out from the kitchen and leaned against the wall; his arms crossed, listening intently to the conversation before him.
“But what?” The bald trucker at the end of the counter asked.
They all looked at each other, seeing if anyone had any ideas.
“I know,” the smallest of the truckers said. He was a tiny slip of a man, who didn’t look like your average truck driver. He stroked the rough stubble on his chin. “I think we should march on Washington. Roll our trucks down Pennsylvania Avenue. All our trucks; cargo trucks, fuel trucks, log trucks. Stand in solidarity.”
“Yeah, I mean, don’t they realize it’s us truckers who keep America moving. Without us, the supply chain would collapse,” the Texan reasoned.
“Yep. We could crush the economy in just one blow.”
Amanda looked over at Lee after she noticed he stood a little straighter.
The four truckers then shook their heads in resignation.
“We could all be out of work tomorrow,” said the first driver. He put his fork down and pushed away his empty plate. “Reagan doesn’t fool around. Look what he did to the air traffic controllers.”
“Yeah,” they agreed. Frustration and exhaustion were apparent in their collective voices.
“Well, I don’t know about you guys,” the older of the drivers said, throwing some money down on the counter. “I’m too old to start looking for a new job. So, what am I going to do?” He heaved a heavy sigh, while standing up. “I guess, we’ll just have to pass the additional costs onto the consumer.” He then shrugged on his jacket. “See you later Mike, Carl, Steve.”
“Bye, Ron,” they raised their hands in farewell as he walked out the door and then continued with their meals.
A fair-skinned man with continuous tattoos sat in the far corner booth, he had been watching the scene in front of him, and shook his head in disbelief. “Amateurs,” he said under his breath. A waitress appeared before him a second later. He stared at her, wondering if she had heard him, but she looked to be busy with her restaurant duties. She slid a plate toward him. “Ham and eggs, over easy, orange juice, and toast,” she said, leaving a second plate with buttered toast and a small glass of orange juice in front of him. “Anything else?” He dismissed her with a wave.
Amanda walked over to another booth and pulled the order checks from her front pocket. “What can I get you?”
“Amanda?” She heard a voice say. She gasped, when she realized it was Augie Swann sitting there in front of her. Recovering quickly, she said, “Hello, welcome to Drifters. My name is Mandy. Have you decided on what you will be having this evening?”
Augie sized up Amanda from head to toe, then back down again stopping as he read her nametag pinned to her uniform, sure enough it read ‘Mandy.’ “You’re new, ain’t you? Nothing I like better than fresh. . .”
“Finish that sentence Augie and I’ll call Lee from the kitchen. And I don’t think you would like that at all.”
Augie shook his head and responded with a firm, "No."
“And don’t you even think of pinching my derrière.” She pointed a warning finger at him.
“No, of course not.”
“Glad we got that out of the way. Now, what can I get for you?”
Augie opened the menu and pursued it for a few moments. “Yeah, I’ll have the spare ribs, with a baked potato, milk, and a scoop of chocolate ice cream.”
Amanda quirked an eyebrow, while writing down the order. “Okay. A first lady, moo juice, and—” She bit her lip, trying to suppress a laugh that threatened to escape, “a bucket of cold mud.”
“Ugh,” she heard Augie say under his breath.
About an hour later, Amanda returned to the table where Augie had been sitting. He had placed the payment for his meal under the plate, along with a small tip. She grabbed the money and pocketed it in her front apron pocket. She then picked up the receipt and noticed Augie had written something on the back. Silently reading it, she slipped the receipt into her pocket too. While wiping down the table, she heard the bell on top of the door jingle letting her know she had more customers. She then heard a familiar voice from behind her, “Boys, settle down. Phillip, leave your brother alone. Knock it off you two, or we’ll leave right now.” Amanda quickly ran behind the counter and hid. “Order up,” she heard Lee’s voice, after he rang the order bell.
He poked his head through the window and saw Amanda on the floor, hiding behind the counter. “A-man-” She made a motion with her hand across her throat and then pointed at a family headed toward the counter. His eyes widened in surprise and he groaned inwardly. “Why me?” Dotty sat down at the counter with Phillip sitting down on her left and Jamie to her right. She glanced around the restaurant. “Where’s our waitress? We need a couple of menus.” Hands came up from behind the counter, as menus suddenly materialized in front of her. Lee grabbed a chef cap and placed it low over his eyes and he walked out from the kitchen to the counter area. “What can I get you, Ma’am?” He cast his eyes downward, not looking up.
Dotty peeked at the desert section of the menu for a second. “Yes, I’ll have a slice of apple pie; heated, alamode, and boys?”
“Banana split,” Phillip said eagerly, spinning around on the stool.
“Me too,” Jamie replied with equal enthusiasm.
Lee caught Amanda’s eye. She was barely keeping it together. He had never seen a conniption before but thought he might see one tonight. “You boys can split one,” he heard Dotty tell Phillip and Jamie. Amanda relaxed a little.
“Coming right up,” he said, turning around to make their orders.
“You look familiar,” Dotty’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t believe so, Ma’am,” he answered, catching Amanda’s eye again, he nervously blew out his breath.
****
Amanda and Lee sat at a booth at the end of the business day, counting the receipts and going over the events of the evening. “Not a bad take for the night. I’m sure the Johnson’s will appreciate the business we did for them.”
“Where are they?” Amanda inquired, she kicked off her shoes and laid her feet across the bench. “How did the Agency plan all this?”
“Well, we learned that Raymond and Joy had not been on a vacation for the past four years, so we arranged a surprise weekend vacation to the Florida Keys and then we had a “temp” agency call them telling them that they were all set for their trip as the restaurant was covered.”
“That was nice of the Agency.” She took a sip of water, she had in front of her. “Paying for them to go on a trip and all.”
Lee chuckled softly and shrugged his shoulders. “I guess. Never really thought about it.” He leaned back, contemplating the situation. He really had never thought about it. It was a means to an end. Just doing their jobs. But for Amanda, she could identify with others around her. Billy was right. She did have a unique way of looking at things. “Where did you learn all that diner slang? I had a hard time keeping up with you sometimes.”
“How do you think I made it through college?” She ran her finger along the rim of her glass. “And you? I mean, I knew you knew how to cook. But where did you learn how to be a short order cook?”
“Well, when you spend as much time as I did in mess halls, you learn a thing or two.” He then picked up the receipt Amanda had given him that Augie had left them and read it for the twentieth time. It only had one word written on it—'Pony.’ He threw it down on the table in frustration. “I don’t know what this means. I don’t know anyone named Pony, first or last name or even nickname, and there’s no Operation Pony.”
Resting her elbows on the table, Amanda propped her chin on her palm. “When I was a little girl, I always wanted a pony.”
Lee stared at her incredulously. “I thought you were allergic to horses?”
“Oh, I am. But it’s still every little girl’s dream to own a pony.” Her eyes locked with his. “Didn’t you have dreams, Lee?”
Lee looked away, and stared out the diner window at the road in front of them, watching the cars drive by. Amanda berated herself. She had gone too far again, with him. When would she ever learn? They were both startled when they heard someone clear his throat and they both turned toward the sound.
The bus boy Josh, a nineteen-year-old college student, stood before them. “I finished all the dishes and took out the trash. Anything else, Lee?”
Lee looked over at Amanda, who answered for them, “No, I think that’s it.” She slid most of the tip money toward Josh. “Thanks for all your help.”
Josh gasped in surprise. “Mandy, this is too much.”
Amanda shook her head no. “You earned it.”
Josh’s face broke out in a radiant smile. “Thanks.”
Lee took notice of the clock on the café wall; it read one-ten. “Let us walk you out, Josh.”
“You don’t have to do that.” He threw his bookbag over his right shoulder.
Amanda wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Yes, we do. This isn’t the safest of neighborhoods, especially this late at night.”
The three of them headed out the door of the diner and then Lee locked the front entry behind them. A train whistle was heard off in the distance. Josh walked over to his car and got in. Lee held up his hand in farewell as Josh’s powerful sports car engine split the night. Josh then pulled away.
Amanda grabbed Lee’s arm, pulling him toward her. “Hey,” Lee shouted.
“Josh’s car. Did you notice?”
Lee shrugged his shoulders; a bewildered look crossed his face. “I noticed he had a burnt-out taillight. Not exactly a federal offense.”
She excitedly tugged on his shirt sleeve. “He was driving a Mustang.”
“Okay,” Lee replied, unsure where she was going with this.
“Back when I was in high school my dad had a Mustang.”
Lee rubbed his temple. “A-man-”
She continued, “It was a 1966 Mustang. He loved that car, almost as much as you love your Corvette. Ford only made that particular interior in ‘65 and ‘66.”
Lee’s head was spinning as he tried to make sense of what she was rambling on about. “Interior? Amanda, get to the point,” he snapped defensively.
“Don’t you see? Because of the embossed ponies on the back of the seats, these cars garnered the nickname. . .”
“Pony,” Lee said catching on. His face then lost all expression and apprehension entered his tired voice. “Oh, no.”
“What?” Hearing the concern in Lee's voice sent chills down her spine.
“We need to get back to the Agency now.” Lee grabbed Amanda’s hand and spun them in the direction of his car. After they were both in, he placed the key in the ignition and the Corvette roared to life. Pulling away from the curb, Lee revved up the silver sports car; the tires squealing as the car sped off down the road.
****
“How the Hell did this happen?” Billy questioned his agents who sat in front of him in his office. Francine and Amanda sat in the office chairs in front of his desk, Lee leaned against the glass window that looked out into the bullpen, and Secret Agent James paced the room like a caged animal.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” Amanda began. “What is Operation Mustang?”
Brock stopped his pacing and glanced around the room looking at the other agents. He shrugged his shoulders seeing Billy silently gave him the okay to fill her in.
“Well, you know about the assassination attempt on President Reagan a few years ago, right? Of course, right. Reagan was returning to his limousine after a speaking engagement at the Washington Hilton Hotel. Shots rang out and a bullet hit him in the left underarm, breaking a rib, puncturing a lung, and causing serious internal bleeding. He survived. Anyway, the First Lady, did not want Reagan to run for office again, but after consulting her astrologer, she agreed to let him campaign for a second term if he agreed to a new state car. After two assassination attempts in the last limousine, one against Reagan, and the first against President Ford, she felt the car was cursed. Therefore, a brand-new presidential limousine was built for the President and is supposed to be delivered here in a couple of days. We planned to have a big unveiling down on Embassy Row.”
“Is it possible someone got ahold of the plans for the new car?” Francine asked Brock, tapping a file folder against her crossed knee.
Brock shook his head. “I don’t see how.”
“Could someone discover secrets from previous limousines?” Amanda inquired, her forehead wrinkling into a puzzled frown.
Francine looked up at Lee, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head. This was not lost on Amanda.
Brock pulled up an extra chair from the office and sat down. Clasping his fingers together, while resting his elbows on his legs, he leaned forward. “Decommissioned presidential cars are dismantled and destroyed to prevent their secrets from being known to outside parties.”
Amanda tapping her chin thoughtfully, looked over at Billy. “Sir, could someone plant explosives in the new car?”
“No, the car will be thoroughly checked before going past the gate at the White House. Bomb sniffing dogs will be used, as well as mirrors that will look for explosives under the belly of the car,” Billy informed her.
“In the first Presidential assassination attempt, the bullet fired from Hinkley’s rifle, ricocheted off the side of the limo. That could happen again, right?” Amanda questioned hesitantly.
“Well, first, President Reagan no longer walks in or out of his limo from an unsecured public sidewalk. Second, the new presidential limo is fully armor-plated and has bullet proof glass that is 2 2/8 inches thick, has a raised roof and seats, so the President can see the crowd, and has oversized wheels and tires to handle the extra weight,” Brock answered with confidence.
“But still a bullet could ricochet, right?” The other agents in the room stared at Amanda for a moment.
Billy shrugged lightly. “I guess anything is possible.”
“Amanda, Dear,” Francine scoffed. “I think you are on the wrong track.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I am a trained agent and you are not.”
Amanda groaned as she rolled his eyes. “Puuleeaase.”
The two women bickered with each other for a moment, but were both startled when they heard a sharp loud whistle escape Lee’s tightened lips.
Billy popped three antacids into his mouth, before saying, “This is getting out of hand.”
Amanda looked at the floor, slightly embarrassed for squabbling with Francine. “Sorry, Sir.”
“Francine, fighting amongst ourselves is getting us nowhere.” Billy then turned to look at Amanda. “Amanda, I appreciate your input. But in the spy business we have an old saying, ‘let’s stick to what we know’.”
Amanda nodded ashamedly.
Billy stood up and laid both hands on his desk, spreading his fingers lightly over the mahogany wood. “So, what do we know?” He looked over at Lee and then Amanda and Francine. No one answered. He then turned to Brock. “Who else knows about the unveiling?”
Brock stood up and put his hand on the back of his neck. “Lots of people at various embassies know about it, of course. However, no one outside the Secret Service and the four of you in this room would know the name of the operation.”
Billy moved to the front of his desk and perched himself on the corner. “I think we can also assume if anything is going to happen it would most likely happen at the unveiling.”
“Maybe we should cancel the event,” Francine suggested.
“No,” Amanda proposed. “Maybe we should use the event to smoke them out. I mean, that’s what you call it, right? Smoke them out?”
All four heads curiously turned to look at Amanda. Billy shrugged, “Why not? It might just work.”
****
Hisssss-sssss, went the sound of air escaping from the air brakes as a fair-skinned man with a high and tight haircut climbed out of the truck cab. He strolled over to the dispatch office with a clipboard filled with log sheets in his hand. He wore a tank top which not only showed off his muscular arms and torso, but also a canvas for his never-ending tattoos.
He strolled into the office and leaned against the counter eyeing the pear-shaped young lady working behind the desk, frantically answering the dispatch phones. The man cleared his throat to grab her attention.
“Oh, hi, Harley,” she flipped her elbow-length, stringy, black hair and leaned forward against the counter toward him. The telephone rang, “Sorry. We are short staffed today. I need to grab that.” She picked up the receiver, “Imperial Trucking, this is Trinity speaking.”
Harley only half listened to the one-sided conversation. He shifted his weight while trying to read the dispatch notes on the counter. Seeing Trinity was still busy on the phone and no one else was in the office observing him, he removed a log sheet and shoved it behind the rest of his paperwork on his clipboard. He tapped the clipboard onto the counter and Trinity turned around holding up one finger, signaling to him she would only be another minute. She hung up the phone a moment later and apologized to him again as the telephone rang once more.
“No worries, Darlin’,” he glanced at his watch after it beeped. “It’s late. Don’t think I’ll get another run in today. Catch you on the flip side.” He walked out the door and headed back toward his truck. After firing up his semi, the diesel engine rumbled-rumbled-rumbled to life. He then backed up to the loading dock and handed the slip to the lot attendant. The attendant then loaded the vehicle onto Harley Diskoll’s car hauler and after handing the paperwork back to Harley, he watched the car hauler head out the gate and drive down the road before helping another trucker with their cargo.
Several miles later, Harley pulled off the road and drove into an empty lot. He climbed out of the truck and looked at his prize. He couldn’t believe his luck. A shiny new presidential limousine sat on the back of his auto transport trailer. He had to admit, she was sweet looking. The Cadillac Fleetwood was all in black, armor-plated he was sure, with greenhouse windows wrapped in bulletproof glass, the embroidered presidential seal was on the back rear doors, and two flags; one the presidential flag and on the other side the U.S. flag were positioned on the front fenders. After admiring his handiwork with a low whistle, he then grabbed a toolbox from a side compartment on his cab and walked under the limo as it sat high in the air and got to work.
****
The limousine slowed and then stopped in front of the American Embassy. The chauffeur opened the door and Lee climbed out. He then reached for Amanda’s hand and helped her out of the car, before wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her close. Amanda felt sheepish, stealing a glimpse of her partner for the evening. He looked incredibly handsome in his black tux. “Stop it,” she chastised herself. “He doesn’t even realize you’re a woman.” She was dressed in an elegant red silk dress, she couldn’t believe how incredibly soft it was against her skin; however, it was Lee’s touch that was causing goosebumps to pucker on her flesh. “Ready, Darling?” His hot breath was warm against her ear, if he hadn’t had his arm around her, she was sure she would have collapsed from all the sensations he was evoking. He tapped his ear piece; business as usual. Here they were again, maintaining their covers.
Lee turned to say something to the driver. “Stay in the car, Augie. And no funny business, not here for you to pull a con, got it?”
“Just doing our jobs,” Amanda mentally reminded herself as the two of them shouldered their way through the crowd.
Lee cast a glance over the throng of people, scanning faces with practiced ease. “Scarecrow to Lancer, see anything yet?” He communicated through the hidden microphone on his cufflink.
Billy, Francine, and a couple other agents from the Agency were looking through binoculars from the rooftop of the embassy. “Negative, but keep your eyes open.”
“Copy,” Lee affirmed, he then turned to look at Amanda and drink in the sight of her. She looked extremely beautiful in her red gown. It was the perfect fit – the cut and the color. “Fits her like a second skin”, he thought. Feeling his gaze, she turned her head and caught him staring. He cleared his throat and grabbed two champagne flutes from a silver platter, as a waiter passed by them. After passing a glass to her, he raised his own glass to his lips, and whispered, “You look wonderful.” She blushed a bright red crimson and ducked her head.
A few moments later, a car carrier decked out in red, white, and blue bunting came bounding down the road and came to a halt in front of the large crowd. The driver descended from the cab and then lowered the ramps on the trailer to unload the limousine.
Amanda was the first to identify him. “Lee, I recognize him from the diner.”
Harley turned toward the voice and seeing Lee and Amanda, he took off running. He hopped into a limousine with Herzoslovakia flags on the front fender and tires squealed as the limo sped off. The chauffeur, who had been on a smoke break, screamed in protest and threw his hat down on the ground in frustration.
Lee was the first to reach the Agency limousine that brought them to the event. He pushed Augie aside, who had been sitting in the driver’s seat.
“Hey,” Augie objected.
Amanda hopped into the passenger seat, pushing Augie into the center seat. Lee sped off down the road, spitting gravel in their wake.
Harley drove fast, but being more at ease at driving a big rig than a limousine, he fishtailed going around a corner. Screech. A hubcap flew off. He quickly recovered and continued down the road. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the other limo was gaining on him.
Amanda glanced at the speedometer, taking notice of the speed they were traveling. She wondered if she shouldn't gently remind him they were not in a sports car. Nonetheless, Lee navigated the limousine down the streets with practiced skill. Lee glided into a continued slide as he cut a corner to gain even more ground with the perpetrator. From the corner of her eye, she gave him an approving look, while simultaneously keeping a second eye on the road, she admired his skill.
Augie, however, was screaming from the center seat. “Let me out! Let me out now! We’re all gonna die.”
“Shut up, Augie!” Lee yelled from the driver's seat.
Harley checked on his pursuers, and rolling down the window, he aimed a gun at them and fired a couple rounds. He turned to face the front again only to notice at the last moment a large semi-truck had slowed down in front of him. He slammed on the brakes too late and rear-ended the truck.
The limo with Lee and Amanda screeched to a halt. Lee hopped out and ran up to the other limousine, he pulled the driver out. Harley, dazed and confused, complied without resistance, allowing Lee to handcuff him. Secret Service and Agency agents pulled up to the scene a few moments later, and Lee shoved Harley toward Brock. “He’s all yours.”
Amanda and Augie ran up to Lee. “Thanks for your help, Augie,” Lee told him.
Augie’s hand crept up and he smiled.
Lee heaved a sigh, and opened up his wallet. He reached for a twenty-dollar bill, but seeing Amanda in the corner of his eye shaking her head, he groaned, grabbing a fifty-dollar bill instead. Then Lee and Amanda walked toward their section chief, leaving Augie standing at the shoulder of the road all by himself.
“A limo business? Hmm, not a bad idea,” Augie said to himself out loud.
****
Lee and Amanda were walking side by side down the walkway after they had left from the Georgetown entrance of the Agency.
“Yeah, even the Secret Service had a hard time discovering what Harley Driskoll had done to sabotage the president’s limousine. Pretty ingenious of him actually. He had drained the power steering fluid. The rack would have heated up as they drove, eventually seizing to where they couldn’t steer and crash.”
“Well, thank goodness the President—” Amanda did not have a chance to finish, when a limousine rolled up. The presidential state car was flanked by Secret Service men, including Brock James. The rear window slowly let down.
Amanda gasped. “Do you know who you are?”
“Yes, I know who I am,” President Reagan chuckled good naturally.
Lee shook President Reagan’s hand. “It’s an honor, Mr. President.”
“The honor is all mine.” His eyes crinkled and his smile broadened. “Nancy and I appreciate your service. We know it’s a thankless job. Keep up the good work, Agent Stetson. And you too, Mrs. King.” He started to roll up the window, but stopped it halfway. “Oh, and congratulations on your nuptials. You make one hell of a team.” The limousine pulled away, leaving a speechless Lee and Amanda.
Amanda was looking at the ground, kicking at a small pebble with her tennis shoe. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Lee. “Lee?”
“Hmm?”
“Why does the President. . .” She cleared her throat and began again. “Umm, who told you our ‘marriage’ was still valid?” She gestured, using air quotes around the word marriage.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shifted restlessly from foot to foot. “That would have been Rick from legal.” Lee paused for a moment, before continuing in a harder voice, “Who just happens to have a huge crush on Francine. And I just bet I know who put him up to this.”
“In other words, Francine is pulling a fast one of us.” Amanda’s face reddened.
“Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee. I have an idea what to do about Francine,” he said, leading her down the sidewalk toward a local coffee shop.
****
Lee and Amanda strolled into Billy’s office. He was on the telephone, and held up a pointed finger and mouthed one minute. A moment later, he hung up the phone.
“Marriage license, change of address, beneficiary forms, and updates for medical, dental, and vision insurance, and the other paperwork you asked for, Billy.” Lee placed the papers in front of him.
Francine breezed into Billy’s office carrying a stack of case files.
“Looks good,” Billy said, perusing the documents. “Give them to HR for processing.”
Francine placed the files down on Billy’s desk. “What’s this?” Her eyebrow shot up at the thought of intruding gossip.
Lee’s fingers intertwined with Amanda’s. “I guess you didn’t hear. Legal said the marriage in San Angelo was binding. And it’s too late for an annulment since we consummated the marriage. We thought, why not stay married.”
Amanda gave Lee a kiss on the cheek. “Isn’t that great news?! Mother and the boys are thrilled.”
Francine, seeing their joined hands, noticed the matching his and her wedding bands on their ring fingers and she slowly sank down on the sofa, struggling to regain her breath after receiving the shocking news. “What?!”
“You know, Francine, I said it once before and it’s worth repeating, I've gained a lot of respect for the generosity . . .” he winked at Amanda, before continuing, “and stamina of the American housewife.”
Francine made a face. “Ewww.”
“Well, shall we husband,” playing their covers, she squeezed his hand. “Remember you promised the boys you’d fire up the grill when we got home.”
“No, no, no. Lee, Amanda, it was just a prank.”
Amanda feigned shock, grabbing her chest. “What do you mean this was all a joke? How could you? We already told the boys that Lee was their new stepdad.” She sobbed and buried her face in Lee’s chest.
Lee stiffened, but quickly recovered, wrapping his arms around Amanda. “And you know what, Francine?” He gritted his teeth, having a hard time holding it together as he felt Amanda tremble against his body, quivering from suppressed laughter.
“What?” Francine finally managed to squeak out.
“Gotcha,” Lee and Amanda said in unison.
The sound of laughter filled the office, and even Francine’s laugh blended in with those in the room a few moments later.
The End
Toeing out of his shoes, Lee then shoved his hands deep into his pockets and paced the room of his Georgetown apartment. His stocking feet shuffled on the plush carpet. Abruptly, he stopped where he had thrown his overcoat over the back of the sofa, reached into the wool pocket and pulled out a diamond solitaire ring. Holding it up, it sparkled in the light that stretched from his bedroom. Eighteen-karat, he had told Amanda. He should know, it had been his mother’s engagement ring. He had been offered a ring from the scenario boys, but refused. This one seemed more fitting for. . . he shook his head in bewilderment from that thought. Yes, strange things had happened on that assignment, but again Amanda had been instrumental in helping him stop the trafficking of gold into San Angelo and finding his missing informant Orlando. He walked over to the wet bar and poured himself a drink. Lee swirled the amber liquid and then took a sip, the bitter warmth washed over his tongue. He then threw back the glass, emptying its contents, licked his lips and poured himself another two fingers. He shook his head. Orlando had been quite smitten with Amanda. The final night of the cruise, they were up most of the night in the lounge drinking and talking, she seemed to laugh at all of his jokes. “They weren’t even funny,” he mused. Lee clenched his teeth, feeling the muscles in his jaw twitch rhythmically. Confused, he blew out a deep breath. Why should he be jealous of Orlando? It wasn’t like HE had feelings for Amanda. He briefly touched his mouth, remembering her soft lips on his. They were just playing their covers—nothing more to it. He opened a secret drawer from under the wet bar and punched in a number combination, then placed the ring back into the safe. The hardened Federal agent stood there for a moment, before quickly grabbing his shoes and buttoning his shirt back up again. Clutching his car keys, he headed out the door.
****
“What did you say, Mother?” Amanda King feigned; she knew exactly what her mother was asking. It was the same questions over and over again ever since she and Lee had gotten back from San Angelo. Amanda busied herself with her hands buried deep in hot sudsy water cleaning the night’s dinner dishes at her home she shared with her mother and two sons in Arlington. She tried to blow a wisp of hair from her face that was threatening to fall into her eyes. Giving up, she drew her fingers across her forehead, tucking the hair back into place. Lathery soap covered her face as her mother handed her a dishtowel. “Thanks, Mother.”
“I just don’t understand you, Amanda.” Dotty West went back to drying the dishes. She finished a dinner plate, then opening the cabinet, she placed the dish on the shelf. “That film company of yours pays you to go on a cruise to the Caribbean as a location scout. A trip I might add, that got you to cancel your visit with your friend Kitty Holcomb. I mean, she was only in town for a few days, and you are closed lipped about it. When your Father and I came back from Hawaii, I couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful it was in paradise.” She threw the dishtowel over her shoulder and stared at her daughter. “Now, it was beautiful?”
Amanda paused for a moment thinking about the tiny island of San Angelo. It wasn’t as if she’d had time to do anything touristy as she and Lee had been a little busy trying not to get themselves killed. A lot had happened on that assignment. She thought about the streamlined wedding she had had with Lee. The flowers were nice, and so was the cake. Lee certainly was ruggedly handsome in his white tux. She then thought about the kiss they had shared after the minister had declared them husband and wife and her right hand involuntarily touched her mouth. Her lips still tingled. "Very.”
“Mmm-hmm,” her mother responded skeptically. She then took the silverware from the dishrack and after sorting them put them away. “And how is Mr. Simpson?”
Amanda could feel the color rise in her cheeks, as she pulled the strainer from the sink. Stuffing her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans, she rocked back and forth on her heels. “It’s kind of stuffy in the house tonight. I think I’ll step outside for a moment to cool down.”
“Whatever you say, Dear.” Dotty returned the towel to the dishrack and then padded over to the family room. She sat down on the couch and turned on the television. The voice of the evening anchor from the 10:00 o’clock news filled the room. “Tonight’s top story. . .” he droned on. She sat there for a moment then a confused expression crossed her face. “But it’s January.” She shook her head. “I’m never going to understand that girl.”
Amanda sat on a bench inside the gazebo as she fingered the pendant on her necklace. Her mind in a fog, she wondered what Lee was up to this evening. Her husband, albeit for a fleeting moment in time. Well, whatever it was, she alleged, he certainly wasn’t up to his elbows in dirty dishes. Thank goodness that was over. Not the dishes, but her “marriage” to Lee. She couldn’t imagine being really married to him, although, “How can a man look so damn sexy in a tux? she pondered. She shook her head in disbelief, but caught a glimpse of a comet shooting across the sky. “Make a wish,” she thought. “I wish.” She closed her eyes for a brief second.
"Hi, there," Lee’s rich baritone voice forced her to quickly open her eyes.
“Oh, my gosh!” She held her hand to her chest. “Lee, you scared me half to death!”
Lee shrugged and gave her a nervous smile. He watched her scoot over, silently inviting him to sit and he sat down on the bench next to her. A winter chill was in the air as a light wind began to pick up. Cold crept quickly through his coat and he saw Amanda shiver. He removed his overcoat and draped it over her. She began to protest, but he shook his head. They sat watching the clouds roll in blanketing the stars. Lee broke the silence, “What did you wish for?”
“Huh?” Her eyes widened in surprise.
He pointed to the heavens. “The shooting star.”
“Oh, you saw that?” She blushed slightly, snuggling deeper into the warmth of his overcoat, she smelled the lingering scent of his aftershave. “Nothing much,” she supplied, shrugging a little, “just wished for good health and happiness for my family.”
Lee nodded. He was silent for a couple of minutes. “Family’s important to you.”
“Of course, it is. You know that.” She looked over at him, and watched him nervously lick his lips. “What’s wrong?”
Lee stood up and blew out his cheeks like a pufferfish. He looked like he was about to say something then changed his mind. She watched the emotions play across his face. “Lee Matthew Stetson, you tell me right now what’s wrong?!” Worry was evident in her voice.
“Oh, no, I’m in trouble now,” Lee thought. Mother’s only use your full name when you’re in trouble. His mind wandered back to the last time he heard his mother use that tone of voice with him. It was after he had eaten a whole jar of canned peaches his mother had kept in the pantry. “Lee, please,” Amanda’s pleading voice echoed in the background bringing him back from his musings.
“I’m sorry, Amanda. I was just momentarily lost in thought.” He ran a weary hand through his hair. “Wait a minute. How do you know my middle name? I never told you.”
She let herself be lighthearted for a moment but still felt uneasy. “I have my ways.”
Lee gave her a sideways glance. “Hey, that’s my line.”
A smile teased the corner of her lips, then her face turned to all business again, as she patted the empty space on the bench next to her.
Lee sat back down, but couldn’t look at her. "Well,” he began. “Umm, well, yes. You see, it’s really not bad news or good news depending on a certain point of view.” His left hand sliced the air as he gestured.
“A certain point of view.” It was a statement more than a question.
“Yes,” he paused and licked his lips nervously again. “Remember earlier when Francine said our wedding was technically invalid?”
He heard her suck in a breath and then a barely audible sound squeaked out of her mouth, “Yes.” She wagged a finger between the two of them. “Are you telling me we’re still technically married?!” Her voice rose an octave. At his nod, she grumbled, “Great! Just GREAT! I bet you and Francine and the steno pool are getting a big chuckle out of all this!!”
Lee recoiled like he had been shot. “Amanda, please! Your mother is only a few yards away from us.” He tenderly put his hand on her shoulder, but before she could pull away, he explained. “No one knows, I swear. Well, maybe Billy, but he wouldn’t say anything. I know how important family is to you and how you wouldn’t go into marriage lightly. It was wrong of me to not tell you the truth about the wedding cruise. I honestly thought we would have the case solved before we docked in San Angelo. We’ve just hit a bump in the road. Technically, the marriage is still invalid. Legal will make it right; I can promise you that. However, it might just take a day or two. Okay?”
Amanda mentally counted to ten and then took a deep breath. “Better?” she heard Lee ask her. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded.
“Do you trust me?” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Of course, I trust you, Lee.”
“And have I ever steered you wrong?” Amanda gave him a sour look. “I mean, when it really mattered?”
She thought about it for a moment and shook her head no. Then she slapped her knees and stood up, “No honeymoon tonight, Pal.”
“Aw, shucks.” He smiled at her, his hazel eyes twinkling. Awkwardness continued to hang in the air, but he knew in her own way, she was trying to sweep it aside.
“I better get back inside before Mother comes out here looking for me.” She handed Lee his coat back. “And you look bushed.” After a brief wave, she opened the backdoor, and slipped into the house.
He paused for a moment, listening for the clicking sound of the deadbolt latching, and after seeing the porch light turn off, he shrugged on his jacket and flipped up the collar to keep the winter chill at bay. Tiny snowflakes that had just begun to gently fall, glistening on his coat as he rounded the corner of the gazebo and walked down the street to his waiting Corvette.
****
“Okay, folks,” section chief Billy Melrose’s voice boomed across the conference room inside the Agency. “We have received some credible reports that there will be an assassination attempt on President Reagan.”
“Has anyone interviewed Hinkley yet?” He heard one of his agent’s ask.
“Yes,” another voice replied. Billy turned looking up at the taller, solidly-built man standing next to him. He was wearing a well-fitted suit and carried an air of position about him. Billy introduced the man, “Many of you may remember Brock James. He was Agency, until the Secret Service stole him from us. The Agency will be working in conjunction with the Secret Service on this one. I will give the floor to him, so listen up.”
Brock stepped up to the podium, as Billy stepped aside. “John Hinkley, Jr. is still confined to a psychiatric facility here in D.C. The Secret Service has already interviewed him. He is still listed as mentality unstable, but based on the results of the extensive interview, we believe he is not behind this latest threat. Nor do we believe anyone who has visited him or has had contact with him is involved.”
“What do we know?” Francine Desmond asked, turning slightly she angled herself closer to him and leaned forward.
Brock’s warm brown eyes drank in the sight of her, before he cleared his throat and continued, “Glad you asked.” He motioned to the folders laying on the desk in front of the agents. “Now, if you’ll open to page one. . .”
****
Brock was standing next to the coffee station with Francine in the bullpen when he suddenly noticed an attractive woman he had never seen before.
“Sugar, right?” He heard Francine ask him.
“Huh?” He still was watching the woman with the shoulder-length wavy, chestnut hair wearing a sweater vest over a coordinating pink button-down shirt sitting at Lee Stetson’s desk, typing. “Yes, two please,” he replied absently.
Francine dropped two cubes of sugar into his coffee and after stirring its contents, passed the coffee mug to him.
He took a sip of his coffee, the warm thick liquid slid down his throat and he shivered with pleasure. “You still make a mean cup of coffee, Francine.” He brought the mug up to his mouth again, gesturing with the cup, “Who’s the good looking brunette? New agent? Maybe I should come back to the Agency.”
“Who?” Francine almost snorted coffee out of her nose, after she turned to see who he was looking at. “Oh, pul-lease. Amanda?! Kinky, Special Agent James. Are you now into frumpy housewives?”
“Oh, she’s married.” Brock tried not to sound dejected.
“No, divorced.” She flirtingly ran a long-manicured finger up his arm. “Me on the other hand.”
Brock continued to watch Amanda from a distance as he saw Lee Stetson come up behind her and say something to her. She smiled at him, then standing up and grabbing her purse from the back of the chair, she slipped the purse strap over her right shoulder. Then the two of them walked out of the bullpen. Lee’s hand was resting gently on the small of her back as he led her down the hallway. “Is there anything going on with her and Lee?”
With a smirk on her face and arching an eyebrow, she replied, “Only in her dreams.” Francine then burst out laughing, seeing the confused look on Brock’s face.
****
Amanda was sitting in the passenger seat of Lee’s Corvette as he turned into a gas station. She was sure if Lee looked at her at that moment, he would see the look of confusion on her face after she glanced at his fuel gauge. It was at full. “Um, Lee?”
“Yes, Amanda.” He was using that condescending tone of voice that drove her crazy, like he was talking to a small child.
Amanda clasped her slender hands together, placing them in her lap. “What are we doing again?”
“Well, Billy thought it would be a good idea to have you come with me while I talk to some of my contacts. For some reason, he thinks you are good at reading people.” Pulling in front of a pump, he then turned off the ignition.
“And why are we here at a gas station?”
“To talk to one of my family.”
“Your family? But I thought your uncle. . .”
He sneered. “The Colonel. No, civilian eyes and ears. Part of my network. People I trust pass information on things that they might have seen or heard.”
“Ohh.”
Lee stepped out of the car, with Amanda falling close behind him. A pretty girl dressed in greasy beige-colored coveralls and her hair pulled back into a messy bun approached them. “Fill'er up, Folks?”
Lee shook his head. “No thanks, but could you give a listen to my engine? I think I hear a rattle.”
“Sure thing,” the attendant replied. “Pop the hood.”
Lee opened the door and pulled the release. He then went around to the front of the car to help lift the hood. After securing the hood prop, he said, “I think the sound might be coming from the transmission.”
As the lady pulled out the transmission dipstick and wiped it down with a rag, Lee continued, “Rhonda, this is my associate Amanda King.” He introduced the two women. “She helps me out from time to time. And Amanda, this is Rhonda. Not only a great mechanic, but she makes a mean medovik.”
“Oh, so you’re. . .”
“Russian,” Rhonda finished the sentence for her. “No, American, but raised by my maternal grandmother, who came to America to raise my brother and I after our parents passed.”
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said empathically.
“Don’t be. I mean, thanks, it’s okay.” She put the dipstick back in and pulled it out once more. “You appear to be about a half quart low. Let me refill it for you.” Rhonda walked into the garage and headed to a shelf where the station kept everything from engine oil to gas additives. Coming back out she poured some of the liquid into the reservoir.
“Heard anything?” Lee asked her while they were under the hood again.
Rhonda shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know if it’s anything, but there’s a lot of grumblings coming from truck drivers regarding the increased cost of diesel and the new tax and regulations on diesel fuel. But if you want to know more, I suggest hanging out at Drifters. It’s a greasy spoon where a lot of the truckers stop and eat and fuel up before heading out to make their deliveries. It’s just off the next off-ramp.” Unlatching the prop, she expertly slammed the hood lid shut. She then wiped her hands with a shop rag. “That will be ten dollars.”
Lee handed her a ten and twenty-dollar bill.
She pocketed the money into her coveralls pocket. “Thanks, come again,” Rhonda called out to them as they climbed back into the Corvette and drove off.
****
Lee pulled the Corvette into a parking spot and shifted it into park. Amanda rolled her eyes when she saw they had pulled in front of the Here’s Mud in Your Eye bar. She made a bitter face.
Lee apologized. “I know, I know.” He got out and then walked around the car to the passenger side and opened the door.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said grabbing her purse. She then handed Lee his car keys.
Lee and Amanda walked into the sleazy mud wrestling bar owned by Lee’s snitch Augie Swann. The bar was strangely empty for a late Friday afternoon just before the evening dinner rush. Lee spied Augie behind the counter suspiciously hiding something. Augie relaxed once he realized who had entered his establishment. “Lee, my man. Good to see you. Oh, and the scrumptious Mrs. King. Still hanging out with this loser?”
“Augie,” Lee made a low guttural sound.
Augie stepped out from around the counter, wiping his hands with a bar towel. “Give me a break, Lee. My business is dying.” He gestured with a wide sweep of his hand.
“Couldn’t help but notice there’s no crowd,” Amanda queried, her head tilted slightly to one side.
“Yeah, the state took away my liquor license.” He leaned against the counter. “Can you believe it?”
“Shocked, I tell you, shocked,” Lee said sarcastically.
“I know, right? Oh, where are my manners? Can I get you anythin’? Water, soda, beer?”
“Beer?” Amanda asked, somewhat taken aback.
Augie went behind the bar again. “Sure.” He then glanced around the room; Amanda’s eyes followed his. Lee just rolled his eyes. Seeing no one else in the building, he opened a secret compartment where he kept the spirits. “The bar dates back to the days of prohibition. All these neat nooks and crannies just burstin’ with liquor.”
Lee shook his head in disbelief. “Augie, you do realize that is contraband?”
“Aw, come on man. I ain’t hurtin’ no one.” He pulled out a beer bottle and after twisting off the top, took a sip. “Quit being such a stick in the mud.” Augie laughed at his own joke but then his laugh turned into a strangled cry. “Besides, the bank’s gonna be taking the place soon anyway.” He took another swig, taking a moment to compose himself. “Really, can I get you anythin’?”
“No thanks, Augie,” Amanda answered for both of them. “We’re working.”
Pitching forward, Lee cleared his throat. “Heard anything recently?”
Augie took another swig while simultaneously dipping his hand into a bowl of pretzels on the counter. He tossed some pretzels into his mouth, chewed briefly then washed them down. He surveyed his surroundings once more. “Not much, I’m afraid.”
“Well, that’s too bad.” Lee said, grabbing Amanda’s elbow, he started to lead them out of the bar. “I guess we’ll just have to leave now.”
“No, wait!” Looking pathetic, he held out his hand. “Maybe I do have something for you.” Eager to earn some money, a smile teased the corner of his mouth when he saw Lee reach into his wallet and take out a twenty-dollar bill. His smile brightened when he saw the look Amanda gave Lee and he reached into his wallet grabbing another twenty. “Yes, now I remember, I was hanging out at Drifters the other night.”
Amanda interrupted, “You have your own bar and grill, why would you be eating out?”
“The cook quit,” Augie said matter-of-factly.
“Maybe if you paid him—” Lee’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Augie threw up his hands. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Go ahead, Augie,” Amanda encouraged him to continue.
“Okay, for you Mrs. King. I don’t know how you put up with him day after day.”
“Well, he does have his moments.”
“Amanda!” Lee spoke through his teeth.
“What’s your problem with Augie? He’s harmless.”
“Harmless? Harmless!?” Lee’s nostrils flared. “Don’t you remember last time we were here, he offered you a job mud wrestling for him?” He raked both his hands through his hair, his face hot with anger. “He’s scum. He’s lower than scum. He’s pond scum.”
“Well, you are the one who keeps coming to him for information. And he deserves to be heard and deserves the benefit of the doubt.” Amanda’s arms folded stiffly across her chest.
Lee scoffed. “He’s a two-bit snitch.”
“Information broker,” Augie interjected, with a touch of indignation. “And I am right here, if you didn’t notice.”
Lee massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off a headache he felt coming on, and sighed. “You’re right.” He softened his tone. “Now Augie, what did you hear?”
****
Lee smacked the steering wheel in frustration and honked the horn. They were stuck in Friday night traffic on the Beltway and there was little he could do to get around the mess. Amanda put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and he relaxed a little. The vehicles in front of him began to edge forward.
“Lee?”
“Yeah,” Lee answered without taking his eyes off the road.
“Why do you hate Augie?”
“I don’t hate him.” From the passenger seat, he heard Amanda scoff. “I tolerate him, because sometimes, occasionally he has something usual.”
“But what’s the difference between someone like Augie and someone like Rhonda?”
Lee thought for a moment before answering. “Well, I guess most of those who give information are patriots. Nurses, grocery clerks, gas station attendants, even housewives,” he acknowledged with a wink, before continuing, “People who want to see the good guys win.” Leaning his head against the headrest, Lee let out a sigh. “Some, like Augie are after nothing more than turning a quick buck. And sometimes he gives not the most reliable information. He steered me wrong once or twice.” Lee chuckled and shook his head. “I remember this one time—”
“What?” Her eyebrow arched in curiosity.
“Later.” Lee replied, seeing a break in the flow of cars, he punched through the rush-hour traffic.
“Later, means never.” Disappointment was evident in her voice.
****
A few days later, Amanda was sitting at a desk in the bullpen, headphones covering her ears as she was speedily typing what she heard on the tape, when she felt someone was behind her. Thinking it was Lee she thought, “Not this time, Buster.” She whirled her office chair toward the presence. However, her knees made contact with a good-looking gentleman whom she had never met before.
“Oh, my gosh!” She quickly slid the headphones around her neck. “I’m so sorry.”
The gentleman rubbed his knees. “No need to apologize. It was all my fault.” Amanda drank in the sight of him. He was tall, probably even a little taller than Lee, she surmised. Attractive too, his dark brown hair was lightly gelled and he had welcoming brown eyes and a continual smile as he introduced himself.
“Brock James, Secret Service. And you are Agent. . .?”
“No Agent. Just plain old Amanda. Amanda King. Civilian Auxiliary. Part-time. I don’t even own a gun. Or have a codename. Or a badge. Just a visitor’s pass,” she rambled, as she held up the pass. Amanda was sure color was rising from her chest to her cheeks.
He extended his hand toward her. “Nice to meet you, Amanda.” Holding her hand a bit longer, he held her attention and added, “And you are neither plain, nor old.”
Amanda was sure she was growing more crimson by the minute, but mustering a smile, she returned the greeting.
Brock then perched himself on the edge of the desk.
Lee strode through the double doors of the bullpen. Abruptly he stopped when he noticed Amanda chatting amiably with Brock. They were both sitting at his desk. He watched as Amanda laughed heartily at something Brock had said. She then gently touched his arm. “She’s not his type,” he thought. The muscle in Lee's jaw pulsated, as he crossed the remaining space between them in three long strides. “What’s up?”
“Hi, Lee,” Amanda said, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Amanda was just telling me about the first time you two met and the whirlybird, sugar in the gas tank, and the dreaded Killick hitch.”
“Who can undo the Killick hitch?” She laughed.
“Who indeed?” Brock started laughing again and Amanda’s laugh mingled with his.
Amanda stopped, seeing the look of annoyance on Lee’s face.
“If you two are quite done, our covers are ready for us,” Lee said, his arms folded firmly across his chest.
“Sure Lee.” Amanda stood up, grabbing her purse, she slung it over her shoulder. “Nice meeting you, Special Agent Brock James. Maybe we can do this again sometime.”
Brock was going to return the sentiment but seeing the icy glare on Lee’s face, he changed his mind. “Good luck, you two.” He watched Lee quickly school his features, before turning on his heel and breezing out of the room. “Who do you think you are fooling, Scarecrow?” Brock said to no one in particular.
****
Placing the order ticket on the wheel, Amanda hollered, “I need a bowl of red with a bow wow all the way, a hockey puck, make it cry, two dots and a dash, and a cowboy western.” Lee’s head popped up through the small opening between the front and the kitchen. She had to repress a smile as the usually meticulously dressed Lee Stetson, was dressed like a short order cook. Sweat beaded on his forehead and using his apron, he swiped it across his brow. “You're really doing very well. Really,” she encouraged.
He shot her a venomous look as he rang the counter bell. “Order up.”
She grabbed the plates and turned toward her waiting and hungry customers. Amanda surveyed the chaotic scene in front of her. Drifters was a typical truck stop diner, one of those low-price-point restaurants serving standard American fare and all-day breakfast. Along the wall of windows were the booths, where families usually sat. The truckers liked to congregate at the counter stools talking and commiserating with themselves and the waitstaff that would bend a friendly ear. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted, while a jukebox in the counter played a 50s tune. Amanda, who was dressed in a pale pink waitress uniform with a matching hat, and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, stopped at a nearby table. “Biscuits and gravy, with a side of bacon,” she slid the plate toward the patron, before continuing, “and for you a Western omelet.” She slid the second plate toward the gentleman’s dinner companion. “Can I get you anything else?” After seeing them shake their heads no, she walked behind the counter with a fresh pot of coffee, refilling coffee cups for the four truckers who sat at the counter barstools.
“I’m telling you, if we don’t do something soon, our way of life is going to end,” she heard one of the truckers tell his companions. She saw the three other truckers nod their heads in agreement.
“Can you believe the price of diesel? It’s BS! If the government doesn’t do something soon, there will not be one of us free-sprinted souls left. Trucking will be taken over by the big corporations, there will be no more husband-and-wife teams just out to support our families,” another trucker said with a thick Texan drawl.
“We gotta do something,” the third trucker said, stirring cream into his coffee, he took a sip and then leaned forward with his elbows on the counter. “Makes me want to go down to the White House; give him a piece of my mind.”
“Yeah!” The truckers all agreed.
Lee came out from the kitchen and leaned against the wall; his arms crossed, listening intently to the conversation before him.
“But what?” The bald trucker at the end of the counter asked.
They all looked at each other, seeing if anyone had any ideas.
“I know,” the smallest of the truckers said. He was a tiny slip of a man, who didn’t look like your average truck driver. He stroked the rough stubble on his chin. “I think we should march on Washington. Roll our trucks down Pennsylvania Avenue. All our trucks; cargo trucks, fuel trucks, log trucks. Stand in solidarity.”
“Yeah, I mean, don’t they realize it’s us truckers who keep America moving. Without us, the supply chain would collapse,” the Texan reasoned.
“Yep. We could crush the economy in just one blow.”
Amanda looked over at Lee after she noticed he stood a little straighter.
The four truckers then shook their heads in resignation.
“We could all be out of work tomorrow,” said the first driver. He put his fork down and pushed away his empty plate. “Reagan doesn’t fool around. Look what he did to the air traffic controllers.”
“Yeah,” they agreed. Frustration and exhaustion were apparent in their collective voices.
“Well, I don’t know about you guys,” the older of the drivers said, throwing some money down on the counter. “I’m too old to start looking for a new job. So, what am I going to do?” He heaved a heavy sigh, while standing up. “I guess, we’ll just have to pass the additional costs onto the consumer.” He then shrugged on his jacket. “See you later Mike, Carl, Steve.”
“Bye, Ron,” they raised their hands in farewell as he walked out the door and then continued with their meals.
A fair-skinned man with continuous tattoos sat in the far corner booth, he had been watching the scene in front of him, and shook his head in disbelief. “Amateurs,” he said under his breath. A waitress appeared before him a second later. He stared at her, wondering if she had heard him, but she looked to be busy with her restaurant duties. She slid a plate toward him. “Ham and eggs, over easy, orange juice, and toast,” she said, leaving a second plate with buttered toast and a small glass of orange juice in front of him. “Anything else?” He dismissed her with a wave.
Amanda walked over to another booth and pulled the order checks from her front pocket. “What can I get you?”
“Amanda?” She heard a voice say. She gasped, when she realized it was Augie Swann sitting there in front of her. Recovering quickly, she said, “Hello, welcome to Drifters. My name is Mandy. Have you decided on what you will be having this evening?”
Augie sized up Amanda from head to toe, then back down again stopping as he read her nametag pinned to her uniform, sure enough it read ‘Mandy.’ “You’re new, ain’t you? Nothing I like better than fresh. . .”
“Finish that sentence Augie and I’ll call Lee from the kitchen. And I don’t think you would like that at all.”
Augie shook his head and responded with a firm, "No."
“And don’t you even think of pinching my derrière.” She pointed a warning finger at him.
“No, of course not.”
“Glad we got that out of the way. Now, what can I get for you?”
Augie opened the menu and pursued it for a few moments. “Yeah, I’ll have the spare ribs, with a baked potato, milk, and a scoop of chocolate ice cream.”
Amanda quirked an eyebrow, while writing down the order. “Okay. A first lady, moo juice, and—” She bit her lip, trying to suppress a laugh that threatened to escape, “a bucket of cold mud.”
“Ugh,” she heard Augie say under his breath.
About an hour later, Amanda returned to the table where Augie had been sitting. He had placed the payment for his meal under the plate, along with a small tip. She grabbed the money and pocketed it in her front apron pocket. She then picked up the receipt and noticed Augie had written something on the back. Silently reading it, she slipped the receipt into her pocket too. While wiping down the table, she heard the bell on top of the door jingle letting her know she had more customers. She then heard a familiar voice from behind her, “Boys, settle down. Phillip, leave your brother alone. Knock it off you two, or we’ll leave right now.” Amanda quickly ran behind the counter and hid. “Order up,” she heard Lee’s voice, after he rang the order bell.
He poked his head through the window and saw Amanda on the floor, hiding behind the counter. “A-man-” She made a motion with her hand across her throat and then pointed at a family headed toward the counter. His eyes widened in surprise and he groaned inwardly. “Why me?” Dotty sat down at the counter with Phillip sitting down on her left and Jamie to her right. She glanced around the restaurant. “Where’s our waitress? We need a couple of menus.” Hands came up from behind the counter, as menus suddenly materialized in front of her. Lee grabbed a chef cap and placed it low over his eyes and he walked out from the kitchen to the counter area. “What can I get you, Ma’am?” He cast his eyes downward, not looking up.
Dotty peeked at the desert section of the menu for a second. “Yes, I’ll have a slice of apple pie; heated, alamode, and boys?”
“Banana split,” Phillip said eagerly, spinning around on the stool.
“Me too,” Jamie replied with equal enthusiasm.
Lee caught Amanda’s eye. She was barely keeping it together. He had never seen a conniption before but thought he might see one tonight. “You boys can split one,” he heard Dotty tell Phillip and Jamie. Amanda relaxed a little.
“Coming right up,” he said, turning around to make their orders.
“You look familiar,” Dotty’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t believe so, Ma’am,” he answered, catching Amanda’s eye again, he nervously blew out his breath.
****
Amanda and Lee sat at a booth at the end of the business day, counting the receipts and going over the events of the evening. “Not a bad take for the night. I’m sure the Johnson’s will appreciate the business we did for them.”
“Where are they?” Amanda inquired, she kicked off her shoes and laid her feet across the bench. “How did the Agency plan all this?”
“Well, we learned that Raymond and Joy had not been on a vacation for the past four years, so we arranged a surprise weekend vacation to the Florida Keys and then we had a “temp” agency call them telling them that they were all set for their trip as the restaurant was covered.”
“That was nice of the Agency.” She took a sip of water, she had in front of her. “Paying for them to go on a trip and all.”
Lee chuckled softly and shrugged his shoulders. “I guess. Never really thought about it.” He leaned back, contemplating the situation. He really had never thought about it. It was a means to an end. Just doing their jobs. But for Amanda, she could identify with others around her. Billy was right. She did have a unique way of looking at things. “Where did you learn all that diner slang? I had a hard time keeping up with you sometimes.”
“How do you think I made it through college?” She ran her finger along the rim of her glass. “And you? I mean, I knew you knew how to cook. But where did you learn how to be a short order cook?”
“Well, when you spend as much time as I did in mess halls, you learn a thing or two.” He then picked up the receipt Amanda had given him that Augie had left them and read it for the twentieth time. It only had one word written on it—'Pony.’ He threw it down on the table in frustration. “I don’t know what this means. I don’t know anyone named Pony, first or last name or even nickname, and there’s no Operation Pony.”
Resting her elbows on the table, Amanda propped her chin on her palm. “When I was a little girl, I always wanted a pony.”
Lee stared at her incredulously. “I thought you were allergic to horses?”
“Oh, I am. But it’s still every little girl’s dream to own a pony.” Her eyes locked with his. “Didn’t you have dreams, Lee?”
Lee looked away, and stared out the diner window at the road in front of them, watching the cars drive by. Amanda berated herself. She had gone too far again, with him. When would she ever learn? They were both startled when they heard someone clear his throat and they both turned toward the sound.
The bus boy Josh, a nineteen-year-old college student, stood before them. “I finished all the dishes and took out the trash. Anything else, Lee?”
Lee looked over at Amanda, who answered for them, “No, I think that’s it.” She slid most of the tip money toward Josh. “Thanks for all your help.”
Josh gasped in surprise. “Mandy, this is too much.”
Amanda shook her head no. “You earned it.”
Josh’s face broke out in a radiant smile. “Thanks.”
Lee took notice of the clock on the café wall; it read one-ten. “Let us walk you out, Josh.”
“You don’t have to do that.” He threw his bookbag over his right shoulder.
Amanda wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Yes, we do. This isn’t the safest of neighborhoods, especially this late at night.”
The three of them headed out the door of the diner and then Lee locked the front entry behind them. A train whistle was heard off in the distance. Josh walked over to his car and got in. Lee held up his hand in farewell as Josh’s powerful sports car engine split the night. Josh then pulled away.
Amanda grabbed Lee’s arm, pulling him toward her. “Hey,” Lee shouted.
“Josh’s car. Did you notice?”
Lee shrugged his shoulders; a bewildered look crossed his face. “I noticed he had a burnt-out taillight. Not exactly a federal offense.”
She excitedly tugged on his shirt sleeve. “He was driving a Mustang.”
“Okay,” Lee replied, unsure where she was going with this.
“Back when I was in high school my dad had a Mustang.”
Lee rubbed his temple. “A-man-”
She continued, “It was a 1966 Mustang. He loved that car, almost as much as you love your Corvette. Ford only made that particular interior in ‘65 and ‘66.”
Lee’s head was spinning as he tried to make sense of what she was rambling on about. “Interior? Amanda, get to the point,” he snapped defensively.
“Don’t you see? Because of the embossed ponies on the back of the seats, these cars garnered the nickname. . .”
“Pony,” Lee said catching on. His face then lost all expression and apprehension entered his tired voice. “Oh, no.”
“What?” Hearing the concern in Lee's voice sent chills down her spine.
“We need to get back to the Agency now.” Lee grabbed Amanda’s hand and spun them in the direction of his car. After they were both in, he placed the key in the ignition and the Corvette roared to life. Pulling away from the curb, Lee revved up the silver sports car; the tires squealing as the car sped off down the road.
****
“How the Hell did this happen?” Billy questioned his agents who sat in front of him in his office. Francine and Amanda sat in the office chairs in front of his desk, Lee leaned against the glass window that looked out into the bullpen, and Secret Agent James paced the room like a caged animal.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” Amanda began. “What is Operation Mustang?”
Brock stopped his pacing and glanced around the room looking at the other agents. He shrugged his shoulders seeing Billy silently gave him the okay to fill her in.
“Well, you know about the assassination attempt on President Reagan a few years ago, right? Of course, right. Reagan was returning to his limousine after a speaking engagement at the Washington Hilton Hotel. Shots rang out and a bullet hit him in the left underarm, breaking a rib, puncturing a lung, and causing serious internal bleeding. He survived. Anyway, the First Lady, did not want Reagan to run for office again, but after consulting her astrologer, she agreed to let him campaign for a second term if he agreed to a new state car. After two assassination attempts in the last limousine, one against Reagan, and the first against President Ford, she felt the car was cursed. Therefore, a brand-new presidential limousine was built for the President and is supposed to be delivered here in a couple of days. We planned to have a big unveiling down on Embassy Row.”
“Is it possible someone got ahold of the plans for the new car?” Francine asked Brock, tapping a file folder against her crossed knee.
Brock shook his head. “I don’t see how.”
“Could someone discover secrets from previous limousines?” Amanda inquired, her forehead wrinkling into a puzzled frown.
Francine looked up at Lee, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head. This was not lost on Amanda.
Brock pulled up an extra chair from the office and sat down. Clasping his fingers together, while resting his elbows on his legs, he leaned forward. “Decommissioned presidential cars are dismantled and destroyed to prevent their secrets from being known to outside parties.”
Amanda tapping her chin thoughtfully, looked over at Billy. “Sir, could someone plant explosives in the new car?”
“No, the car will be thoroughly checked before going past the gate at the White House. Bomb sniffing dogs will be used, as well as mirrors that will look for explosives under the belly of the car,” Billy informed her.
“In the first Presidential assassination attempt, the bullet fired from Hinkley’s rifle, ricocheted off the side of the limo. That could happen again, right?” Amanda questioned hesitantly.
“Well, first, President Reagan no longer walks in or out of his limo from an unsecured public sidewalk. Second, the new presidential limo is fully armor-plated and has bullet proof glass that is 2 2/8 inches thick, has a raised roof and seats, so the President can see the crowd, and has oversized wheels and tires to handle the extra weight,” Brock answered with confidence.
“But still a bullet could ricochet, right?” The other agents in the room stared at Amanda for a moment.
Billy shrugged lightly. “I guess anything is possible.”
“Amanda, Dear,” Francine scoffed. “I think you are on the wrong track.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I am a trained agent and you are not.”
Amanda groaned as she rolled his eyes. “Puuleeaase.”
The two women bickered with each other for a moment, but were both startled when they heard a sharp loud whistle escape Lee’s tightened lips.
Billy popped three antacids into his mouth, before saying, “This is getting out of hand.”
Amanda looked at the floor, slightly embarrassed for squabbling with Francine. “Sorry, Sir.”
“Francine, fighting amongst ourselves is getting us nowhere.” Billy then turned to look at Amanda. “Amanda, I appreciate your input. But in the spy business we have an old saying, ‘let’s stick to what we know’.”
Amanda nodded ashamedly.
Billy stood up and laid both hands on his desk, spreading his fingers lightly over the mahogany wood. “So, what do we know?” He looked over at Lee and then Amanda and Francine. No one answered. He then turned to Brock. “Who else knows about the unveiling?”
Brock stood up and put his hand on the back of his neck. “Lots of people at various embassies know about it, of course. However, no one outside the Secret Service and the four of you in this room would know the name of the operation.”
Billy moved to the front of his desk and perched himself on the corner. “I think we can also assume if anything is going to happen it would most likely happen at the unveiling.”
“Maybe we should cancel the event,” Francine suggested.
“No,” Amanda proposed. “Maybe we should use the event to smoke them out. I mean, that’s what you call it, right? Smoke them out?”
All four heads curiously turned to look at Amanda. Billy shrugged, “Why not? It might just work.”
****
Hisssss-sssss, went the sound of air escaping from the air brakes as a fair-skinned man with a high and tight haircut climbed out of the truck cab. He strolled over to the dispatch office with a clipboard filled with log sheets in his hand. He wore a tank top which not only showed off his muscular arms and torso, but also a canvas for his never-ending tattoos.
He strolled into the office and leaned against the counter eyeing the pear-shaped young lady working behind the desk, frantically answering the dispatch phones. The man cleared his throat to grab her attention.
“Oh, hi, Harley,” she flipped her elbow-length, stringy, black hair and leaned forward against the counter toward him. The telephone rang, “Sorry. We are short staffed today. I need to grab that.” She picked up the receiver, “Imperial Trucking, this is Trinity speaking.”
Harley only half listened to the one-sided conversation. He shifted his weight while trying to read the dispatch notes on the counter. Seeing Trinity was still busy on the phone and no one else was in the office observing him, he removed a log sheet and shoved it behind the rest of his paperwork on his clipboard. He tapped the clipboard onto the counter and Trinity turned around holding up one finger, signaling to him she would only be another minute. She hung up the phone a moment later and apologized to him again as the telephone rang once more.
“No worries, Darlin’,” he glanced at his watch after it beeped. “It’s late. Don’t think I’ll get another run in today. Catch you on the flip side.” He walked out the door and headed back toward his truck. After firing up his semi, the diesel engine rumbled-rumbled-rumbled to life. He then backed up to the loading dock and handed the slip to the lot attendant. The attendant then loaded the vehicle onto Harley Diskoll’s car hauler and after handing the paperwork back to Harley, he watched the car hauler head out the gate and drive down the road before helping another trucker with their cargo.
Several miles later, Harley pulled off the road and drove into an empty lot. He climbed out of the truck and looked at his prize. He couldn’t believe his luck. A shiny new presidential limousine sat on the back of his auto transport trailer. He had to admit, she was sweet looking. The Cadillac Fleetwood was all in black, armor-plated he was sure, with greenhouse windows wrapped in bulletproof glass, the embroidered presidential seal was on the back rear doors, and two flags; one the presidential flag and on the other side the U.S. flag were positioned on the front fenders. After admiring his handiwork with a low whistle, he then grabbed a toolbox from a side compartment on his cab and walked under the limo as it sat high in the air and got to work.
****
The limousine slowed and then stopped in front of the American Embassy. The chauffeur opened the door and Lee climbed out. He then reached for Amanda’s hand and helped her out of the car, before wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her close. Amanda felt sheepish, stealing a glimpse of her partner for the evening. He looked incredibly handsome in his black tux. “Stop it,” she chastised herself. “He doesn’t even realize you’re a woman.” She was dressed in an elegant red silk dress, she couldn’t believe how incredibly soft it was against her skin; however, it was Lee’s touch that was causing goosebumps to pucker on her flesh. “Ready, Darling?” His hot breath was warm against her ear, if he hadn’t had his arm around her, she was sure she would have collapsed from all the sensations he was evoking. He tapped his ear piece; business as usual. Here they were again, maintaining their covers.
Lee turned to say something to the driver. “Stay in the car, Augie. And no funny business, not here for you to pull a con, got it?”
“Just doing our jobs,” Amanda mentally reminded herself as the two of them shouldered their way through the crowd.
Lee cast a glance over the throng of people, scanning faces with practiced ease. “Scarecrow to Lancer, see anything yet?” He communicated through the hidden microphone on his cufflink.
Billy, Francine, and a couple other agents from the Agency were looking through binoculars from the rooftop of the embassy. “Negative, but keep your eyes open.”
“Copy,” Lee affirmed, he then turned to look at Amanda and drink in the sight of her. She looked extremely beautiful in her red gown. It was the perfect fit – the cut and the color. “Fits her like a second skin”, he thought. Feeling his gaze, she turned her head and caught him staring. He cleared his throat and grabbed two champagne flutes from a silver platter, as a waiter passed by them. After passing a glass to her, he raised his own glass to his lips, and whispered, “You look wonderful.” She blushed a bright red crimson and ducked her head.
A few moments later, a car carrier decked out in red, white, and blue bunting came bounding down the road and came to a halt in front of the large crowd. The driver descended from the cab and then lowered the ramps on the trailer to unload the limousine.
Amanda was the first to identify him. “Lee, I recognize him from the diner.”
Harley turned toward the voice and seeing Lee and Amanda, he took off running. He hopped into a limousine with Herzoslovakia flags on the front fender and tires squealed as the limo sped off. The chauffeur, who had been on a smoke break, screamed in protest and threw his hat down on the ground in frustration.
Lee was the first to reach the Agency limousine that brought them to the event. He pushed Augie aside, who had been sitting in the driver’s seat.
“Hey,” Augie objected.
Amanda hopped into the passenger seat, pushing Augie into the center seat. Lee sped off down the road, spitting gravel in their wake.
Harley drove fast, but being more at ease at driving a big rig than a limousine, he fishtailed going around a corner. Screech. A hubcap flew off. He quickly recovered and continued down the road. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the other limo was gaining on him.
Amanda glanced at the speedometer, taking notice of the speed they were traveling. She wondered if she shouldn't gently remind him they were not in a sports car. Nonetheless, Lee navigated the limousine down the streets with practiced skill. Lee glided into a continued slide as he cut a corner to gain even more ground with the perpetrator. From the corner of her eye, she gave him an approving look, while simultaneously keeping a second eye on the road, she admired his skill.
Augie, however, was screaming from the center seat. “Let me out! Let me out now! We’re all gonna die.”
“Shut up, Augie!” Lee yelled from the driver's seat.
Harley checked on his pursuers, and rolling down the window, he aimed a gun at them and fired a couple rounds. He turned to face the front again only to notice at the last moment a large semi-truck had slowed down in front of him. He slammed on the brakes too late and rear-ended the truck.
The limo with Lee and Amanda screeched to a halt. Lee hopped out and ran up to the other limousine, he pulled the driver out. Harley, dazed and confused, complied without resistance, allowing Lee to handcuff him. Secret Service and Agency agents pulled up to the scene a few moments later, and Lee shoved Harley toward Brock. “He’s all yours.”
Amanda and Augie ran up to Lee. “Thanks for your help, Augie,” Lee told him.
Augie’s hand crept up and he smiled.
Lee heaved a sigh, and opened up his wallet. He reached for a twenty-dollar bill, but seeing Amanda in the corner of his eye shaking her head, he groaned, grabbing a fifty-dollar bill instead. Then Lee and Amanda walked toward their section chief, leaving Augie standing at the shoulder of the road all by himself.
“A limo business? Hmm, not a bad idea,” Augie said to himself out loud.
****
Lee and Amanda were walking side by side down the walkway after they had left from the Georgetown entrance of the Agency.
“Yeah, even the Secret Service had a hard time discovering what Harley Driskoll had done to sabotage the president’s limousine. Pretty ingenious of him actually. He had drained the power steering fluid. The rack would have heated up as they drove, eventually seizing to where they couldn’t steer and crash.”
“Well, thank goodness the President—” Amanda did not have a chance to finish, when a limousine rolled up. The presidential state car was flanked by Secret Service men, including Brock James. The rear window slowly let down.
Amanda gasped. “Do you know who you are?”
“Yes, I know who I am,” President Reagan chuckled good naturally.
Lee shook President Reagan’s hand. “It’s an honor, Mr. President.”
“The honor is all mine.” His eyes crinkled and his smile broadened. “Nancy and I appreciate your service. We know it’s a thankless job. Keep up the good work, Agent Stetson. And you too, Mrs. King.” He started to roll up the window, but stopped it halfway. “Oh, and congratulations on your nuptials. You make one hell of a team.” The limousine pulled away, leaving a speechless Lee and Amanda.
Amanda was looking at the ground, kicking at a small pebble with her tennis shoe. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Lee. “Lee?”
“Hmm?”
“Why does the President. . .” She cleared her throat and began again. “Umm, who told you our ‘marriage’ was still valid?” She gestured, using air quotes around the word marriage.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shifted restlessly from foot to foot. “That would have been Rick from legal.” Lee paused for a moment, before continuing in a harder voice, “Who just happens to have a huge crush on Francine. And I just bet I know who put him up to this.”
“In other words, Francine is pulling a fast one of us.” Amanda’s face reddened.
“Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee. I have an idea what to do about Francine,” he said, leading her down the sidewalk toward a local coffee shop.
****
Lee and Amanda strolled into Billy’s office. He was on the telephone, and held up a pointed finger and mouthed one minute. A moment later, he hung up the phone.
“Marriage license, change of address, beneficiary forms, and updates for medical, dental, and vision insurance, and the other paperwork you asked for, Billy.” Lee placed the papers in front of him.
Francine breezed into Billy’s office carrying a stack of case files.
“Looks good,” Billy said, perusing the documents. “Give them to HR for processing.”
Francine placed the files down on Billy’s desk. “What’s this?” Her eyebrow shot up at the thought of intruding gossip.
Lee’s fingers intertwined with Amanda’s. “I guess you didn’t hear. Legal said the marriage in San Angelo was binding. And it’s too late for an annulment since we consummated the marriage. We thought, why not stay married.”
Amanda gave Lee a kiss on the cheek. “Isn’t that great news?! Mother and the boys are thrilled.”
Francine, seeing their joined hands, noticed the matching his and her wedding bands on their ring fingers and she slowly sank down on the sofa, struggling to regain her breath after receiving the shocking news. “What?!”
“You know, Francine, I said it once before and it’s worth repeating, I've gained a lot of respect for the generosity . . .” he winked at Amanda, before continuing, “and stamina of the American housewife.”
Francine made a face. “Ewww.”
“Well, shall we husband,” playing their covers, she squeezed his hand. “Remember you promised the boys you’d fire up the grill when we got home.”
“No, no, no. Lee, Amanda, it was just a prank.”
Amanda feigned shock, grabbing her chest. “What do you mean this was all a joke? How could you? We already told the boys that Lee was their new stepdad.” She sobbed and buried her face in Lee’s chest.
Lee stiffened, but quickly recovered, wrapping his arms around Amanda. “And you know what, Francine?” He gritted his teeth, having a hard time holding it together as he felt Amanda tremble against his body, quivering from suppressed laughter.
“What?” Francine finally managed to squeak out.
“Gotcha,” Lee and Amanda said in unison.
The sound of laughter filled the office, and even Francine’s laugh blended in with those in the room a few moments later.
The End
Author’s note: Thanks to Taya for the story prompt: “What do you mean, we’re married?” Also, thanks to my beta’s Taya and Beth for helping me improve the story, catching my boo-boos, and letting me harass them every few hours with a bombardment of questions: does this work; how does this read, does this sound realistic, I wonder what the FBI would think if they ever read my browser history, etc.?