When the redhead walked into my office, I knew there would be trouble.
I took a slug. Of bourbon.
My name is Spender, Jeffrey Spender. I'm an FBI Agent.
"They told me I should come to you," the redhead said. "They said you were the best."
"That's right, babe." I blew a cloud of smoke across the desk. "I'm Agent Spender. You in some sort of jam?"
"Can you spare a butt? I'm a little nervous."
I laughed. "Butts we've got. Didn't you scope the door on the way in?"
I'm a Butt Man. I'm the best they've got. They give me the pics, I get the perps. With their pants down.
I tossed a Lucky to my visitor. "So, spill the beans."
"My name is Max."
It was the same old story. Aliens abducted the kid, the spooks were trying to shut his yap, hired a thug to follow the kid, steal the evidence. Now he wanted me to nab the goon before he handed over the dope.
It didn't sound like my kind of floor show, not many butts to tail, but before I could tell him to blow, I got a buzz on the horn from the Man Upstairs. I was on the case.
I gave the kid the up and down. Red curls, wire rims, cute ass--quite a looker. Maybe this case wouldn't be so bad after all.
"Let's breeze, babe. I'll buy you dinner and you can tell me about the greys that snatched you."
My secretary was reading a magazine and chewing gum.
"There you are, Jeff. Ready to go?" She snapped her gum.
"Sorry, sister, I've got a date with Max." I stubbed my Lucky out in the ashtray on her desk.
"But Jeff," she whined, "you was going to take me to the movies."
Skirts, nothing but trouble. "I might be late tomorrow. I'm on a case."
And we left, closing the door just as the ashtray slammed against it.
We went to a dive where the waitresses all know me and give me free coffee. I ate a clubhouse sandwich. The redhead gave me his slant on his theories about the aliens. It was cute. I've heard stranger, though.
Over lemon pie I started my act.
"So, Max, ever been out with a G-Man before?"
"Well, once, but he was nothing like you." He gazed at me adoringly. "He was really weird, sort of scary." Then his face scrunched up like a baby's. "He let them take me! He said I'd be safe with him!"
Time to make my move. I took his hand.
"You're upset. Come back to my place and have a few. It'll put some backbone into you."
It worked. I wasn't surprised. Back at my place, we tossed a few shots and I talked about my cases. He was impressed. We had a few more.
Then I told him I needed a picture of his butt for the record. He flashed me and I flashed back. I said I'd file the snap. It's not the only thing he let me file.
He called me Big Spender. They all do.
Then it was time to go. The kid told me that the thug hung out at this clip joint, The Tool Box. I'd been there before. That's where I got my nickname.
The kid wanted to come along but I told him it wasn't safe. I told him to stay at my place. He said he'd wait for me. Of course.
I got my leather jacket and matching holster and I was ready for action.
I walked into The Tool Box and cased the joint. A tough crowd, just my style.
There was my goon by the bar. I took a stool not too far away and waited for him to pipe me giving him the eye. He had an ugly mug but he looked like he was packing more than heat.
I love my work.
He bought me a drink. They can't resist me. We cozied up and I figured it wouldn't be long before we drifted off to his place. Instead I drifted off onto the bar.
When I came to, there were church bells ringing in my head. A Mickey Finn. I was handcuffed to a pipe in a dingy flop. Next to me was the kid, conked out and tied to a chair. They must have snatched him from my apartment.
The door opened. The goon walked in, roscoe in hand. Following him was this little grey gink. A stinking alien.
I turned to the goon. "What's the matter? Didn't think I was going to give it to you?"
"Shut yer yap, Nancy," he growled, "or you'll be wearing a wooden kimono."
This was looking serious. A guy with a gat, I could handle. An alien, that's different.
The alien ignored us, started fooling with some freaky Star Trek machine in the corner. The tough loomed menacingly.
First things first, get the rod. So I did this thing I do, this pheromone thing. It's easy, I just concentrate. Next thing I knew, the thug was sidling up to me like a bum to hooch.
"Hey, sweetheart, don't I at least get to smoke?" I batted the baby blues. "There's a deck of Luckies in my jacket pocket. I'll split with you."
He reached for my jacket.
"The inside pocket, bo."
He slid his hand inside my coat. I knew I had him. Too bad I was going to have to kill him. Like I said, he was packing.
I brought my knee up just like Momma taught me. He grunted and curled up on the floor, dropping the heater.
I snapped the bracelets and they opened. Did I mention I'm an escape artist?
I grabbed the gun and drilled him in the noggin. One down.
Before I could pump lead into that grey bastard, he turned around and waved some sort of ray at me.
I started to float up into the air. The gat twisted in my hand and flew away. For once in my life, I didn't know what to do.
The alien pulled me closer and closer as I struggled to get down. Then I heard a shout. The kid was awake.
He was still tied to the chair but he moved closer to the grey as fast as he could. I never thought he had it in him.
The alien just ignored him, which turned out to be a mistake. Max scooted up next to him and kicked him in the leg. The alien fell over, dropping his tractor beam.
And I fell. Right on top of the alien. Crunch. The alien's guts spurted everywhere. Max passed out again. My leather jacket was ruined.
I patted down the dead thug for the video tape and stuffed it into my pocket, then checked his butt. He was a wanted man all right, on several counts. I snapped a shot for the records.
I got out my shiv and sliced the kid's ropes. Then, I hauled the punk onto my shoulder and staggered out into the night.
I hailed a cab. I had to give the driver a C before he'd take us all goopy like that. He wanted to know what we'd been doing. I told him jello wrestling at a leather bar. He drove faster.
Back at my place, I got us cleaned up and made some coffee. There was a message on my answering machine. It was my secretary. She'd arranged a transfer to another division where her "talents" would be appreciated. That's the third one this year.
The kid came around. He was grateful.
"You saved me! Big Spender, I knew it the moment I stepped into your office. I knew you were different."
I guess he didn't remember kicking the alien. That's OK.
"What can I do to thank you?"
"Can you type, kid?"
"Uh...yeah."
"I need a new secretary. You've got the job."
So we did some more filing.
The kid fell asleep in my bed, but I stayed up in the living room, pouring bourbon after bourbon as I thought about it all.
Another evil man, another lousy alien were sleeping the big sleep, another redhead was out of jeopardy, another case solved, another secretary hired. There would be more.
Just another day for Big Spender.
FINIS
donna @ September 06, 2004
Slash is rong