The Scout's mother wanted to toss the phone book out of the hotel window.
The damned thing must have weighed as much as a brick. It was tattered, used so much for its young age. There were thousands of yellow and white pages inside of it. The book was littered with ads for pizzerias, other hotels, tourist attractions, plumbers, and every kind of clothing store one could possibly want to shop at. Especially the indecent kinds. It was hard to keep searching with so many distractions.
It didn't help that the Spy was such a crafty bastard. He had four times as many pseudonyms as he had celebrated birthdays. The Scout's mother would tear out a page as she found a name, then circled which ones to check. Before long, she had a pile as large as a paperback novel sitting next to her. At that point, she had just reached the middle of the book.
Another book thumped next to her side. Miss Pauling rubbed her back. Sleeping on the poor mattresses had been rough. "I fished an old phone book out from behind the service counter. Once you're done getting names, we can cross reference the old book and take out what numbers existed the year before."
The Scout's mother smirked. She handed half her pile of numbers to the assistant. "Great. Get crackin'."
Miss Pauling lifted an eyebrow, then gave up. It really wasn't fair to make the Scout's mother do all the work on this one. There wasn't much time to stall, anyway. The boys in Hydro might be in trouble, after all. She would have to make sure they were monitored as well as she could through the other end of a phone cord.
Grabbing a pen, Miss Pauling started flipping through the other book. She began crossing off names as the Scout's mother tore out another page. Some of the names were pretty standard—Claudes, Jeans, Antoines, so on. Many were French, but some were Spanish or Italian. His names seemed less like what a French woman would name her child and more like what foreigners would expect his name to be.
"There are quite a few Bernards on this list," Miss Pauling mused.
The Scout's mother smirked. "Wait until you get to dhe Ms."
Miss Pauling nodded, then pushed her glasses up. "How do you know so many of these names, anyway? He wouldn't have been foolish enough to share all of these with you, would he?"
"I never said dhat he told them to me," the Scout's mother grinned. "Well, not on purpose. If you get too much booze in him—and I mean, a lot—he sleep talks."
"That's got to be one of the worst traits a spy could have," Miss Pauling laughed.
The Scout's mother grinned, then bopped Miss Pauling on the nose with her pencil. "Hey, I wasn't working for dhe company dhat hired him."
It took both women about an hour to work through the phone books. By the end of their hunt, they had a little over five hundred possible candidates. Not bad, for a greater metropolitan area of over a million people, but still quite a few to track down. They were going to run up quite the phone bill, at any rate. That was assuming they would get a hold of their targets on the first call, too.
"Do you want to take over calling them?" Miss Pauling asked.
The Scout's mother nodded. "Sure thing, kid. What are you gonna do, in dhe meantime?"
Miss Pauling ran her fingers through her hair. "I could use a shower. Want me to pick up breakfast first?"
"Go get yourself cleaned up, sweetheart," the Scout's mother said. "We can always do brunch, if it gets too late."
That sounded nice. Miss Pauling was startled by how pleasing the thought of a late breakfast was. As chaotic as this trip had been, even something as small as getting a decent meal seemed wonderful. She grabbed an armful of fresh clothing from her suitcase, then went off to shower. It wasn't too long before the gentle sound of running water and hot steam filled the hotel room.
The Scout's mother hadn't expected to get many people at this time of day. Most men would be at work, anyway. She was able to scratch a few off here and there. Most of the men that answered the phone were gruff, coarse. They were missing the smooth, silky texture of the suave secret agent. They didn't have his goofy, snorting laughter, either.
After Miss Pauling was done showering and grooming, she kept quiet in the hotel room. She gestured out of the front door, but the Scout's mother shook her head. Food would have to wait. The silence was broken every few seconds or so with either a clack or a "Sorry, wrong number." No luck. The Spy must have been working, too.
Doing what? Neither women knew. He was skilled at seduction and theft, but as far as other jobs went? Anything white collar would be impossible. There wasn't enough time for him to be certified in any high paying career. Hard blue-collar jobs seemed awkward and unlikely. The Spy was good at cleaning up after a job, but that certainly didn't mean that he enjoyed the act. He was a talented chef, but he wouldn't tolerate working in a high-paced area like a restaurant. Perhaps he was a tailor? He did have a good eye for dressing others, but he was so fickle about materials and rarely gave a damn about costs. He wasn't exactly gentle about working with anything less than perfection, either.
Frankly, he wasn't great about working with other people in general.
"Well, I was able to get fifty names off dhe list," the Scout's mother sighed.
"We'll have to try later tonight, I suppose. Or maybe over lunch," Miss Pauling suggested. "It was probably just a bad time to call."
The Scout's mother frowned. "I hope dhat's it. 'Cause if he's on vacation, we could be here for weeks!"
Miss Pauling balked at those words. She reached for her towel, then began rubbing loose droplets of water out of her hair. "I don't think we have that much time. At least, the others don't."
Pitching the towel aside, Miss Pauling grabbed a hairdryer and a brush. As she dried her hair, the Scout's mother decided to get herself ready for the day. She took her last clean outfit and put it on in the bathroom. The dress was a little out of season, just a bit too tight. She would have to get her other clothes cleaned as soon as possible. Beyond that, she needed new pantyhose. Maybe some shoes that didn't kill her feet, too.
"Hey, Miss P!" the Scout's mother called into the other room. She waited for the buzz of the hairdryer to stop before talking again. "Does dhis hotel have a washer and dryer in it?"
Miss Pauling replied, "I think so. There's laundry soap in the vending machines, anyway."
"Neat! I could stand doing a few loads. Heck, I could use new clothes all together!" the Scout's mother laughed.
"You know, that's not a bad idea," Miss Pauling mused. "Most of my clothing is a little rough right now, too. It might throw off our pursuers to get something different to wear."
"Dhat's totally what I was thinking!" the Scout's mother fibbed. "Plus, my shoes are killing my feet!"
They really didn't have that money to spend, but it wasn't like either woman needed haute couture suits, either. Just something to get them through a few more days. Cotton shirts, a loose skirt, jeans or shorts, tennis shoes. When they got back to Teufort, they could raid through abandoned uniforms for something a little more appropriate for war. Right now, they just needed something to beat the heat and humidity.
The duo placed both Miss Pauling's notes and the potential phone numbers into the room's vault. They made sure their luggage was hidden and their room locked up tight before they exited the hotel. Both women carried their weapons with them. The Scout's mother had put the Spy's revolver in her purse. Miss Pauling had a pilfered pistol courtesy of Mann's robot fleet tucked into a holster beneath her skirt. Perhaps not the most inconspicuous place to put it—and she might catch the eye of a few lustful observers if she drew it—but it at least allowed them to travel around in public without catching anyone's attention.
Souvenir shops littered the streets. Men wandered in a perpetual whiskey fog. Miss Pauling saw more clothing and jewelry made out of alligator bits than she ever cared to see. She thought that even the Sniper would have called some of their displayed items distasteful. Cars and horse-drawn carriages shared the road. Stranger still were the tourist traps surrounded by women in huge antebellum skirts. That was the last thing either woman needed to wear. Although, there was something amusing about the thought of taking back Teufort in a corset and petticoats.
It would definitely be easier to smuggle large guns under a hoop skirt. Now, if it would only be easier to reach them.
They finally came across a shop with some decent clothing hanging in the windows. It was still garish compared to their normal clothing, but at least it didn't have New Orleans slapped across the chest. Most of the patterns were loose, bohemian. Leftovers from wild days in the past decade. A few were spackled with giant flowers. Nothing said subtlety like a red shirt with hibiscus blooms on it. They were able to pick up a few shirts, shorts, and skirts before clearing the store. Even the few items they purchased nearly doubled the wardrobe they were traveling with.
When the duo dropped their items off in the pickup's front, a white storefront caught the Scout's mother's eyes. Sitting in the windows were all kind of high-heeled shoes. She laughed, then shook her head. There were two colors of shoes in the windows—red in the east, blue in the west. Someone must have been bored to organize those shoes.
"What's up with that?" Miss Pauling asked.
"Not a clue," the Scout's mother replied. "Nice shoes, though. Not dhe kind of shoes we need for walking around. Gotta be practical, right?"
Miss Pauling glanced at her watch. It surprised her that the Spy's tool for going invisible actually did keep time. "We've got a few minutes, if you'd like to go in."
The Scout's mother rubbed her cheek. She feigned helplessness. "You're twistin' my arm! Oh, no! How can I possibly resist?"
Miss Pauling gave her a smirk and a shake of her head. Leave it to the pushy mother of eight annoying sons to make her feel like the manipulative one. She locked the truck up once more, then waved the Scout's mother over. When the traffic cleared, they crossed the street.
The door jingled as the duo entered the shoe store. It was quite different on the inside. There was a woody, musky scent coming up from the floorboards. Most of the lights were kept low. Only the morning sun brought any true light inside the shop. The walls were filled with cream and white boxes. Leather benches took up most of the center space. The check-out was kept far to the back, occupied by a thin man with his nose in a newspaper. He didn't seem particularly concerned with the lazy flow of customers throughout his shop.
Both women moved together, taking their time to peruse the shop's contents. The other customers around them moved in a slow wave, taking their time to look through each and every box. Really, they didn't need to pick up much. Miss Pauling found a pair of sneakers with enough ease, although it was much harder to locate socks in the store. The Scout's mother was distracted by shinier things. It was hard to focus on buying something practical when there were all kinds of neat items to investigate.
The Scout's mother picked up one pair of clodhoppers. It was like someone had drilled a hole through clogs. The bright red stripes that burst from the shoe's center were amusing, but she couldn't imagine risking her neck over something so ungainly. She laughed to herself. "I'd break my neck in dhese."
"Indeed," a dark voice agreed with her.
She just about jumped out of her dress. Standing next to her was the face of a man she had known for over twenty years. He was hardly as surprised to see her. He went about his business, flicking box lids open to find another pair of shoes. She stared at him in wild disbelief. The wrinkles around his eyes were a smidge deeper, and his peculiar facial tans had disappeared. The rat bastard had dyed silver flecks out of his hair. That nose hadn't changed, though. He sniffed once as he pulled down another box, then handed it to the bewildered woman.
"Shall we try zhese?" the former Spy asked.
The Scout's mother stammered. For once, she was struck mute. What the hell was she supposed to say to him? He wouldn't remember her, even if she did come up with something clever. She reached for the box, the pads of her fingers resting on top of his fingernails. Still as well-groomed as ever. She flushed with a sudden burst of confused heat, then nodded.
"Come, zhen." Her lost paramour led her to a bench. "Let me help you."
She followed him, her head clouded. She glanced around to try and find Miss Pauling. The other woman was still hunting for socks. She lifted her head, catching the Scout's mother's bewildered face. Ma bobbed her head at the clerk next to her. Miss Pauling's eyes widened, but she didn't blurt out. There couldn't be any sudden, rash movements. Not when in public, and not while reeling in this catch.
The Scout's mother took a seat on the bench. A warm hand wrapped itself behind her right ankle. She tried not to giggle as the Spy slipped the first shoe on her foot. It was white with a golden toe, trim, and heel. The pump was a modest couple of inches—not too high, but just enough to provide a little lift.
"Have you walked in zhese kinds of shoes before?" he asked.
"Yeah. Let me give them a shot," she replied.
As far as high heels went, they fit well. They didn't hurt to walk around in, either. Hardly the kind of thing to stomp around mud-splattered trenches and desert sands, but not bad for a party. She definitely would need pantyhose, though. Another flush went through her. She wasn't wearing pantyhose. He saw her pale, pasty legs and touched them anyway! Had she even remembered to keep her legs crossed while he was down there, or did she give him a free show?
This was all very embarrassing and exciting.
"Well?" the former Spy asked.
The Scout's mother bobbed her head. "Good fit. But I'm really not here to buy heels today. Kind of going on a big trip."
The shoe salesman lifted an eyebrow. "Oh? Where to?"
"Ah, well, you know." She rubbed the back of her head. "Out and about. Kind of need something more practical."
A light went off in the Spy's head. Not the one that the Scout's mother was looking for, but something good enough. "Boots, perhaps. Wait one moment." He turned back to the racks, then fished a long box out. What he brought back made her smile. It was so like him. The boots went up to just below her knee, white leather slipping easily around her calves. The heels were a little lifted, the toes rounded and simple. Small, silver buckles sat just above both of her ankles. They drew a long leather band around her legs. She brought her knees together as he fussed with the buckles, bending over to watch him work.
"What do you zhink?" he asked.
The Scout's mother took them for a test drive. They felt wonderful. The cool leather was pleasantly tight around her legs. The heels weren't too heavy, but they were stable. She thought about having to run in them. Perhaps she didn't have the stamina to make over a few miles, but these boots certainly could hold together that long.
Besides, she felt like she had to buy something from him.
"Dhey're poifect." She smiled, then returned to the bench. "Listen. I know this might be a little personal, but I could use some—"
"Stockings, yes," the Spy agreed. "One moment."
As he went over to a rack of hosiery, Miss Pauling slipped to the Scout's mother's side. She grinned, then leaned towards the other woman's ear. "How's it going?"
"Got him under my boot," the Scout's mother chuckled, waggling her right foot. "Leave him to me. I'll get him to dhe truck."
Miss Pauling drew back, but then nodded. It would make less of a scene for one woman to lead a man away than for two. If anyone was going to draw him out, it was going to have to be the seductress. Miss Pauling slipped outside, hurrying towards the driver's seat. They would have to move fast once the little mother had the Spy in the bag. They didn't need him making a fuss in public.
The shoe salesman brought a package of stockings back to the Scout's mother. "Your size, I presume?"
Leave it to the Spy to know her waist and shoe size, but not her face. The Scout's mother took the package from him, then nodded. "Poifect! Thank you."
"It is my pleasure," the Spy replied. "Do you need anyzhing else?"
The Scout's mother beamed. "Well…"
She motioned for the Spy to come closer. He lifted an eyebrow but did lend her an ear. She cupped her hand around it and began to whisper her next request. "When's your next break, sweetheart?"
A flush of color uncharacteristic to the Spy's cool composure spread across his face. He coughed once, then fussed with his shirt collar. The Scout's mother grinned. Apparently, he had been looking. More importantly, she still had it! It took him a moment to recover before replying. "I am overdue for one. What are you suggesting?"
"You see, me 'n my pal in dhe truck? We're gonna have brunch soon," the Scout's mother lured. "At our hotel."
"Ah! Well," the Spy started again. He coughed, stalling for time. "I tend to brunch wizh… only one companion at a time. It makes…conversation simpler."
The Scout's mother grinned. He was in sync. More importantly, he was being fussy about this. She wasn't sure why that made her happy, but perhaps it was false optimism for his fidelity. She hooked a finger in his collar. "I'm sure she can do laundry for about an hour, if you'd like. Maybe even an hour and a half."
"Ah, but I only have one hour to spare," the Spy sighed.
"I'll find you a way to get that extra half hour," the Scout's mother whispered. "I promise."
The former Spy lifted an eyebrow. He glanced up and down, then nodded. "Let us check you out."
It didn't take long for the Spy to ring up the boots and stockings. She played with the buckles of her garters as the Spy worked on her transaction. That brought a small smirk to his face. Even a man as reserved as him would crack, given the right stimulus. The Scout's mother grinned as she paid for her purchases. Her boots weren't the only thing she had in the bag.
"Clock out 'n follow me, sweetie." The Scout's mother led the Spy on.
It didn't take long for him to do so. The Scout's mother hopped into the awaiting car. She gave Miss Pauling a thumbs up, then looked around for the Spy. He waltzed to his gray car, his pace brisk but collected. She waved for him from the back of her truck, then swatted the seats. Miss Pauling took off, leading the smitten Spy back to their location.
When they parked in front of their hotel, his car slowed. He seemed apprehensive to follow them to their room but did so. "Dhis is a bit of a rough place, is it not?"
"Well, we're tough chicks," the Scout's mother replied. "I hope you can handle dhat."
"Precisely how tough?" the Spy asked.
Miss Pauling answered him by locking their hotel door.
Author's Notes
Shoe shopping…
I had thought of turning Spy into this gross, put-upon Al Bundy sort of fellow, but this seemed just as good.