It was a Wednesday like many others for Rita. She was on her knees with a trowel facing one of her many flower beds renewing her weekly battle battle against a relentless foe. In her professional life adversaries were usually dispatched in short order. Not this time, though. The weeds and insects were gaining on her precious charges that the garden store had advised her would be troublesome. Rita took their advice, as she often did, as a challenge and proceeded to plant them in all three front yard beds established by the former owner. She felt her stubborn dedication would be enough to turn the tide. She was totally unprepared for the evolutionary advantages her foes would bring to the fight.
The beds were the pride and joy of the former owners, Andy and Annie or the double As as the neighbors knew them. They had lived in the house for twenty plus years hoping to age in place. After both retired from the local Parks Department, they had put heart and soul into making their lot the pride of the cul-de-sac. Loads of TLC and lots of advice from the county extension office did wonders for the curb appeal of their rather plain one story rambler. When the house went up for sale, there were a number of bids, but Annie was only interested in dealing with Rita because their broker told them she was drawn to the property not by the location or the features in the home. No, none of that mattered; the real allure of this property was the challenge of keeping those front beds in tip top condition.
When the new owners arrived, all were pleasantly surprised to see an older couple probably just a few years away from taking their turn at trying to age in place. All valued tranquility over excitement and seemed pretty confident that the new additions would not disturb the quiet they all valued. What they did not know was both Rita and Jackson wanted that more than anything else. Their goal was to blend in, be normal, and begin a deliberate decoupling from a professional life that would have horrified their neighbors.
The decision had come after they had finally had the talk. Both were creeping towards 70 and knew their profession was changing in a way that would make them far less valuable to their masters. The new leadership was warming up to game theory, artificial intelligence, and all things cyber. Human assets were a drain on resources and often not that confident about the intel they provided. Analytics came with quotable confidence levels, though both Jackson and Rita presented cogent arguments against rashly dismissing human input for whatever some screen jockey holed up in a darkroom told them.
They and their group, oddly called Drawer 7 within the agency, were now playing a very reduced role to a bunch of cyber geeks. They exuded total confidence in their predictions. Drawer 7 people were never smug in their analysis or predictions. Experience taught them nothing was certain about human behavior until it was usually too late. Unfortunately for those who were part of Drawer 7, newer leadership preferred numerical confidence over nuance.
In the almost year since they had moved in, the neighbors got an impression of friendly, but hardly gregarious. Some thought it was suspicious; others just considered them more private than most. Really, only two things stood out over this time that seemed noteworthy.
The first was the arrival of a large van that delivered a huge box promoting the many features of the gun safe inside. Rita had argued against the very conspicuous purchase citing unnecessary neighborhood gossip. Jackson didn't care. Both had a list of resourceful enemies a mile long, and he was not about to be without a host of firepower options if any dared darken the door of their retirement oasis.
The second was bit more complicated. It happened around mid-morning on a weekday when an unremarkable walker on their cul-de-sac sidewalk was suddenly violently mugged by an assailant who would soon learn the true meaning of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The first bit of bad news for the perpetrator was that Rita witnessed the entire horrific act as the woman started screaming and her pocketbook was clearly now dangling from the shoulder of the fleeing bad guy.
The second mistake was his choice of an escape route that took him very near where Rita was kneeling in another skirmish with the bugs. Rita rose quickly and ran to intercept him while the startled neighbors gawked at the spectacle playing out right in front them. The fleeing assailant thought nothing of the old lady standing in his way. A quick push ought to clear his path; he thought.
What actually happened surprised everyone, but Rita. With one punch the old lady stopped all his forward progress, and the second put him on the ground squealing in agony. The police arrived minutes later to find the culprit cowering under Rita's watchful glare. Statements were taken, and Rita returned to her beds like nothing was amiss. Those that witnessed the encounter were astonished. Those that didn't couldn't believe what they heard.
Rita always deflected when asked about it. In hindsight it was probably a mistake to draw that kind of attention to herself. It was a case of instinct overriding prudence. Jackson would not be happy. When a pair of detectives arrived for a follow-up interview, they both saw and asked about the rather large gun safe prominently displayed in their cramped front room. When showed the contents and accompanying legal paperwork, they were skeptical of both owners claiming they were just avid collectors. This was an arsenal. What they were not told was that both owners were proficient with every piece in the cabinet and would not hesitate to use them if the need arose.
When the detectives reported their odd discovery to their Captain, they found absolutely no interest in delving deeper. It was just a case of a good Samaritan getting off a lucky punch. Sometimes circumstances favor the good guys. Little did they realize that their purported good Samaritan had employed that punch more times than she cared to remember.
Rita's own critique of the incident was far less complimentary. The second punch, though effective, went wide of the intended mark. One of her agents would have shrugged off the errant strike and continued the engagement. Her close combat skills were not up to par, and she was not happy about it. She needed a sparing partner. The logical choice would be her Jacks, but that was a non-starter. Both had agreed early on to never engage in such altercations. It was not what committed couples did, and that was that.
The other option was to find someone locally. Jackson wouldn't like that because of the needless notoriety it might stir up. An older woman showing up with her level of skills would no doubt set tongues wagging and phones recording. No, that would never do. In the end, she must accept that their joint decision to step back from the spy game came with some unwelcome tradeoffs she had not fully understood.
Back in the neighborhood, it became a passing piece of local lore, but hardly newsworthy anywhere else.