Monty's Master – Part 3
The roads were fairly clear for a Monday morning, but Perry was in no rush, knowing there was no emergency.
Candace often complained that he drove slower than Grandma Fletcher, a rather presumptuous statement considering that Grandma Fletcher hadn't been behind the wheel in about thirty years. If anything, Grandpa Fletcher insisted that she had been a true daredevil back in her days, and Perry wasn't about to question him on that one.
In any case, if Candace had suspected at least half the stunts and maneuvers he was capable of, then she certainly wouldn't have objected when he had offered to give her driving lessons.
By the time he reached the city's outskirts, the still scorching September sun had its say, and the bomber jacket wasn't much help either. Luckily, by then there were barely any cars around, only stuffy trees which offered him the perfect cover.
He turned a small knob next to the radio player, and what used to be an old-fashioned green station wagon, otherwise easily dismissed, became a late-model silver Aston Martin, almost twice as large, with wheels that barely touched the asphalt.
Now this car had just about everything, including a jet engine, a secret compartment in the trunk, laser blasters built into the turn signals, and most importantly, optimal air conditioning.
He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a fedora hat that perfectly complemented his jacket, just as what appeared to be an office building surrounded by tall bushes loomed ahead of him. Perry knew, however, that could change by tomorrow.
At some point, that building had been a hospital, a gym, an aquarium, a wedding hall, and yes, even a private school with a fancy name that also included third-level education.
The Organization Without a Cool Acronym jumped through hoops every time to make the alleged daily occupations of its employees seem believable, especially when a family member or acquaintance decided to drop by.
The good thing about a private school was that it was, well, private, so he only required one general mobilization during what was supposed to be his high school graduation ceremony. Yet to this day Perry still couldn't explain how Carl had managed to acquire a whole pod of dolphins at the last second.
He drove down a slope that seemed to lead to an underground parking lot and stopped in front of the barrier next to the automatic card reader. Only he didn't make any move toward his pocket to pull out an ID card but tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.
The small scanner began to flicker before a beam of green light flashed across the car. There was a click, then the barrier lifted and Perry stepped on the accelerator, plunging into the shadows.
Even the hallways resembled that of a normal office building, except if you took a closer look, the charts displayed on the boards actually referred to the crime rate of each city in the Tri-State Area, or to gun control, not to mention the pictures of the most wanted criminals glaring down from every wall. And if you eavesdropped on the two employees who were talking by a water dispenser, you would have realized that they were discussing an assassination attempt on the president of New Zealand. And then there was the intern who was hastily carrying in a box a bunch of disused laser guns, some of which half melted.
Perry was used to all of this, even though he hadn't set foot in the Headquarters in a long time. And yet, the moment the elevator doors opened, he was hard to recognize. His steps became slower and much heavier, his casual smile disappeared and instead of greeting, he narrowed his eyes every time he passed someone.
The two agents by the water dispenser paused, following him with their eyes. They gave a curt nod, and Perry returned the gesture without glancing their way.
The young intern almost bumped into him. The moment he poked his head out from behind the box, he froze, eyes wide. But the expression on Perry's face remained completely unchanged.
He bent down to pick up the two fallen laser weapons and placed them on top of the box. The intern opened his mouth only to close it back.
Perry tipped his hat and walked past him without saying a word. He pulled his hat down just a little more, almost covering his eyes, and on he went, keeping up his pace.
Now no one even dared to look in his direction and another intern, carrying a mountain of paperwork, quickly moved out of his way.
He glanced up from under the brim of his hat to see he had arrived in front of a thick oak door with a silver plaque that had his name written on it, or rather Agent P. Yet the symbol below the plaque (a tiny webbed footprint) was unmistakably his.
Perry pulled a brand new gold key from his jacket, which he didn't even bother to put on a separate chain from his house and car keys.
With a push of his back, he closed the door behind him and let his shoulders slump, throwing back his head. His hat almost fell off, but that didn't matter anymore.
He found himself in a fairly spacious office room, though somewhat smaller than his secret base at home, and clearly much more dated.
The room was lined with bookshelves, but on the wall to his left was a huge world map, and to his right, hanging above a fireplace, the portrait of a man in a fur cap and a walrus mustache that reminded him a little of Major Monogram.
Not a moment later, a series of small thuds made him realize he wasn't alone after all. An angelfish was bumping its head against the glass of a tank behind a small table surrounded by velvet armchairs. At least that was a nice touch.
He found a small fish food container on the mantel and squeezed a little through the small opening above the tank. He set the container down among the teacups lined up on the table, and as he pulled back, he bumped into an Earth globe that was almost completely covered in sticky notes. Apparently, someone had taken the time to score every location he had ever been sent to. He'd assumed he'd be receiving even more international assignments from here on out, yet somehow that didn't make him feel any better.
He slumped into the armchair behind the desk and threw his hat over a lampshade. He rested his chin on his hand and exhaled. From somewhere on the wall came the heavy ticking of a cuckoo clock, but Perry didn't bother to look for it. Instead, his eyes fell on a stack of papers.
He began leafing through them, figuring he had nothing else better to do. He wasn't used to doing paperwork, but these seemed to be already filled. He had just come across a report covering one of his latest missions to an alien planet called Feebla-Oot in the Vroblok Cluster of the Milky Way Galaxy.
He glanced at the globe and couldn't help but let out a tiny snort, just as the door slowly opened.
"Agent P?" Carl said, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Oh, wow!"
He closed the door behind him and spun around.
"Nice lair! I guess being the best agent of your generation has its perks, huh? Uuuuh, fancy!"
Carl walked past a large porcelain vase and sank into an armchair with his legs stretched out on the coffee table.
Perry probably should have said something, but Carl was the only intern who wasn't breaking into a cold sweat and could string together a full sentence in his presence, and he would have rather kept things this way.
"Hah, I'd kill to have my own private office!"
"Sounds like a very dull homicide report, Carl," said Perry listlessly, arranging the papers back into the pile.
Carl stared at him as if checking for something before his face turned to a smirk.
"And you can have mine if you want." Perry leaned back and frowned at the chandelier. "I still can't understand why I'm needed here."
"Oh, I thought you'd enjoy being in the middle of the action some more. You know, now that Doofenshmirtz has left Evil for good, you can go back to missions that are more challenging for you."
"I don't know, there's really only so many times you can listen to a middle-aged man endlessly monologuing about how much he hates whales," Perry began counting on his fingers, "blinking traffic signs, yoga instructors, hot dog vendors, the Slushy Dawg jingle, bagpipes, songs about the moon, or pretzels, and how they seem to be intimately connected to some sort of deep level unresolved childhood trauma before it feels like an actual challenge."
Carl blinked.
"Um, anyway... I think the Major wants to keep you closer. You know there's been quite a few raids on HQ lately, so I told him that sounds like a good idea!" Carl took his feet off the table and looked down at the fine silk rug. "Not that he really cares what I think, of course…"
Perry's eyes softened.
Carl looked away from him and cleared his throat. "Oh, right, I came in to tell you that Major Monogram is ready to see you now."
Perry nodded and retrieved his hat.
"You... just make yourself at home, I guess."
"Mm, don't mind if I do," Carl said, reaching for the teapot.
Perry looked back one more time, then turned the handle and the door clicked shut.
Most likely mistaking it for a sugar shaker, Carl grabbed the fish food and began to sprinkle it into his teacup. He closed his eyes, took a sip, and scrunched up his nose at the taste on his tongue.