SECRET AGENT STEVE LOVER

My name is Special Agent, Steve Lover. I work for the Government of the United States , Secret Service or G.U.S.S.S. as we’ve been called by most people in the underworld. I’ve been sent to Stamford, Connecticut to collect stolen data bases that were seized from the United Nations. A rogue agent stole the discs for his British girlfriend to sell to the Soviets, but the discs were intercepted when the girlfriend was found dead in an elevator at a hotel in Belize.

They were traced back here and here I am.

I sit at the V.I. P. Blackjack table in Harrah’s Casino, sipping on a chocolate martini and playing cards. I play with my five hundred dollar chips to make sure my five stacks are neat in front of me. I’ve been having a somewhat lucky day so far. I gamble to relax. My other relaxation alternative is sex and since I’m currently not in a relationship, playing 21 at the $500 dollar a hand table will have to do.

I adjust the sleeve on my black Armani Tuxedo and straighten the laser embedded cufflinks on my lightly starched shirt. The dealer has a face like a prune. The old woman reminds me of Mrs. Crabtree on Bewitched television program. Her bright orange lipstick and cigarette stained teeth makes my stomach churn.

She is not friendly at all and the snarl on her face makes me think her husband must have left her five times or more, but had no place else to go, so he put everything to an end by committing suicide. She’s starting to have the same effect on me. I’ve sat here for half an hour and have only won three of eight hands. Luckily for me I bet up on each of those hands and I’ve barely broken even. She takes pleasure in taking my money; because that’s the only time the wrinkle skinned woman smiles as she looks over her glasses.

We’re sitting here eyeing each other, as her wrinkled hands shuffle the cards for our next game; a beautiful, very shapely woman catches my eye. She sits next too me, a little closer than usual. Her thick leg touching mine and she makes no apology, but hey, it feels good.

I admire her cleavage, eyes, hair, shoulders, and six inch pumps. Her olive dress is tantalizingly inviting as her back is open and her dress is low cut. She runs her fingers through her hair as she smiles at me. I smile back, of course, as she teases me by crossing her long thick legs. Her eyes are a greenish-brown, her smile is brilliant, and she smells enchanting.

I swallow hard and lick my lips keeping my cool, calm, and collective composure. As I take her hand and kiss it, I introduce myself.

“Steve Lover is my name and you are?” I ask raising my eye brow on one side like the wrestler turned movie star, the Rock does smiling slightly.

She smiles and blushes spreading out her five thousand dollars she’s just laid on the table, which is being converted into chips, then places a $7000.00 bet.

“My name is Ima Chantz.”

I question wittingly, “You’re a Chance?”

“No, it’s Ima Chantz and if you can’t get my name right, Mr. Lover, you won’t have a chance,” she says motioning for another card on her soft thirteen getting a seven and stays.

I stay at twenty as well and the dealer busts for the first time with twenty-two.

The dealer frowns and rolls her old gray eyes at me. I give her a nod to acknowledge her disapproval.

“Chantz, I think you’re changing my luck.”

She places her hand on my shoulder, “Well, I always say tomorrow’s never promised, so take that chance and go for it.” She smiles. “So, Mr. Lover are you known for loving or did your Mamma give you that name?”

I look her deep in her mysterious eyes and wink at her. “Both!” I blow a kiss at the sour dealer as she rolls her eyes at me, then busts for the second time.

For a minute I think she blushes, but her frown quickly covers her face.

“Do you believe in fate, Mr. Lover?” Ms. Chantz asks as she turns to face me.

I look at her suspiciously, “Sometimes, why?” I ask as she pushes all her chips in the bet circle on the table. I smile confidently, putting my $22,000.00 in chips on my bet circle. The old lady signals to the pit boss as others come over to see us win or lose.

Chantz kisses me on the cheek and holds my hand as the old lady lays a queen of diamonds for the lady, a ten of hearts for me, and a six of clubs for herself. We all look on patiently as she flips out the next cards, turning them over slowly for effect. Chantz gets a nine of spades, I get a King of clubs, and the dealer gets an ace of hearts. The crowd erupts with applause as I get up from the table and start to do the Cabbage Patch dance and Chantz joins in. I blow the old dealer a kiss, and give her a five-hundred dollar tip as she pushes our winnings toward us.

Chantz gets up and smoothed out her lovely evening dress. “Well, it looks like you made enough to buy us dinner and we have business to tend to. I am your contact for the exchange,” she says as we walk over and convert our chips to money.

As we walk through the casino, we stop at the $100 slots so Chantz can adjust her shoe strap. As she stands she places the disc inside my inner jacket pocket while giving me an embrace. I place the memory card in her hand, as I take her hand and kiss it, as before. She pulls her micro-handheld computer out of her small purse and checks the transaction that wires twenty million dollars into her Swiss bank account.

“So Ms. Chantz who are you working for?”

She puts her electronics back into her purse and smiles. “I work for British Intelligence.”

“So, why isn’t there an accent?” I ask as we take seats at the slot machines.

She situates her purse in her lap. “I’m a military brat. My dad was born in America , but met my mom in London , so he moved there to be with her. One thing led to another, so here I am. I use the accent when I have to,” she answers.

As she’s talking I notice five men quickly approaching us.

“Do you know those guys?”

“What guys,” she asks as I nod in their direction.

She turns and in the same instance the glass shatters from the slot machine in front of us. We duck and both draw our guns at the same time. I grab Agent Chantz’s hand as we run through the casino and burst through the kitchen doors on the other side of the buffet.

The hitmen fire several shots, following us into the kitchen area as cooks, servers, and food attendants scramble for cover. We see two people fall and then scream after getting hit by bullets.

We duck behind a stainless steel steamer as I put my gun away to take off my cuff links. I turn the small casing which switches to detonators.

“Chantz, you got to lose those shoes because we have to move fast. When I throw these cuff links they will blow up as soon as they make contact with something,” I explain.

“You know how much I paid for these shoes? They’re Gucci!”

“You just made a twenty million dollar transaction less than two minutes ago, you can afford to get 100,000 pair if you like. But, I’m not hanging around here as the bullets keep flying over our heads and you know there has to be more where they came from, darling.”

Secret Agent Chantz reluctantly takes off her shoes and throws them in the assailant’s direction. I hear one of the guys scream, “Damn it!” The scream was an indication that she must have hit one of them. I throw the cuff links, grab her hand, and we head for the back dock exit as two explosions go off in the kitchen.

I grab my two .45 Beretta automatic pistols from under my tuxedo jacket and return gunfire hitting two of the gunmen. Agent Chantz has a Glock that was strapped to her thigh, firing several shots hitting two more gunmen.

“Good aim. You’re one mean lady.”

“You aren’t bad yourself and I like the cuff thing,” she retorts.

Three white Sport Utility Vehicles screech to a halt at the far side of the dock.

Three men rush us as we see a single headlight coming from the opposite side of the dock. Chantz runs and does a flying drop kick on the first assailant and drops him. I block the punch of another and hit him in the throat, followed by an elbow to the face and he goes down. I kick the other in the side of the knee breaking it as Agent Chantz kicks him in the face knocking him out cold. Three shots are fired from the SUV’s, prompting Chantz to jump knocking both of us behind the metal dumpster that is on the huge dock. The dumpster provides us with cover from the blistering shower of bullets.

An employee of the casino pulls up on a yellow Ninja motorcycle, but is shot as he tries to turn around on the bike.

“Chantz, this is the break we’re looking for. Cover me as I get that bike and get ready to go,” Chantz nods as she shoots at the SUV’s.

I run towards the motorcycle, then slide, blazing both .45 pistols towards the people trying to kill us. I grab the bike, revving it up and burning rubber towards Agent Chantz, who is still providing cover fire. She raises her dress showing her thick thighs and jumps on the back of the bike as we speed off to the other side of the dock.

“Steve, I’m out of bullets,” she says as she puts her gun away and holds me close. She feels the guns under my jacket, then grabs one, returning fire at the SUV’s that are closely following and firing at us.

“By all means, use my guns if you have to, but don’t drop them, Chantz. They were a gift from my mother,” I complain sarcastically as I speed through the dark, congested, Stamford traffic.

“Your Mother? My mom only buys me clothes for presents, go figure.”

Doing 70 miles per hour, she holds on tight as I maneuver through the thick night traffic. We swerve through traffic avoiding bullets and automobiles, but the SUV’s aren’t giving up easily.

“I need to get rid of these guys that are tailing us, so I hope you trust me,” I yell.

Agent Chantz pats me once on the back, turns and fires two more shots at the on coming Sport Utility Vehicles.

“What choice do I have? At this point, I’ll be happy if you get me to the airport in one piece. I have a plane to catch,” she yells.

“Cool,” I respond. I hit the breaks, accelerating at the same time, spinning the bike 190 degrees, then race off popping a wheelie in the opposite direction of the traffic now headed for the I-49 North freeway at 110 mph. The three SUV’s quickly turn around, jumping the median. One of them loses control and flies over the embankment and off the bridge, bursting into flames.

We swerve between two eighteen wheelers and another one of the pursuing SUV’s collides head on with one of the semi-trailers and is tossed over the bridge as well, landing on the pavement below. Metal and glass fly everywhere as the other semi-trailers careen out of control and trap the third SUV behind its trailer, covering both lanes of the North side of the freeway. We take the nearest exit ramp and I follow I-49 South to the airport.

We find the blue private jet that waits for Agent Chantz by hanger 69. I bring the powerful bike to a slow halt. Agent Chantz jumps off, as I shut off the engine and get off the bike as well, taking a deep breath.

“Well, Mr. Man, aren’t you the Biker Boy?”

I smile slyly from the compliment as she hands me my gun. I put it back in my holster and adjust the jacket of my tuxedo. “I do what I do.”

She adjusts her olive evening dress, passing her hands over her voluptuous hips and thighs as the dress falls into place. She looks silly in her bare feet.

“I guess I owe you a pair of shoes.” I say smiling looking at her feet.

She slowly sashays up to me, places her hand on the back of my neck, and then kisses me sensuously. She walks away leaving me numb with excitement.

She stops and turns on the stairs of the Cessna jet. She is such a beautiful sight as her hair and dress blows in the midnight breeze.

“Agent Lover, I hear Aruba is quite beautiful this time of year and they have the best shoes there. Are you willing to take a chance with me?” Her smile is brilliant as she pushes her hair away from her face; she turns and stops in the doorway of the jet. “Well?”

I smile contemplating her offer and can’t think of anything that is stopping me.

“I think I’ll take that chance.” We both smile as I climb the six stairs of the small jet. She takes my hand and guides me through the private jet that has four seats. She leads me pass the plasma screen TV and kitchenette to a private

room on the jet that has a bed, entertainment center, and small bar.

She lights a couple of candles then turns off the lights as the plane begins to lift off. Agent Chantz slides the shoulder straps of her dress over her shoulder and lets it fall to the floor, revealing her honey brown, beautifully sculptured, and very erotic body. We slowly kiss as she undresses me.

Our bodies glow in the moonlight as we hold each other close, sip champagne, and lay in bed suspended by gravity and velocity. We place the glass flutes in the wooden holders as Agent Chantz lies on my chest.

“You know we might never get this Chantz again, Agent Lover,” she says softly kissing my muscular chest and tracing the tattoo that is on my left bicep.

I hold her tight. “Agent Lover, reporting for duty Madam,” Chantz giggles as she pulls the satin sheets over our heads. “Damn, I’m good.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, mister. Give me something to dream about,” she whispers kissing my neck. I rub the small of her back, “Baby, I’m going to be your dream weaver tonight and give you something to hope for, for the rest of your life,” I growl like a tiger.

We both laugh as the plane jets across the ocean and the star filled night sky.

Mission accomplished.

The End!

©Copyright 2004 Vincent Alexandria. All Rights Reserved.