Commuter Train

The dentist explained the procedure was too complex for my inferior mind to understand. It was important that it be done. Even more important it be performed Friday at noon. Most important of all, I would be under general anesthesia and feel nothing.
“Alright doctor blood and gums.”
He was not amused. Some people take themselves too seriously. Outside of spies those folks usually insist on being called doctor and hang diplomas on their walls. I tried that with my high school equivalency once. Nobody was impressed.
The dentist went on to tell me, under the influence of this drug patients were known to experience vivid dreams. I might have taken the warning more seriously had he not been trying to stare down the cleavage of nurse big tits. Seriously, she could have been a Bond girl back before they made anorexia a prerequisite. So, I was not prepared for what I fell into. There was no way he could have prepped me for it.
Especially since this was no dream.
Blinking the fog of sleep from my eyes did nothing to stop it clinging to my brain. The dentist may have been right about my mental endowment. I meant to think, but spoke aloud.
“That’s a hand cannon.”
My words were mushy. I acutely focused on the gentleman in a brown car salesman’s suit approaching me. He carried a revolver straight from the OK corral. I risked a glance around the commuter train headed upstate on the late afternoon run. My fellow passengers were few. A bum sleeping in one corner and a woman that could have been the nurse’s younger sister as far from him as possible; no help there. The gentleman in Armani could have been a spy but he was involved only with the stock section. Then there was me with a briefcase handcuffed to my wrist.
“Give me the codes, agent.” He seethed in a villainous midwestern accent.
“I’m not a spy!” My voice cracked.
“This is no time for games.”
“Seriously, dude! If I was a spy would I be here?”
“There is fallacy in your logic.”
“No, seriously. Even self respecting business men don’t train it these days.”
That caused black-suit to harumph. It also caused the (Mormon?) agent to tilt his head. The miniscule delay allowed the real secret agent on the train to act.
The car filled with thunder and a whiff of sulfur. A crimson third eye opened above the blue ones of the dangerous stranger. He fell forward with a, comical if I had not been covered in brains, look of shock on his face.
I sat stunned as the bum re-hid his gun. He retrieved his case. He smiled and spoke in an English accent.
“Thanks partner.”
He slipped off at the next stop, leaving me to look around. The woman was watching me with warm eyes. I presume it was because of the partner. The man in the suit had soiled himself. It was a good day.

#shortstory #writer #author #spy