Spy Mage System

268 A Place to Rest

I nodded in response to what her name was. “Now, it’s your turn,” she said. I sighed. “Well, I’m Connor and I have these two briefcases, as you can clearly see. One of them has a virus and—”

“You what?!”

“I know, I know, I know. Listen, please. One of them has a virus and the antidote, while another has a bunch of money in it. The TSA is after both because this is their money, and they want the virus. Now, it’s your turn…again.”

“Okay, listen. I basically have secret intel on another weapon or thing they’re making. Or in this case, making with.”

“With who?”

“The SAF.” My mind exploded in realization, remembering when I watched the footage with Greg when Mr. Drails said that he was going to make a deal with the BMO and the SAF. I forgot what the weapon’s name is though.

“Oh…dang,” I muttered. “Is the BMO a part of it too?”

“No, I’m pretty sure they have their own problems,” she said quickly, startling me a bit. I nodded slowly, trying to recover from the immediate reply, before I said, “Yeah, I guess.”

“However, the TSA and maybe the SAF are after us so we gotta move,” she said.

.....

“And do what? Hide for the rest of our lives. Which MSTO organization are you from? The CSMO, FMA, YMPA, ISF—”

“I’m from the VASM, Venezuelan Agency for Spy Mages.”

“I know what that is, in fact, I was going to say that next,” I said, squinting my face to express my annoyance.

“So now that we know who each other are and what our situations are, what do we do now?” I asked, shrugging. She sighed and shook her head. “Let’s make a deal, how about that?” she said, returning the attention to me.

“What deal?”

“A deal that can get us both back to our agencies. Duh,” she hissed, in which I shot a cross look at her. “I help you with the briefcase and we go from there.”

“Why are you helping me first?”

“Because helping you first, then helps me,” she said, doing a sarcastic emote that didn’t really help make things any better.

“What do you expect us to do, in the middle of this endless city?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I’m more of the action type of person.”

Then an idea clicked in my head, as my eyes widened in excitement. “Okay, I’m going to need you to listen closely alright?” I asked her, in which she nodded, and I shifted my position as we approached a red light.

“I have this friend who is the CEO or captain of this agency right?”

“Right.”

“I know him—personally—and I think if we can find him and go to his agency, we can use Fulton to call the YMPA, which then they pick me up, and send you back to the VASM, and boom, problem solved.”

“How did you even know this person in the first place?” she asked.

“Trust me, it’s a very long story,” I said, as the memories already began racing through my head. “Nonetheless, that’s the plan.”

“So where is he?”

“We would have to go all the way to California,” I said.

“What?!” she shouted. “That’s literally on the other side!”

I nodded, using my hands to calm her down. “I would go to the YMPA Headquarters, but even I don’t know where it is. His agency however, I do, so just stick with me.”

“How are we gonna get there without all these TSA agents right behind our backs?”

“Well, airplane?”

“You got money for an airplane?”

Slowly, I patted the briefcase full of money, which she opened her mouth ajar in realization. “Okay, how much is in there?”

“Five hundred million dollars,” I said, as her face popped wide, and excitement soared through her veins. “That is—a lot.”

“Mhm, so we should be fine.”

“We should go to a hotel or even rent a house or something,” she said. But her smile slowly narrowed into a disappointed frown. “But that means the TSA—”

“—will know our location,” I finished.

“What do we do now?” she asked as I turned to the left road.

“Do you have a place we could live at for a while? Maybe a motel or someplace less obvious?” I asked.

“Maybe…” she muttered. “But you’ll have to let me drive though.

“What happened?”

She cupped her hands and moved them back and forth, as I sighed and parked over to the side of the road. I exited the vehicle, slamming the door shut as we switched sides, and I entered, slamming that door as well.

“Thank you good sir,” she said with a chuckle.

“Don’t even think about it,” I said. But then, she pressed on the gas pedal, and all of a sudden, the vehicle shot forward with no warning.

“Hey, whoa!” I shouted, before she turned to the right road, drifting and billowing a cover of smoke before she faced forward.

“This ain’t no tuned car that you can use for street racing, this is still—”

She drifted once again, this time to the left, where she was driving under a bridge. “Oh yeah, this is real driving,” she said, smiling as she looked at me.

I looked back at her in horror.

“What in the world are you doing?” I grumbled at her, but she ignored me and only reacted with a smirk. I felt like throwing two good rights at her face, but I didn’t even have the strength to do it.

She raced ahead, switching between lanes and cutting cars over, leaving a trail of honks behind us.

The engine growled, as the speed rose, accelerating us even faster through the street.

“Do you happen to know where you’re going?” I asked her, in which she looked up, her face switching to a thoughtful expression.

“I think I do,” she said, in which I immediately had a drop of faith in her.

“You think? You’re driving this fast and you think you know where you’re going?” I barked at her.

“Chill my friend, you’re going to be alright. I’ve been doing this for almost a year now.”

As if I wasn’t worried enough, now I’m terrified.

Another turn came, in which she curved into, and began to drive down a street in which motels and small buildings were beginning to spawn on every block.

“Oh…” I muttered.

“Welcome to the weird part of New York,” she said. “And these small building’s mortgages are as expensive as my house. And my house is huge.”

“Huh,” I said, smiling in disbelief.

“Mhm, you should see it, you’ll agree,” she said. Eventually, she slowed down to where there was this small motel, which had this sign that was infected with dirt and stains.

“This is definitely the weird part of New York,” I said, blowing a deep breath. She pulled into this one place, in which the building was shaped like a C, except in a more sharp corner type of way.

“Come on, let’s go,” she said, once she parked by one of the pillars. “Let’s try and see if anyone is in here.”

“It’s a motel, of course someone is in here,” I said, but then she looked at me and corrected, “Emphasis: It’s a motel.”

“Good point,” I said, closing the door.

We began to walk towards the door which led to some office looking room. There was a paper on the wall that was stapled saying $35 a night.

Hmm.

The person up front was a man who had a black ascot cap, but his outfit was dressed with many styles from many different times.

Not only did he have the ascot cap, but he was wearing a jean jacket, a white shirt, and gold necklace that looked more like pebbles. But what threw the entire outfit off was those Pilgrim boots he was fitting on himself, which was highly alarming to me for some reason.

“Hello, what do y’all want?” he asked, his pupils travelling to the top of his eyeball to look at us.

“Well, a room to stay for a few nights,” she said. “Are your rooms by any chance… clean?”

“Well we have this guy, um—Mark, yeah I think, that comes every night cleans up a few rooms so I can give you those.”

“What about the others.”

“We can barely pay any rent so to add another janitor would consume us completely.”

“Makes sense,” she said. “Can we make the payment to you everyday? Because we’re not very sure how long we’re staying here.”

“Sure, doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” he said, leaning back in his chair, while grabbing a toothpick and maneuvering within his teeth.

“Alright, thank you,” she said. “Which room are me in by any chance?”

“108, that should be one of the clean rooms.”

“Alright, thank you,” she said, as she quickly equipped the key in her hand, and we escorted ourselves from the office.