All He Saw Was the Girl by Peter Leonard Read Free Book Online Page B

her.
        "That,
too."
        "Sounds
exciting," Ray said.
        "You
think that sounds exciting, huh? What do you do?"
        "I'm
a federal agent," he said. The Dewar's loosening him up, relaxing him,
making him feel good.
        She
gave him a skeptical look. "Yeah, right?"
        Ray
sipped his drink.
        "If
it's true, you must have a badge or something, right?"
        Ray
took out his ID and showed it to her, the five-pointed star that stood for
duty, loyalty, justice, honesty and courage.
        She
turned to the other sales consultants and said, "Oh- my-god, he's in the
Secret Service."
        A few
drinks later he remembered going upstairs with her, making out in the elevator,
going to his room, she was sharing a room with Terry, one of the girls at the
bar. She told him she'd never made it with a Secret Service agent. Can I see
your gun? She pulled out a joint and said, want to get high? You're not going
to arrest me, are you?
        They
smoked the joint and had another drink and he remembered the girl taking off
her clothes, hugging him, great body, big breasts and olive skin.
        She
said, "I've been a bad girl, you better put the cuffs on me."
        She
held her hands out in front of her. Ray took the handcuffs out of the suit coat
pocket and clamped them on her wrists. She gave him a naughty look and Ray
pictured Sharon in the room at that particular moment, and it distracted him,
Sharon his wife who he hadn't seen in six weeks, and felt guilty. He remembered
the girl getting angry, telling him he was a fucking Secret Service homo. He
unlocked the handcuffs and she walked out of the room and slammed the door.
      
            
        Ray
got out of bed and went to the bathroom, still drunk, splashing cold water on
his face. He looked in the mirror at bloodshot eyes. He heard a horn honk and
looked out the window at midtown Manhattan twenty-five floors below. He heard a
knock, and then someone pounding on the door.
        "Ray,
you in there?"
        He
crossed the room and opened it a crack, saw Sturza in a dark-blue suit,
burgundy tie and white shirt, looking ready for action, and swung it open.
Sturza came in, eyes moving, scanning the room, holding the bottle of Dewar's.
That's right, he'd called room service, and there was a roach in the ashtray.
        Sturza
said, "What're you doing, trying to get canned? You know what time it
is?"
        He
knew, but didn't care.
        "Are
you flaking? Jesus Christ. I'll try to cover for you, but you know
Tracey."
        "You
know Tracey, what?" Special Agent John Tracey, his detail supervisor said,
walking in the room. "Forget protocol, Pope? I've been calling you for
forty-five minutes. You don't get up, check in before detail? How long have you
been with the Service?"
        "Longer
than you," Ray said. He'd never gotten along with Tracey who was anal, a
control freak, an asshole, a few of the nicer things Ray and his fellow agents
said about him.
        He
looked at Ray, looked around the room. "Pope, if you've been drinking
alcohol again, you're through."
        Ray
saw him staring at the bottle of Dewar's.
        "Look
at you," Tracey said. "You think I'm going to put you on detail in
your condition? Christ, you can barely stand up. What don't you understand
about not drinking when you're on call? This is a strict breach of discipline,
a violation of the Service professional code of conduct. Pope, the reason you
never made SAIC, you can't follow the rules."
        Ray
said, "If you're finished, I'm going back to bed."
        Sturza
flashed a grin and shook his head.
        "You're
the one who's finished," Tracey said. "I'll tell you one thing, you
won't be on another protective assignment for the rest of your career. That I
can pretty much guarantee." His pale white face was flushed red now like
he was going to explode.
        
        
        Ray
was called back to Washington and dressed