Jogging the Memory

Doug rolled her Intimidator into the narrow garage as Bridget numbly unlocked her door. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a slightly greasy rag as the garage door clanked into place with a metal thud. "You mind keeping me company for a moment?" she asked as she opened her apartment. Doug nodded and descended the concrete steps. The stray dog was asleep by the empty cooking pot as he walked by. Bridget made her way to her bed and sat on the corner as Doug pulled out a kitchen chair, sitting with his arms resting on the back rest and straddling the creaky wooden seat. He didn't know what to say, so sat in awkward silence for a moment.

"Need a drink?" he asked. Bridget looked up at him, a sad smile on her lovely face.

"A little early, don't you think?" she replied.

"That's not what I asked." he offered back. She sighed, and nodded. He stood up and walked into the kitchen. He tore off two cans of Old Milwaukee and handed one to her before resuming his seat. She cracked it open and took a long drink before wiping the foam from her lips with the back of her hand. He followed suit, sipping his as he wasn't sure how long he was staying. "You shouldn't worry too much. Coulda' been another factory. Besides, they didn't give a body count and mentioned refugees, so it couldn't be too bad." It was small comfort. If the casualties were under a 100, they weren't likely to bother reporting it.

She took another drink, followed by a long breath. "When I was a girl, I remember the first time the air raid sirens sounded. I was playing in the yard with Maeve O'Connor while her father was utilizing my mother in the house. We were stacking rocks and spent artillery shells to make a little house for the fairies that we were convinced needed new homes after the razing of Tara. We heard the sirens, but drills were so common in those days that we ignored them. Maeve heard them first. Stukas." Bridget said, taking another large drink from her can. Doug swallowed hard as she drifted back into her dark memories.

"They were so fast. I remember seeing the shadows get bigger and bigger; and thought for sure they'd been shot out of the sky. They pulled up suddenly; and I watched our church steeple explode. The bell flew into the air high above us before crashing down, bouncing again and again as it came rolling toward us. Maeve pushed me out of the way just as it broke through the fence..." Bridget's eyes were welling up with tears. She sniffled, and finished her beer. "I could hear more explosions coming from the warehouse... and then the screaming. A squadron of Spitfires chased them away, but I... I saw Maeve's blonde hair and her tiny hand sticking out from under the lip of the bell..."

Doug stood up. He didn't know whether he was going to hug her, get her another beer, or what; but he felt compelled to do something. Suddenly, there were three quick raps on the door. Bridget looked up, her eyes going wide. "Maybe its a telegram!" she said, running to the door. She threw it open only to see the face of a graying-haired delivery driver.

"Package for Miss O'Dell; care of a Mr. Stone." Her emotions swirled; and she suddenly burst into tears. Doug was by her side quickly, his calloused hands on her arms as he led her back to the bedside. The delivery driver was awkwardly confused and concerned. Doug motioned him outside and gently closed the door. "She okay?"

"She's Irish. She'll be fine." he said. "I'll sign for it." The man handed him the clipboard for a hasty signature. He looked Doug up and down.

"Mind giving me a hand. This thing weighs a ton." Doug nodded as he nudged the stray awake. The bleary-eyed dog looked around before seeing the two strangers and quickly ran up the stairs and down the street. Moments later, Doug's straining back pushed the door open as the two men awkwardly entered the apartment with a large wooden crate labeled "Porridge-100lbs-1953; Inspected." They sat it on her bare concrete floor. "Thanks, pal. Umm...good day, Miss." he said, thankful to remove himself from this situation as quickly as he could.

"That's a lot of grub." Doug said, catching his breath. Bridget looked up, and took another deep breath. She was in no mood to work on anything; but she also knew that sitting there and worrying would not do her any favors. Besides, Doug might have some ideas for improving the design; and she knew from past experience that losing herself in a project was exponentially better than getting drunk and sobbing herself to sleep.

"Its a harness." she said, standing as she spoke. Doug looked at the size of the crate, and laughed. "For what, King Kong!?" She smiled and let out an amused chuckle.

"Not that kind of harness. Hand me the crowbar. I think you'll appreciate this."

...........................................................................

Special Agents Moody and Huerta walked into Vinnie's Grocery and Deli with the utter indifference that only comes with canvassing an area for information can produce. They'd hit up every bar, post office, and hash house in a 10 square mile area around the general location of the Stadti signal's origin; and had began to lose hope. So far, they had located, questioned, and dismissed half a dozen suspects with little luck and little use; and were now nearly resolved to kicking this back to the Brass and simply waiting for another transmission to narrow their search to individual houses. Doing that, of course, meant not acting on other intercepts as to not tip their hand that they'd cracked the signal code; and therefore risk even more sensitive information getting into Stadti hands.

Huerta smiled warmly at the silver haired, thin 60 year old lady at the cash register; but not so warmly that she got any ideas about taking him into the produce cooler for a little Latino heat to kick the dust off of her rarely used vagina. It was a smart move by the owner to hire older broads, and one that worked well to keep the lines short and customers happy. Still, he thanked God that he was on official business and could deny her if push came to shove.

"Evening ma'am. You mind if we ask you a few questions?" Moody said as he did his best to play the role of what he thought a hard-boiled fed should act like in public. Huerta was always amused at this "Elliot Ness" routine coming from a signal department Square like Moody. Still, his intelligent demeanor and Hollywood charm were good enough as long as it didn't face too much scrutiny.

"Sure, officer. How can I help you?" she replied. Huerta hid his grin. It had worked. He tried not to rub his service record and superior physique in his partner's face; but couldn't help taunting him once in a while for pretending to be a gangbuster when he was really a signal puke.

"Have you seen a young woman, new to the neighborhood; probably with an Irish accent?" Huerta asked as deadpan as he could. He played along and pulled out a notepad and a pen; but was already thinking about where to go next.

"I seen a girl like that." Huerta and Moody turned to see the gray haired druggist at the pharmacy counter. "Came in a few days ago all dolled up. She was a real hussy, too." Moody and Huerta looked at each other, and then back at the druggist.

"Oh yeah? How so?" Moody asked. Huerta caught the cashier looking at their backsides with a slight grin on her face. She was probably a looker back in her day with her still-thin torso, smallish breasts that didn't seem to sag too much, and wide hips, he thought; and probably got used quite a bit when the PRA went into effect.

"Kind of shy about it, but walked right up to Cynthia Stone and asked to use her. Can you believe it? Right in front of her husband! Kids these days..." Huerta jotted down the name. It wasn't much, but it was it by far the best lead they'd gotten so far.

"And her husband's name?" Huerta asked. The druggist looked at them sceptically. Moody saw what he waiting for, and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open to show his official OSS Special Agent badge. Once the old man realized he wasn't just talking to a local detective, he stood up straight and immediately blurted out his reply.

"Elliot! Er, Elliot Stone! Here, I got his address right here!" the man said; fumbling open his receipt book.

"Oh, yes. I remember the girl. She rode a big, ugly motorcycle. Such an odd thing for a pretty girl; to ride something so big and powerful between her legs." the cashier said, her eyes locked onto Huerta's.

"Um, do you remember what kind of motorcycle?" Moody asked, incredibly amused at this turn of events.

"Oh heavens. Its just so hard to remember after working all day. My muscles are aching for attention. I'm so tense..." Moody and Huerta exchanged looks. Brian shook his head "no", but Moody just grinned. They needed this information, and they both knew it.

"My partner Brian here coaches little league, and his PT scores are in the top 10 of the Bureau. I'm sure he could stretch you out and jog your memory. You know, get some blood flowin'." Huerta glared at him, and then looked at her with a **** smile.

"Yeah, I guess I could do that." he said, walking up behind her.

"I'll go phone this in and wait in the car. Thanks for your help, ma'am." Moody said, unable to hide his shit-eating grin as he heard his partner unbuckle his belt. He glanced back as the woman gasped, and shook his head. "Rookies." he thought.

Ten minutes later, Moody watched Huerta open the door, his face dour and brow sweating. Moody sipped his coffee as his partner stuffed his shirt back into his pants. The cashier appeared at the door, flattening her modest floral print dress over her obviously erect eraser length nipples and licking cum from her fingers; which she waved with as she smiled and swallowed. He **** another grin and waved back before opening the door and crashing into the seat with a huff.

"So?"

"Skura Intimidator." Huerta said, not making eye contact.

"And?" Moody ribbed him for his own amusement.

"And what?"

"You know damned well what." Moody said with a chuckle as he sipped his coffee. Huerta shook his head.

"Broad must have been using a Swingline stapler for her vaginal insert for the last 10 years. She could staple two phone books together with that thing." Moody's eyes went wide and he spat his coffee onto the steering wheel before he began to laugh in great, heaving guffaws. Huerta shook his head. "Let's just get back to the station. I think I sprained somethin'."