Hey, Jack here. I know, I don’t usually write these write-ups, but Sheila’s computer crashed and could you believe she blamed little old innocent me, no really. Apparently, I had given Arlene Sheila’s phone number and she wanted to call her new best friend (did I mention Arlene likes to talk, no really). When Arlene called, Sheila was not home (work, bar, care spilling coffee, who knew?), so Arlene left a message. So? So Arlene has a very distinct voice and when Sheila played the machine the volume was a teeny weeny bit too high and well, the crystal vase shattered (no really), the flowers went everywhere and the water ended mostly on her hard drive, causing it to "crash." Can you believe she blames me, go figure.
So let’s get to it, I had received a message to go to The office and upon arrival, the man in the gray suit informs me that this Mulroy problem ends or I’m out. I didn’t ask him to explain, probably because he would have in great detail. "Go clean up," he said, "but you get no help from us." So of course, I immediately invite Annalee. She passed. Then I called my old buddy, Sheila, who instantly jumped at the opportunity to not only work with me, but offered to pick me up at the airport and put me up at her place, no really, … really, okay, I promised to pay various fines, fees, etc. etc.
I arrive in Paris (the city not the agent, silly), breeze through customs (possibly because the GM didn’t make me roll) [note: he did roll - a 00 here!] I then realized I’m about an hour early before my ride, so I decide to do the I-got-an-hour-to-kill-so-let-me-walk-around-into-every-store-in-the-airport thing. Who do I bump into but Paris, the agent who just happens to be in the very city that bears her name. I’m informed that there’s a chance that I’m being followed (odd that I didn’t detect that), so we opt for coffee and await Sheila. I explain using spy-talk what I’m doing here and what I’ll need to do it, but in a word, I suck at spy talk, so we wait ‘til Sheila.
Over the next couple of hours, Paris sets off to seek the "cleaning" equipment I require (five grand, oh please, can you say rip off?). When Sheila and I show up at the hotel that I couldn’t get a room in, all booked-up, yeah, I give the concierge a bouquet of flowers (no, not for him silly) to deliver to Mulroy’s lady friend n hopes of seeing what room he would write on the card (can you say run-on sentence?). Needless to say, I can’t see the room number, so my comrade in arms suggests, "why not write a note and see what box number it’s put in?" This appears to be a good idea, even if it gets me a dirty look from the concierge. I write the note and he puts it in Mulroy’s mailbox, I know it’s his because it has his name on it. (You know when my ideas don’t work I get shot at, arrested, chased, etc., etc., but when it’s anyone else’s, NO Big Deal).
Sheila decides to slip inside, swiftly, deftly and completely undetected … almost (except for the guy in the elevator). She manages to get to the right floor and narrows it down to six rooms. Of course, being the patient person I am, I give her 15 minutes then fearing the worst (all right, I was bored), I call her and say hey." She tells me she can't tell which room. I get a great idea (no really) and get this, it works(no really)! I call the front desk and ask them to ring Mr. Mulroy’s room, I let it ring until someone answers then I hang up. Sheila, out in the hall, hears the ringing and discovers the right room (not bad for an alleged international terrorist who spells poorly).