Paris, the Mission in the City, not the Agent

Well, it’s Sheila again. When this mission started, it hardly seemed report worthy. After all, all we had to do was identify who was receiving some Russian artifacts and gain possession of them. How hard could that be?

However, after the commando raid on my apartment, the arrest of some of our team members, Paris’s Love Potion Number 9 syndrome and the near-fatal (Up)Chuck illness, I think a few words are in order.

Okay, let’s start with the team: Paris - the agent, not the city (although she may be experiencing an identity crisis as the mission takes place in Paris - the city, not the agent … unless several young smitten gamblers have their way, in which case it will take place in Paris the agent while she is in Paris the city), Jack Payne (who, as luck would have it, may have a gambling problem), (Up)Chuck (who dislikes his nickname but sadly continues to be a self-fulfilling prophecy) and me (and apparently I am a slut with a past, but more on that later…).

I ask again, how hard can it be?

Jack and (Up)Chuck (Paris has suggested Barfer rhymes with Arthur as an alternate nickname …) begin the mission by testing the custom officials on both sides of the Atlantic and yes, the dynamic duo can now affirm that all of those official do know the rules and regulations regarding international travelers. Having entered the country with more money than is allowed, they arrive at my apartment with a case number. I call in a favor from an acquaintance who is a customs attaché at the embassy here and have this unfortunate incident taken care of.

We spend the next few nights gambling into the wee hours of the morning. I’ll give a brief synopsis of the important events so far: being the incredibly responsible employee that I am, I continue to go to work each day, Paris (the agent not the city) has caught the attention of several young eligible (and some not-so-eligible) gamblers and proven that while she does not speak any French she is fluent in Spanish, Jack somehow managed to become the ringer for some of the gamblers and attract the attention of Interpol by opening a Swiss account and then removing all of his money, and (Up)Chuck lost oodles of cash - oh yeah, and Paris and I almost killed Jack and (Up)Chuck with dinner which led to a road trip for some fine Scottish cuisine.

The night of the big gambling event comes and goes and the only information we’ve gathered is that Jack is a good gambler, (Up)Chuck is hopeless and something will happen at an exhibit at the Versailles.

Finally, something in my territory. Museums are my life. I dutifully go to work the next day to make some inquiring phone calls to see what’s up at the Versailles.

While I am busy working, Jack answers my phone posing as Jacques La Lane, an old friend of mine, and talks to Michael, my brother. Unfortunately, I don’t have a brother. I do, however have an embassy acquaintance, DeMarte, who became concerned that a strange (please feel free to insert all of the synonyms for strange here) man answered my phone. Doing what any over-solicitous, caring brother would do, DeMarte sends the French police with a SWAT team to my once lovely and orderly apartment.

Meanwhile, back at work, my phone inquiries are rudely interrupted by some authority type who tells me that there are terrorists at my apartment (I’ll say they were terrorists, you should see what they’ve done to my bathroom). I did manage to get the first name of Edward from my contact before the connection was cut.

So, off to the apartment I go, where Jack has become an international terrorist and (Up)Chuck has lost his dignity. Upon entering my building, I hear cries of "this is an outrage." I arrive at my apartment to find the SWAT commando types fixing the damage they had done during their onslaught and (Up)Chuck is being beaten by the police.

I clear everything up with DeMarte who hands me the key to the handcuffs so I can free (Up)Chuck and Jack. Before that can happen, I see the large burn mark in my carpet, and there is, of course, the matter of the extortion fee to be paid to the Paris PBA. Fortunately for Jack, he has money. Unfortunately for (Up)Chuck, he has none.

Feeling that this is a picture that Paris (the agent, not the city) should not miss, I call her. The outraged and still-manacled (Up)Chuck goes to take a nap while Jack pays handsomely for his freedom. Our attempts to polish (Up)Chuck’s nails are thwarted as he begins to bleed profusely on my carpet from his self-inflicted-take these-off of me wounds. He storms out to seek medical attention.

Eventually, (Up)Chuck finds his way home like a lost dog. While Paris (the agent, not the city) is living it up on the town - that’s Paris (the city, not the agent) and going to the soirée at the Versailles, Jack, (Up)Chuck and I are endearing ourselves to the Parisian police by leading our tails on a merry chase.

Paris meets the suave and debonair high-class delivery guy from the Virginia mission at the Versailles party. They have some kind of bet as to who will succeed at their respective mission and she gets invited to go riding the next day (when, apparently, the exchange will occur) by one of the not-so-eligible guys.

Since Paris (the city, not the agent) is concerned that her sort-of date will bow to wife pressure, she asks Jack to call and get him on the phone. Jack proceeds to attempt to invite himself on the ride, making the gentleman apprehensive and Paris (the agent, not the city) a little angry.

So here is our plan for the next day, Jack, (Up)Chuck and I will go the Versailles and strategically place ourselves in a position to see … something, while Paris goes on the ride and keeps her options, I mean eyes open.

Well, that was the plan. However, morning finds (Up)Chuck suffering from a fever and bout of vomiting as a result of the festering wounds on his wrists. We leave him at the apartment and go to meet Paris (the agent, not the city) for breakfast. Jack stops on the way to invite the police who are following us to break fast with us (isn’t he nice?).

So Paris (the agent, not the city) has a lovely breakfast and leaves. Jack is torn between finding a couple that looks like us, buying their coats and attempting to trick the police into following them instead of us or doing something a little less eloquent, such as bribing the waiter to spill hot coffee on the cops. Despite the fact that I told him it was a bad idea (you know, liability and all), he gives the waiter 5000 francs to do the dirty deed. Unfortunately, Inspector Cuisine didn’t appreciate the coffee incident or the mispronunciations of his name, and Jack and I went to jail. Of course, I didn’t know that I was having breakfast with an international terrorist …

Jack persists in telling the Interpol agents that he is only here because I invited him to come. This is where I become the slut with a past. They tell him that there have been many before him in such a way that, had I been there, I would have let out the immortal (Up)Chuck cry of "this is an outrage."

Jack’s cell phone rings during his questioning, and the police listen in on his conversation with Travers and Kennedy, the gamblers, during which he implicates us in a gambling scheme. He does, however, manage to get the name of a seedy lawyer.

Note: Someone should inform Jack that yelling, "dirty frogs" and saying, "Sprechen Sie Deutsch? No, well you’re welcome," is not the best response when surrounded by the French police who already believe that you are an international terrorist.

Meanwhile, Paris (the agent, not the city) is being besieged by ardent admirers. Unfortunately, they are crowding her in such a way that it is difficult for her to watch for the exchange. She has overheard the Travers conversation, so she knows that Jack is tied up and unable to make it to the Versailles. As she is fending off the overzealous gents, she espies the suave and debonair delivery guy riding in the opposite direction. She catches up to him only to learn that he speaks only German when at the Versailles.

As she is trying to leave, she is overwhelmed by dinner invitations. At a loss as to how to turn them all down, she is saved by the delivery guy, who has regained his English powers now that he is leaving the Versailles.

Paris (the agent, not the city) tries to call me, not knowing that Jack spread his bad-luck like a disease, and gets (Up)Chuck. (Up)Chuck is unable to follow the conversation and keeps telling Paris (the agent, not the city) that he knows he is in Paris (the city, not the agent), she sounds very close and Sheila no home right now.

After hours of tedious questions and a brawl with some really dirty cell-mates, Jack and I get out thanks to his decrepit lawyer.

While we were in jail, Jack reinforced his reputation as an international terrorist and gambler, and (Up)Chuck lost his cookies.

I was still trying to tally the fee that Jack will have to pay me for spending the day in jail when we arrived at the scene of the crime to see my car being towed away, and while Jack offered me $4000 for my troubles, his requirement that I never mention today’s events, again would have proven fatal to my sharp and vengeful tongue, so I had to turn it down.

We return to my apartment only to find that (Up)Chuck has defaced the shoes in my closet in a way that would have Imelda Marcos turning in her grave (you know, if she were dead). I attempt to call Paris (the agent, not the city), but I had to leave a message. After the trying events of the day, Jack and I decide it’s definitely martiki time.

So Paris (the agent, not the city) leaves another message on my machine.

Paris (the agent, not the city) has a lovely evening in the company of the gorgeous delivery guy, and I get to listen to Jack make obnoxious phone calls to some librarian chick named Arlene.

The next day, I finally make contact with Paris (the agent, not the city). She tells us that Mulroy has the artifacts and advises us to get (Up)Chuck some medical attention. I tell her that we were in jail, now we’re out, my car was towed, and Jacques says "hey."

Not wanting to call any more city agencies to my apartment, I polish (Up)Chuck’s nails (as a payback for the shoes), have Jack drag the barely conscious (Up)Chuck down the stairs (although throwing him over the balcony would have been faster, cheaper and much, much safer (?)) and out to the alley, and go to a pay phone to call Emergency Services about a vomiting man with possible head trauma.

So, where did we leave off? Oh yeah, Paris, the agent, not the city, is seeing the glamorous sights of Paris, the city, not the agent, courtesy of various young enamored men, (Up)Chuck is puking in the alley behind my apartment, and Jack and I are considering various plans to get the artifacts from Mulroy.

Jack, still mourning the loss of some flame thrower, insists that I procure a dart gun for him, because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. So I get him a suction cup dart gun (which wouldn’t hurt anybody, save maybe Stuart Little), which he promptly exchanges for one that shoots sedative darts with points.

Emergency services has managed to take the ailing (Up)Chuck to a hospital, and Jack and I now are trying to figure out how to get to the Hotel de Bristol sans tails.

Paris is having a lovely lunch.

Not having a car to take to the hotel, because we have sent (Up)Chuck off to the hospital with the keys to his car and my car is still in an impound yard somewhere (and yes, I took advantage of the fact that I did not accept Jack’s money to remind him of that), we decide on the Metro.

Jack and I proceed to show an incredible inability to lose our tails. Hopping on and off the train doesn’t work. Nor does going to a crowded shopping area. I suggested creating a diversion by knocking over a flower cart, but Jack doesn’t want to add flower assault to his list of crimes. I told him to yell bomb, as all would surely believe such a threat coming from an international terrorist. Jack, in his infinite wisdom, decides that going to another tourist attraction is the way to go.

So, off to the palace we go. Jack tells a security guard that we are being followed by muggers and asks for help, so the guard calls the police (careful what you wish for…). Just what we needed. Almost as much as we needed to run into Bond, James Bond, who is in Paris, the city, not the agent, looking for an international terrorist named … Jack.

Finally, after excusing ourselves from Mr. Bond, we manage to lose our tails at the Arc d’ Triumph.

Paris, the agent, not the city, has a lovely afternoon.

We check into the Hotel de Bristol looking like two truly bedraggled and tired tourists.

Now it’s time to put our brilliant plan into action. We call for room service to have extra towels delivered to our room. Jack uses his immeasurable charm (and lots of cash) to get Monique, the maid, to tell him what suite M. Mulroy is staying in. However, I need to get her maid’s uniform and key to get into Mulroy’s room, so Jack asks me to get his bag, thinking that I will use his dart gun to sedate Monique. Of course, he forgot to mention that part of the plan to me, so I bring him his bag. He pulls out his dart gun and shoots her with a dart at point blank range. Oh, I’m sorry, did I say that he shot her? No, he misses his point blank range shot, instead completely sedating the door to the room. While I am trying to remove a dart from the bag, thinking I would simply jab her with the dart, Jack begins to beat the poor maid. Not understanding the fine line between rolling high enough to stop someone with a beating and killing them, he yells (rolls , what’s the difference?) 0(h)-0(h) and kills her. I discover the lack of vital signs when I am removing her uniform.

So I put on the uniform (I have much better die sense and roll a 50, providing me with a perfect fit). Jack is dragging the dead maid to the bathtub. A wise French fly advises us to report the fact that our maid never arrived (thinking at the time that we would stealthily get out of this mess), so Jack calls room service again. We get more towels.

I take the towels and go to Mulroy’s room dressed in my maid’s uniform with Jack following me. Well, the search wasn’t pretty (or terribly speedy), but we do manage to find the artifacts. Thinking ourselves pretty smooth, I leave by the hall door, and Jack goes out the French doors, to the lawn.

As I am leaving the room, a man, that I can only assume was hotel security, follows me. I wait for him outside the second floor stair door, and knock him out with the butt of my gun.

Meanwhile, Jack turns, only to find that Mulroy and company are sitting on the lawn watching him exit. Slickly, he turns to go back into the room, only to find that he has been locked out by the dirty frog doors (what are French doors doing in France, anyway?).

As Mulroy approaches threateningly (having not bought Jack’s story of looking for some more gambling fun), Jack sees two cops also approaching and silently argues the merits of fight vs. flight … for about a millisecond and runs.

Back at the local hospital, cries of "this is an outrage" echo through the hallways, as (Up)Chuck is subjected to all manner of gastroenterological tortures in an attempt to find the cause of his mystery illness.

Paris, the agent, not the city, has a lovely dinner.

As (bad) luck would have it, I exit the front of the hotel in time to see Jack, who is being chased by a stream of irate gamblers and several police officers, turn and shoot one of the cops with his dart gun. I’m sorry, did I say he shot him? No, he missed not one, not two, but three potential targets, however there is a tree that won’t even try to hurt us for several hours.

He screams for me to stop a car. Suffice to say, that didn’t work, but I did manage to avoid being flattened by a crazy Parisian driver. So I pull out my gun and he yells, "that’s what I meant, use your gun." So now I have Jack, the sharpshooter, Payne-in-my-ass handing out orders? Anyway, we jump into the car and Jack takes several bruising damage points.

Someone is shooting at us, so I duck. I mean, what am I going to do, hit something? Well, yeah. I sideswipe a cop and several other things, but still manage to get away. If I am going to continue to work with Jack, I need some earplugs so I don’t have to listen to him complain about my driving. I mean, at least I managed to hit something!

(Up)Chuck is enjoying a Barium enema and moaning "this is an outrage."

Paris, the agent, not the city, has a splendid evening, as she has three days to reach Zurich and since she is not traveling with us, she will make it in plenty of time.

Deciding that the train is the cheapest, fastest and much safest means of reaching Die Schweiz, we go to the train station. Jack is concerned about his money, which is back at my apartment, so I phone a trustworthy friend and call in every favor she has ever owed me to have her put rubber gloves on and remove the package from the outlet where Jack hid it, and send it to the Best Western in Zurich, along with my passport (which I feel may come in handy.)

Jack and I ride the rails into the wee hours of the morning, but not all the way to Zurich, instead getting off in Lyons just in case anyone is waiting for us in Zurich.

We steal a car and drive through the Alps where Jack throws his cell phone away, probably causing an avalanche on some poor sleeping town.

Paris, the agent, not the city, has a lovely evening in Paris, the city, not the agent.

(Up)Chuck is preparing for an upper GI series, after which he can only manage to squeak, "this is an outrage."

Jack and I arrive in a small town and go to a café for some caffeine and food. We purchase a Euro-rail pass for Jack and get on the train, because we don’t want to drive through a border crossing and can’t seem to find a cello at this hour.

Finally, we make it to Switzerland. We are dead tired, so we get a hotel room and crash. A mere two hours later, we are awakened to the sound of my cell phone. It is my trustworthy friend, who has decided that she doesn’t owe me that many favors and will not be able to send our stuff to the Zurich Best Western, especially since some authority types are apparently there with her. Jack is now really pissed that the dirty frogs have his gambling earnings. I make him come with me to the bank so I can move my money from my bank to a numbered Swiss account. We rent a car, get a large bottle of alcohol and return to the hotel to get some more sleep.

This time, we are awakened by the sound of the hotel phone and answer it only to hear someone asking for Sheena. I tell him Shee-na-here right now and we grab our shit and leave as some bad guys arrive looking to turn us from dead tired to just plain dead.

Jack drives and let me just say, he’s one to complain about my driving, but as fortune would have it, I remembered to take the large bottle of alcohol from our hotel room. Anyway, he pulls over at a pay phone so we can call Paris, the agent who is no longer in the city, and then the ISIS office in Stuttgart. The bad guys drive by and see us. By the time we know they are there, they are shooting at us (which was our first clue as to their presence due to really bad dice rolls), so we dive into the car and Jack takes some more bruising damage. Fortunately, I am in the driver’s seat.

I figure I’ll drive by the police station, hoping that will get them off of our tail. They are shooting at us and Jack is shooting their car. Did I say he shot their car? Yes, he actually managed to hit the car. Of course, they rear-end us, but that damages their steering ability, so they crash as I deftly maneuver the fork in the road. Hah, I don’t hear Jack complaining about my driving now!

Anyway, we have to get to Zermatt. So, we get on another train (one with a bar car) and drink. Unfortunately, we have to make a connection to another train. As we are on the platform, we see six bad guy types. We wait until the last minute and deftly jump on to the train … not. I do my best Patty Pavement imitation so Jack has to jump back off the train and pick me up. Two of the bad guys made it onto the train, two have done their best Patrick Pavement imitations and are still down, and two are standing on the platform.

The guys on the train are shooting at us with MP-5s and Jack gets hit twice, while I get hit once. One of the bad guys on the platform has pulled out an M-16 and Jack kills him. I’m sorry, did I say Jack killed him? No, the bad guy is not dead. Jack gets shot again by the MP-5 guys so I grab my gun back from him. I’m sorry, did I say I took my gun back? No, Jack-in-the-Payne has it a death grip and won’t let go. I finally get it back and shoot the M-16 guy. Then I get shot again by the MP-5 guys. So I shoot M-16 man again and at least manage to stop him.

Patrick Pavement I has fallen onto the tracks in front of Jack, who decides to show his prowess at close-quarters fighting. Since we are in Switzerland, he pulls out his Swiss army knife (when in Rome …) and stabs the guy to death. In the meantime, the loudspeaker has miraculously emitted some gunshot sounding noises and fooled one of the bad guys into shooting M-16 man who shoots him back before falling dead to the ground.

Jack and I duck under the train platform for cover and are making our way out when we hear the sound of German commandos on the platform. Thank God, the Germans are coming! Jack, only slightly less hostile toward the Germans than he is toward the French, is no mood to give up the artifacts, which he has decided belong to Mother Russia. (What the fuck is gong on here? And no, I am not going to St. Petersburg.)

I reflect for a moment. I am in Switzerland with an American gambling electrician who is dedicated to Mother Russia, a strange man has destroyed all of my shoes with vomit, I am facing possible criminal charges against me related to mispronouncing Inspector Cuisine’s name and an assault with a hot cup of coffee, and I have a bunch of Germans, a gang of mercenary hit men and every police force in Europe chasing me. I have no passport, and no fucking clue if I have a job/apartment/life to go back to and if I do, I will need a new friend to water my plants as well as a new carpet.

I emerge from under the train platform only to stare down the barrel of Bond, James Bond’s gun.

Well, needless to say, Jack and I make it to Stuttgart un-further-harmed.

On the bright side, Jack is no longer obsessed with bothering the librarian Arlene, he only wants to blow up Paris, the city, not the agent, and most especially one Inspector Clousine.

Paris, the agent not the city, is having the European tour and will probably continue until she is called in for her debriefing.

(Up)Chuck, having finally been released from the hospital and sorely in need of some facilities to use, may have to return for medical attention due to severe bruising on his hands from pounding on the locked door to my now vacant apartment. The abused and confused (Up)Chuck sits on the floor and cries, "this is an outrage."