Chapter 62: Monica
The red-eye flight from LAX to Miami took just over four hours. Ron managed to catch some decent sleep and woke up right as they touched down at Miami International. But the first person waiting for him wasn't the beautiful undercover agent he was expecting to meet.
Instead, it was a heavyset guy who looked like Nicolas Cage after a few too many home-cooked meals. Years of domestic bliss had clearly taken their toll on this notorious arms dealer. Guess marriage really was the death of both romance and a man's physique.
"I just placed an order with you—why'd you deliver it personally? Did all your guys bail on you?" Ron gave Yuri a bear hug while ribbing him.
"Hell no. I'm just keeping a low profile these days. Seems like some persistent Interpol agent has me in their crosshairs." Yuri studied Ron's face carefully. "I'm not charging you for the gear this time. Think you could get me a presidential pardon from your big shot?"
Ron punched Yuri in the chest, hard. "I was wondering why you were being so generous. You were playing the long game, weren't you? So can I take this as a campaign contribution? Though the amount's pretty weak, right? You know Frank's got expensive tastes."
Yuri winced from the hit. "Of course I know that, so I'm not stopping here. I'm prepared to donate about the same amount as all the taxes you've squeezed out of me over the years. I just don't know where to send it."
"I can hook you up with a contact. It's a water treatment company in Delaware. Mention my name and they'll transfer you to the CEO. Tell him what you need and he'll take care of everything."
Ron texted him the number. Just as both men were grinning about their under-the-table deal, a sleek Porsche 911 pulled up next to them. The door opened and out stepped a knockout brunette.
"You Ron? What took you so long?" The woman complained, extending her hand while eyeing Yuri suspiciously. "If I remember correctly, you were supposed to come alone?"
"Allow me to make introductions," Ron nudged Yuri with his elbow, but found his friend completely mesmerized by the newcomer. "Well, excuse my buddy for looking like he's never seen a woman before. It's just that you're absolutely stunning—like Helen of Troy herself."
"Yo!" Ron shouted in Yuri's ear, finally snapping him out of it. Ron turned back to the woman. "Lucky for us your beauty didn't turn him to stone. I'm Ron Lee Cooper."
"Monica." The woman barely touched Ron's hand. "Flattery won't get you anywhere with me."
Even as she said it, Ron could see the spark of interest in Monica's eyes. His charm was definitely working. "He's one of ours, completely trustworthy. So where are we headed?"
"Follow my car. I'll take you to our safe house first, then we'll figure out how to get you close to Carter." Monica turned and slid back into her Porsche.
Ron fought hard to resist the allure of Monica's smoldering gaze as he climbed into Yuri's ride. "Dude, what the hell just happened to you? That's totally out of character. Aren't you supposed to be Mr. Family Man? You thinking about cheating on the wife now?"
Yuri started the engine, mumbling, "I know this sounds crazy, but when I saw her, I suddenly felt like I'd known her forever, like I'd had this long, vivid dream..."
"Don't tell me you dreamed you could turn into a flaming skull, throw on a leather jacket, and cruise around on a Harley dating Monica?" Ron rolled his eyes.
Yuri's face went white as a sheet. "How the hell did you know that?!"
"What, you want me to tell you I can read dreams? You're a grown man—don't you read comic books?" Ron shook his head. "Where's my equipment?"
"In the trunk. Besides what you ordered, I threw in some extra goodies I thought you'd appreciate. The car and gear are both on the house. I'll hop out somewhere up ahead—I've got zero interest in whatever mission you're running."
Yuri composed himself. "This car's got custom bulletproof plating on the chassis, doors, and windows—can stop standard pistol rounds. Run-flat tires too. Don't thank me; consider it a smart businessman's investment in your future success."
"This piece is clean—no serial numbers. Use it however you want." Yuri used a red light to slip his pistol into Ron's jacket before hopping out. Ron slid over to the driver's seat and continued tailing Monica's Porsche, which led him all the way to an abandoned warehouse complex.
Ron didn't get out right away. Instead, he did a slow lap around the perimeter, checking for potential ambushes, before finally parking next to Monica's car.
"You don't seem to trust me much." Monica smiled, but Ron, who'd dealt with plenty of women, could tell she was pissed—though he made no effort to smooth things over.
"Look, even though Frank vouches for you, I'm still going to be suspicious. Sorry, but it's just professional paranoia. Hope you understand."
His apology sounded anything but apologetic. Instead, Ron moved in close with classic player confidence, his hands moving over her body in what looked like blatant harassment.
Monica just stood there smiling, not even trying to dodge. She let Ron's hands roam freely, clearly impressed by his thorough approach.
"Finding any weapons or wires?" Monica whispered seductively in his ear. "Maybe we should move somewhere more private so you can do a really thorough search?"
"If you're offering, I'd definitely love to have a more... intimate discussion with someone as gorgeous as you. I hear MI6 has some specialty tailors who make tracking devices that can be surgically implanted in women's bodies. You know what I'm getting at?"
Ron didn't back off. Instead, he moved even closer, planted a kiss on her cheek, and whispered, "We've got company at three o'clock."
"Probably just some guy fishing. There's a retention pond nearby," Monica whispered back, returning his kiss like they were lovers.
To any observer, they looked like a couple getting hot and heavy. The homeless guy who'd been tailing them let out a weird laugh and whistled as he walked past, giving them just a couple of glances before moving on.
Ron noticed the guy didn't have a fishing rod, but he was carrying a big bucket and what looked like a ball of twine. Seemed like he really was just some vagrant going fishing, exactly like Monica said.
Made sense—homeless folks who couldn't afford proper gear often just tied hooks to string.
(End of chapter)
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