In Sharpe Focus
Copyright© 2023 by corsair
Chapter 37: Lurking in Shadow
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 37: Lurking in Shadow - Who shot JR Ewing? I mean who shot JFK? One was a fictional Dallas, and the other has much fiction attached. Agent "Jackie" has been voluntold to investigate a coup in progress and begins with an investigation into a dead actress, a trip down a rabbit hole.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Coercion Mind Control Reluctant Slavery BiSexual TransGender Fiction Crime Fan Fiction Historical Military Mystery Restart War Science Fiction Alternate History Body Swap Paranormal Magic Incest Rough Sadistic Gang Bang Swinging Interracial Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Petting Voyeurism Water Sports Body Modification Small Breasts ENF Nudism Prostitution Transformation Violence
I was disoriented when I regained my senses. It took me a moment to ask where Simone was.
“It was a rifle grenade,” I was told. “She didn’t have a chance.”
The hurt I felt proved that I was still human. I sighed, sat up. Life goes on. I’d be told what I needed to know.
“Your new identity is Ralph Harmon,” Zara told me--it had taken me a moment to remember her name. “You’ll be operating alone for several weeks. We want you to spend a week in New Orleans again but do not make contact with our people. You will be provided with communications devices. One more thing--no guns. Your primary defense will be that you are a stranger. A folding knife--okay. Expect to be arrested and searched by police. We’ll keep an eye on you and you won’t spend more than a weekend in jail.”
On September 22 I watched a man I knew as A. J. Hidell make contact with Guy Banister again. The next day a woman in a light green 1955 Chevrolet Station Wagon collected Mrs. Hidell and infant from a Magazine Street apartment. I reported it and continued to shadow Hidell as he met with Jack Ruby of the Carousel Club. Observe and report! On the 30th I watched Hidell take a bus to Dallas and followed to the Elm Street Greyhound station. A few nights at the YMCA under the name of O. H. Lee, and then Hidell moved into a rooming house at 621 North Marsalis in Dallas. I reported all of this and watched Hidell/Lee (whatever) apply for work--and meet with Colonel Stafford. Interesting. On 16 October I learned that as Lee Oswald, Hidell had obtained a job as a warehouse clerk and had moved to 1026 N. Beckley Avenue in the Oak Cliff neighborhood. The Marsalis address was on my list of probable safe houses run for American military intelligence--but not the Beckley address. Safe houses were temporary refuges--now my subject was working as Oswald and living as Lee in what wasn’t a safe house. Strange. I did manage to slip into the warehouse on the north east corner of the Houston and Elm Street intersection and found that there were no jobs, that the current temporary hires were scheduled to be dismissed before Thanksgiving depending on the seasonal school book orders.
I also found out that the warehouse was shipping stuff other than books, not large shipments, but the boxes were heavy and packed after hours.
I was ordered to drive to Kansas City and arrive no later than 9 AM on Monday morning, November 4. I drove all night fueled by coffee. I made my arrival time and walked into the hotel restaurant. No mere pedestrian cafe for me!
“Breakfast reservation for Ralph Harmon,” I told the person at the podium. Maître d’, that was the term!
“One moment, sir,” the maître de picked up a phone and whispered something in French that I didn’t understand.
Two men approached from behind me a short time later--and I felt a gun muzzle pressed in my back. I didn’t think--I reacted instantly as the men spoke--and the gun went flying, the gunman flung into his partner. I dealt with the second man as the maître de fled. Running away was a good idea--I left immediately. I didn’t even bother picking up my car from the valet, I just put distance between myself and the restaurant. Two decades of undercover work made evasion automatic. I was able to change my appearance and in two hours I managed to find a hiding place off the street. Protocol required me to get clear of the city and report in 24 hours after my missed rendezvous. If I was being followed, they were too good for me to detect.
I had gotten myself disoriented and was no longer sure if I were in Kansas City, Kansas or in Kansas City, Missouri. It didn’t matter--if I had clobbered local law enforcement the heat would be off in 48 hours and possibly I’d be clear if I had left their jurisdiction. If those were federal officers, that would be no longer true--I’d be hunted, IF they had a good description of me, and due to my car being parked nearby, they’d have my description when they determined that my car was abandoned. Good thing I parked away from the restaurant. I might even be able to retrieve it. But first, I’d need to pull several hours of countersurveillance routine. One way to hide in plain sight was to pick up a woman. It wasn’t something I was good at, but it was worth a try.
A purse snatcher grabbed a woman’s purse and she fell--I intercepted him and left him in the alley dead or unconscious in a dumpster.
“Ma’am, here’s your purse. He’s gone.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Let me buy you lunch? Allow me to make your day better?” I made them questions.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.