My Tormentor

Nikita, my tormentor! How is it everything you do just makes me want you more? Oh to have been a fly on the wall in the bookstore - just the thought of Marco going down bleeding by the blow of your stilettos is enough to stir my darkest fantasies. But we are agents, and this "thing" we are wrapped up in has become too much for me to bear. After reading your text in the wee hours of this morning's drunken haze, I have contacted Grigori and asked for reassignment to Minsk - not my first choice for danger or excitement, but it is a far enough distance that I won't be tempted to show up at your door in the middle of the night. Last night's events convinced me we must part at this juncture if we are to survive. The irony is deep - I was into my second Glenfiddich when I noticed a woman sitting at the bar, making her presence known to me - I thought to myself, "If I wasn't hopelessly enamored with Nikita, I might actually entertain the thought of her company." But now we both know that was you, and I am beside myself with remorse for not chasing a woman who wasn't you, because it was really you....Surely games like this are not your usual pattern - ? Damned if I do, and damned if I don't - you weave a difficult web Nikita - I feel I am just a male spider to you at times like this....Yet I ignore all of the red flags and continue to scheme in my mind about ways we can be together. I need you too.

The walk back to my room from the bar couldn't have been any stranger. Half-twisted on the scotch, I tipped the waitress and headed out the door. Wandering the late night streets alone has always been a part of my work, and the fact I am still alive has more to do with luck than all my years of training. I rounded a corner and BAM! Two of Marco's men pinned me up against the wall and knocked the wind out of me. Apparently your little skirmish hurt his ego as much as his spleen, and he has put the word out that you must be found and made to pay for your transgression. They were quick to make me very uncomfortable and to tell me in no uncertain terms that they will find you and will make you hurt very much - Just then, a local baker on his way to work was pedaling by and stopped to ask Marco's boys what the trouble was - They eased up on me for a second to see who the crazy asshole was, and that gave me the distraction I needed to micro-taze the one and head butt the other - The baker flashed his semi-automatic pistol at me about this time, and told me to keep my distance - I made certain Marco's boys were out cold, then thanked him for his help. When asked why he packed heat on his way to the bakery at 3 a.m., he told me, "I've lived in this part of town for twenty years, and I've seen it all - After the first time I got mugged, I took matters into my own hands and learned how to defend myself. Looks like you have a little experience in that department too." I was drunk, and the head butt had given me a slight concussion, I'm sure. It was like some strange parallel world standing there under the streetlight talking to a baker holding a Unerti UCCP. I mean, who carries one of those? And how lucky am I that he came along?

I must finish my packing, dearest one. More has happened that I cannot tell you about now, but know you are in my heart now, and that is the safest place you can be with me for the next several weeks. At least we can write.

S