Bob and Olga

The stick lowered slowly until the carrot was within reach. The donkey started to move forwards, slowly at first, but it wasn’t easy know, how far down the carrot should hang, before it disappeared in one chomp!

I’d like to say, she lured me along with her charm. Her wild body, or her fascinating personality, but it most likely was due to fear. Plain, unadulterated fear.

“Come on Poindexter. Not too much farther. We are almost there.”

I trudged along the street, as if I were on the way to the gallows. A man in a black hood waited patiently next to the scaffolding, while the preacher adjusted his collar, shielding his eyes from the High Noon sunlight. The workers were making sure of the trap door mechanism doing its job without any incorrect motions. The governor, having pushed aside the papers for my reprieve in the eleventh hour, were forgotten when his secretary arrived, wearing nothing but a smile. My mother, weeping in the background, continued to blame the bad influences that had polluted our society, but no one wanted to hear about that anymore. The sentence had been passed, leaving no doubt in the minds of those present, that I soon would be inhaling my last air on this planet.

She just stood there, arms at her sides, her face painted up with red lipstick, her dress slung low, wearing high heels made for someone weighing a lot less than my babe, Olga. Olga was from Russia, and though she lived in our town, a trace of her accent still lingered in the air after she spoke.

“Look here.” Olga gestured towards a dilapidated garage, with its padlock hanging limply from the door, as if all the excitement had gone out of its life, after having been married too long. Way too long, if you ask me, but she didn’t. She just didn’t.

Inside in the darkness, my eyes began to adjust to the clutter around me. In the middle of which was a largish object with a dirty brown tarpaulin covering it.

“Viola!” she exclaimed and tore the tarp off, for all the world to see.

“It’s called the MX-1, and the Russians will be dying to get their hands on it. Have you seen any suspicious types hanging around lately?” Olga just leaned up against the top-secret weapon as if she were modeling the latest Edsel fresh off the assembly-line. Her fine curves, and sleek styling made me think of her like James Bond would think of one of his many women, before they were dipped in gold, or shot to death, that is.

I peered closely at it. It was a sled of some kind, and looked to be one that could kill you outright, if you didn’t know what you were doing.

Olga came closer to me, pressing her body next to mine, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. The darned thing was, that they were in Russian.

“Viola is French you Ninny!” Her voice bringing me back to reality with its unpolished edges, and grating sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. “Look her”, she said with her voice lowering to the point of me having to come closer to hear the rest. “Someone in this very garage might just be making name for himself on the Olympic Circuit. Surrounded by thousands of well-wishers, pouring champagne in your trophy cup with his skilled trainer, Olga at his side when the flashbulbs start popping.”

Only about 99% of me was against that idea. The other 1% said, in a voice that sounded like me, “Sounds great! When do we start?”

Olga rushed over to me, pushing Lola out of the way in the process. Lola’s eyes burned red, but Olga was brandishing the latest AK-47, with its sleek Lenin-Stalin styling, and sure-fire response to counter the enemies of the state and the Anti-Fascist Barrier in Eastern Europe.

She gave me a big hug, being closer to me than ever before. I could smell the springtime in her hair, and could hear the chewing of bubble gum. Just one minute more then I could…

“Now, you’ve ruined this moment with your groping and panting in my ear”, she said releasing me so hard that I tripped over the forward ski, sending me directly into Lola’s arms again. “I will forgive and forget, but only if you drop Olga here and now.” Lola said. Olga was armed with her weapons, but Lola had her knives ready. Olga called out to me, “Bob. Come here! Stand out of the way, before I end life for that tramp, for ever more!”

With that terse statement, she pulled the pin out of the hand-grenade and rolled it in Lola’s direction.

“The first think we’ll do, is move it over to my place. I’ve acquired some furniture moving equipment with wheels, and a good sturdy rope that will help you to build up your muscles for your first bobsled race.”

I was in some sort of daze as she said that. Her using the word “acquired”, might have caused others to question if she really meant, “stolen, borrowed without asking, or taken against its will”. I started to remove the rest of the tarp, when a voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

“We’ve got to get those Commies on the other side of the fence, before they overrun the whole damn Country!” The general sporting a non-Cuban cigar in his mouth, shouted at the tank commander to start the attack at once. “Now we’ll catch them with their pants down!”, which sounded good if it had been me and Lola, but I felt as if this were neither the time, nor the place for such thoughts.

Lola disagreed. She put her hand down my shirt trying to find a muscle, she could stroke.

Olga yelled out “We aren’t going to move it now! What if someone sees us? That would ruin our chances for keeping this on the QT”

It made me think, we might not be doing something entirely legal, but then in the world of spies, there was no right or wrong, was there?

Not as long as you had a License to Kill…..

 

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