Evil Lil Fingers

EVIL LIL FINGERS

by

Susan C. Fuchs with the help of KhayMay

         It was all KhayMay's fault.  I had made one of my cute little turn of phrases and noted that my fingers were evil lil fingers.  Next thing I know I'm being challenged to write a story from that phrase.  So everything that followed from that is really her fault.  She'll try to blame me and say that it's my fault because my fingers move faster than the filter in my brain, but she lying.  Okay, judge for yourself.  Here's the story.

         I had done bad.  I called her liar and she jumped my butt for it.  I immediately recognized she was right and apologized, saying that my fingers moved faster than my brain.  She made some pithy comment and I thought of a neat turn of phrase - my evil lil fingers.  After she was kind and accepted my apology I logged off and went to bed after picking up and doing some small chores.  I do speak before thinking.  It has always been a fault and one I work on but with little success.  Her fault is clear in all this - keep that in mind when reading the rest.

         I get up anywhere from 4am to 5:30am.  The quiet is wonderful and fosters great ideas, plus I get to watch the sun come up, which is a bonus any day.  Most mornings are for writing until the sun is up.  The peace coupled with a nice Spotify rain playlist or the coffeehouse playlist that is nicely updated; some mornings my own Quiet playlist is an idea medium.  Turn the music on, pick a project to work on or start that day and start typing.  It's so easy to fall into a serene state as the words pour out.  Writing trance is how a lot of writers refer to it.  After everything that happened I call it Watch Your Ass Trance.

         That morning I had fallen into that blissful and dangerous trance happily enough.  Fingers moving of their own accord almost and I'm just glad to see the words cross the screen.  Pages slide up the screen and it is just flowing beautifully and I'm content and then the next thing I realize I have somehow cut and pasted a large section of what I had just wrote into an email and sent it without looking.
         Huh?  What the hell did I just send?  I didn't remember anyone needing an email from me; most of what I get is junk.  I check the sent box and don't see it, nor is the email in the sending box.  Weird-must've deleted it.  What the hell did I send?  Pondering did not bring the email or content to mind.  Damn - must've been really out of it this morning.  And the sun has come up so time to do some housework.

         The day is quiet and chores are finished with a flourish.  Feeling really accomplished, I treat myself to a good book for the afternoon and some Maury; yes, guilty pleasure but it is fun guessing if the child is the man's or not.  The sun is shining and a cuppa Earl Grey tea is on hand along with a good book to read and life is good.  My cat Reba is snoozing in the basket with Fu' spread across the oak table in front of the south window soaking up the sun and loving it.  Peace and harmony in the house is enjoyed by all.  The next few minutes change that.

         The doorbell rings.  I frown because I wasn't expecting company and really didn't want to be witnessed to nor buy glutinous Girl Scout cookies that I'm convinced must be crack-laced because they are so addicting.  I had a vacuum cleaner and wasn't expecting a package.  And no friend of mine or family of me or my spouse's had warned us of an impending visit.  A hmph and the tea and book are set to the side and my blanket flipped to my right while I heave my ungainly carcass from the recliner.

         Shit - suits tell me right off these are government agents.  A man and woman dressed to the stereotypical nines; and yes, for your information, they actually do dress that way.  The raid at the one job taught me that.  No one else looks like that with sunglasses.  Flashbacks of that FBI raid at one job (hey, it was a legit job and a long story) claw through my brain.

         "Can I help you?" loudly through the glass and a hand motion to let them know to show me their badges.  They pull them out and I see Secret Service - oh hell what the dry duck. *sigh*  "Mrs. . . . Fewches?"  Cannot help but grin at that mangling of my last name, but I don't help them either.  "Can we come in please?"  It's not really an question and more of an order with all the authority they believe they have.

         I've seen ways to prevent the strong arms of government agencies from coming in.  However, I see no reason to be difficult right now, and it is damned bitterly cold out today since that artic front came through yesterday and last night.  The door is opened and they are invited to stand at the doorway.  One agent starts to go around me and I stop them - "You were invited to stand here, not tour my house.  If you want a tour, take a flyer from the box outside and arrange one."  We were selling our house.

         "Mrs. Fewches, we have an email you sent this morning to the head of the Republican Party and we would like to discuss it with you in our office.  Can you please put on some shoes and come with us."  Note the lack of a question at the end that is was posed as a question, like that's sneaky or something.  Pffft.  "What email? May I see a copy please?  I need to call my husband."  The last was said forcefully and using my best teacher/mom voice.  I moved back into the dining room as I said it so I could use my cell to call.

         The female agent, we'll call her Agent F (she'll earn the rest of it later), heads towards me and slams my hand down right as I pick up my cell from the table.  "You'll come with us now.  You can make a call later."  Oh, the look I gave her showed her she had just earned the next letter after that F.  "That is assault and you will remove your hand before I press charges."  My hazel eyes meet those the lens of those shades she's wearing that hide her eyes completely.  I don't flinch because I believe I have done nothing wrong and am seriously pondering charges.  Agent M (gets changed to a D later) strides in and tries to insert himself between us and lightly touches the sleeve of the arm attached to hand that just earned her a write-up at the least.  He is face from me, but I can tell by her head slightly turning to him that she is now focused on him and slide my hand and the cell out from hers right then.  She reaches to me again and he brings both his hands up and murmurs.  I don't hear what Agent M says because I'm focused on calling my spouse.  Damn - he did not answer.  "Eldred, two Secret Service agents have come to our door and insist that I accompany them.  I'll be at their OKC location and give him the address.  I think it's the east building."  I look at Agent M who has turned to me, who nods with a look of surprise.  I hang up the phone and put it back face down on the table after turning the ringer off.  "I used to help with the property management of that building so yeah, I know where you are.  Let's go.  Just me."  Agent M looks at Agent F and shrugs and they escort me out and into a car with clearly illegally tinted windows.

         After about 30 minutes we arrive at their office I am seated in the cliche interrogation room.  I'd never been in their space when I had helped with the building, so it was interesting.  Such a mish-mash of updated and dated crashing the senses through the area I was led through to get to this room.  They leave me alone and I figure someone's watching through the mirror.

         Stone cold ignorant or I might've been worried, I sit for a bit (I don't know how long as no clock was in the room and I didn't have a watch), then get up and peruse the room.  The walls are cloth and appear to act as sound dampeners, which I imagine is supposed to make me uneasy and wonder what they might do to me.  Whatever.  One corner has the stereotyped camera with the red light and I study it, standing under it just because I'm that ornery and enjoy giving double what I get.

         Two walls are just walls with deep blue cloth covering and are quickly scrutinized.  The third has the door and I try the knob idly, which is as expected, locked.  The mirror is in the fourth wall and is obviously a two-way; I mean, c'mon, NCIS much.  Out of boredom I languidly turn my attention to the chairs, two plastic chairs that would take more strength than I have to break and yes, I do look over both of them.  I figure one agent will sit and one will stand.  I check out the table, even going so far as flipping it on one side and looking at the underside while keeping the look on my face as placid and calm as anything; sometimes I smile, a quirky one-sided smile.  Putting the table and chairs carefully to rights and moving the chair closest to the mirror against the wall underneath the mirror I take my seat - the one facing the mirror.  I figure until I know what this is all about I might as well do as I please.

         Okay, the room's been gone over and now I'm bored.  I tap on the window. "Could I please have some water?"  I go back to my side of the table and sit down, figuring that now I'm in here I'm pretty much at their mercy, but it can't hurt to ask.  And the Geneva Convention still rules, right?  I know it's different if you're declared a terrorist, but surely there are procedures and stuff for that to be done.  They can't just walk up to you, say you're a terrorist and take you to whatever hellhole is convenient; of course not.

         Time passes and I'm debating about repeating my request when the door opens and the two lovely agents from before enter.  Agent F is holding a file; ah, she'll be the one sitting.  Agent M has a bottle of water which he hands to me.  I open it and drink deeply; I didn't get to drink my tea.  "What's this about?" A casual question because I'm still the ignorant fool to my evil lil fingers' doings.

         "You are being charged with treason."  The smug contempt radiation from Agent F as her slightly too high to be taken seriously voice just really starts burrs forming between us.  Agent M stands to her left, leaning against the corner with his arms crossed, studying me.  She's a rookie, that's plain by her over eagerness and intensity while he is the senior partner between them.

         I'd be lying if I didn't say I was stunned.  "Can I see the evidence please."  Note I don't really make it a question either.  She slides and simultaneously flips some stapled papers.  Hmmm . . . an email . . . from my email . . . to the head of the Republican party . . . subject is Why your party needs to change or end.  Yeah, bet that went over just all kinds of well.

         I glance through the four page email.  It is well-written, succinct, concise, and completely annihilates the Republican stance.  I'm impressed with myself.  I had no idea I could be that skilled - I seriously need to start writing hardcore.

         More smug bullshit from the agent rapidly earning the third letter, a c, unless she drops that attitude she's throwing around.  Clearly thinks she's going to earn a notch on her lil belt today by catching some home-grown terrorist.  "Have you read this carefully?  Because I just glanced at it and I can tell you there is not one threat, not one remotely suggestible statement that can be even vaguely construed as anything resembling a threat of any kind.

         It is a well-written, concise, and moving statement to this," here I flick a middle finger and tap the name in question, "individual.  Not one thing is a threat, and you have nothing.  I am not the notch for your belt and drop the attitude or I'll just feed it back to you double.  Now turn me loose or get me a lawyer because we are done."  I do not offer to hand back the email; my elbows are just off the table and my upper arms are on the table and hands open to show I have nothing to hide and I really am done.  I'm right, they know it, and they should not have touched me with this paltry item.  Place a wiretap and read my stuff sure, but nothing direct.  Cowardly is best until proof is obtained.

         Agent M smiles, a tall, older man with graying hair short and slicked back.  He saunters a step forward, still smiling.  "You're right; nothing in this email is a threat directly or implied.  However, the points and arguments are of    concern to the person that received it."

         "Okay, you're the Republican's bitch. Got it.  I said it, I obviously meant it, and while it is damning, it is in no way threatening," here I roll my eyes to Miss Too Eager and stuck her nose out and doesn't it hurt as I lop the pointy thing off, "and you have nothing still."  I pause, look intensely at each of them and say slowly and clearly so even she can't mistake my intent.  "I. Am. Done.  Turn me loose or get me a lawyer."

         Took a few hours but I was home in time to watch Supernatural that evening.  Spouse was mad as all hell at first and wanted a lawyer.  I laughed and said what she got was a reprimand and a note in her jacket that'll stay with her throughout her career.  That was more than enough for me and I sat down to enjoy Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins, Mark Shepherd and Ruth Connell for an hour.  I couldn't help but laugh from time to time over the whole mess.

         When it became apparent that I really was done both agents left the room for a long time.  The mirror received another tap and more water was requested, and an update on the lawyer off-handed like but in control of myself.  Again, right as I was pondering anther tap a different agent trailed by my two darling agents came into the room.  Pretty obvious that he was a higher up and about the same age as Agent M.  I raise an eyebrow at him but do not get up - why waste the energy?  He hands me a bottle of water and apologizes for the eagerness of his new agent.  Like I figured, someone new anxious to show they had what it took.  He turned to her and moved so she could come forward.  She had a pale and beautiful face; I could almost see the frantic boarding up against the fact that she had badly messed up.  Compassion eased my features, but I waited to see if she could actually be regretful or just say the words.  She regretted, but it was that she may have messed up her career and not my life.  I sighed knowing that she'd learn in time and asked to be returned home.  I was escorted out to the main room where my spouse had been waiting.  After a good stuffing-removal hug guaranteed to flatten any teddy bear we went home.

So you can clearly see it was all KhayMay's fault for inciting my evil lil fingers.

DISCLAIMER:  I wrote the agents here in not the best of lights, but I tried to make it clear the negative actions were of the individual and not of the agency itself.  I hold no grudge or ill-will towards the Secret Service and appreciate the work they do in helping to keep our country and it's elected representatives safe.