Spies Like Them

The door of the Fisheye Investigations office was thrown open with a glass rattling bang. A tall, statuesque woman clad in a black leather trench coat strode up to Tom Fish's desk. She was Tom's vision of what a woman should look like. Long black hair, porcelain white skin and blood red lips. A cigarette jutted from a black cigarette holder clenched between perfect teeth. She also had breath that could knock a rat off of a garbage scow. He wondered if there was any way to surreptitiously slip her a Tic Tac.

"Hi, can I help you?"

With a snarl, she grabbed him by the shirt collar and shook him violently.

“The Stradivarius!” she intoned in a thick Russian accent. “Where is it?”

“Huh??”

"Fool!" she spat. Still grasping him by his collar, she pulled Tom across the desk, knocking his beloved 'Girls Of The WWE' calendar to the floor. "Who are you working for? The Chinese? The English? The cowardly Swiss??"

“L-look lady, I have no idea...”

"The authorities cannot help you now, traitor! How dare you deceive The Sisterhood!"

"The Sisterhood??"

"Don't play games! The future of the world may depend what that Stradivarius is hiding! Give me the microfilm or you will not live to see another day!"

The woman's cell phone buzzed at that moment. She threw Tom to the floor with a contemptuous shove and snapped it open. She spoke quietly into the phone for a few moments, fixing Tom with an occasional poisonous glance.

She closed the phone and turned back to Tom, her face tight and unreadable. "I seem to have been given the wrong address. My apologies. Forget everything you just heard."

With that she stalked out of the office in a swirl of flapping leather.