That had been such amistake. Nikki had shown herself to my colleagues and there was no goingback from that. At some point I'd have to make up a further story aboutwho she was and what this lady was doing "borrowing sugar." Oh man, howclumsy was I? A further coffee was needed just to get my head back ingear...After a quick trip to the bedroom mirror to check that shock hadn't mademy make-up vanish, I sat back down to the computer and, minding my nailson the keyboard and with my nerves just about back in one piece, Ilogged back in.There was a firm knock at the door. I hadn't buzzed anyone in and Iwasn't expecting anyone, my heart raced once more. "I'll ignore it, ifit's a delivery, they can always leave it with the concierge." There wasa further knock knock. "What a day," I thought, "Fridays are my quietdays." I got up and clicked my way to the door. I peered through thespyhole."Oh crap." It was Matt. The birthday boy himself. It turned out thatmy colleague, the guy that. I cuff him to a pipe, and go to the freezer. I take out a layer ofHungry Man dinners, and then hit the jackpot.I go back over to the guy, and put my blade to his neck."Can you hear me?" I ask him politely.He squeaks out, "Yes." Good. I have a message for you to take to whoever runs this house. Moveout of this neighborhood. Or I'll be back."I then pull out a napalm grenade out of my bag, and toss it into thefreezer.I'm up the stairs and out the door by the time it goes boom.I do a zigzag course back home, and sneak into the garage, where we keepmy hero stuff. I hang up the belt and the bag, and strip off the suit.Its a marvel, one of Carl's best works - light as anything, smooth assilk to my skin, and yet tough enough to turn a blade or stop a bullet.I pull off the black wig, and remove my DD padded bra (gives guyssomewhere to look other than my face), and then my jockey shorts (Yeah,I like men's briefs. Got a problem with it?) Then I slip off my gaff,and let my little soldier.
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