Black And White Ops

She turned on the light and pulled back the icon. There was the cavity and it was empty.

“You really should have converted those rubles, you know,” a voice said behind her.

Monique whipped around to face the man she had met a few days ago in the coffee shop, the man who called himself “Rick Wilson”. He was standing there holding her money, passport and the Rubles which had been placed inside the cavity almost seventy years ago. Now he was wearing a black nondescript jacket and jeans to match. She was terrified at having him in her apartment, but at the same time a little tingle went through the space between her legs. He was slightly dusty from having been near the scene of the explosion.

“How did you get in here?” Monique demanded. “What are you doing with my money and passport? Give it back to me!”

“I’ll be glad to give you the recent money and passport back,” he said, handing them out to her. “The old Rubles we might want to talk about. I’m sure the St. Petersburg police would be very interested to know you were taking good care of them. Do you know what you can get for harboring stolen goods in this town?”

“Who said they were stolen?” Monique asked him. “I found the money years ago and just left it there.”

“I might believe you,” Rick said to her, holding up the Rubles with his other hand. “But there are quite a few of these. About forty million in today’s currency. They left some big denominations. Looks like somebody was on the run after World War Two. If they are even legitimate. Might be counterfeit and I’m sure the government would really find all the bogus money stashed in your apartment wall amusing.”

“Why are you here?” she demanded. “Aren’t you the man I met two days ago? I saw you outside the building where the explosion happened. You had something to do with it!”

There was a knock at the door. Monique felt very scared and looked at Rick. What the hell had she got herself into? How was she going to explain this one? Rick grabbed the money off the floor and shoved it with the passport back into the cavity, swirling the icon back over it.

“Saint Seraphim,” he noted. “Forgive us.” He turned to Monique. “Tell whoever it is you’re not decent.”

“Give me just a minute,” she called out in Russian to the door. “I’m just getting out of the shower.”

“Now get your clothes off and get in the shower,” he told her. “Don’t worry about me.” Rick vanished into her bedroom.

Monique ran to the shower and stripped off her clothes. She was in the shower just long enough to wash the smell of the explosion off her, dry herself and get into a robe. She returned to the door where the knocks were becoming more frantic.

Monique opened the door to reveal two St. Petersburg uniformed officers and a man wearing a plain coat. They stepped inside the apartment and began to look around.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she yelled at them, also in Russian.

“As to whom we are,” the man in the plain coat said, “it should be obvious. As to what we want, perhaps you can tell us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she told them.

“Perhaps you don’t,” he returned to her, “but there was an explosion at an office building several blocks from here and a witness told me he saw the black American lady who teaches at the gymnasium walking away after it happened. He said you must have been right next to it because you were wobbling as you walked. And we have found broken glass all over the front of your apartment.”

“Pardon me, mitsyia,” a voice called out from behind her. She turned around to see Rick wearing one of her floral robes. In any other situation, it might have been funny.

“The lady has been with me all evening,” he told them in Russian. “We have been preoccupied, although the blast did interrupt things, if you understand what I am talking about.”

“Nice wardrobe,” the man in the coat said to him. “I assume from your accent you too are from America?”

“Yes I am” Rick agreed. “I am Rick Wilson, here on business. I can get you my card, but I’ll have to fish it out of my pants pocket. It may be a little messy as they were close to the bed.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the man said to him. “I will make a note of your being here.” He turned to Monique. “You have an alibi for now, but I’m going to talk to you later. Don’t leave for any trips in the next week.” He turned back to Rick. “I’m going to go, but I advise you not to do the same, pending the investigation.”

He opened the door and let the uniform men leave. Before he exited himself he turned back and looked at Rick. “How many times and did she moan?” he asked.

Monique made a “daddy’s little girl” look on her face and cuddled with Rick. He turned back to the police detective.

“Four times,” he replied. “Two over the couch and two on the bed. She made noises each time but didn’t yell until the last time while I had her penned down. I’m going to make her say my name the next time. You can’t please this woman. She’s insatiable.”

“Then I will let you get back to your work,” the detective said, shutting the door behind him.

“You are disgusting,” Monique said to Rick, still cuddling him, but more out of fear than any other reason. She yelped when he bit her ear.

“That’s in case they are listening at the door,” he whispered in her ear. “Let’s go back into the bedroom.” He pulled her into her own bed and waited a few minutes.

“They’re gone,” he finally told her.