This post was inspired by the recent actions of Seattle Seahawks rookie Golden Tate, as well as the novels of Stieg Larsson, who would be a much, much better writer than I am if he were not dead. You should also know ahead of time that my husband did not think it was funny. And there will be another football history post in the next few days, so we'll be back to normal.
Agent Linquinetta Andrews* was enjoying her cover as a night baker at Top Pot Doughnuts. She had been there for more than a year, and she liked the job. She enjoyed the peace and quiet of the shop and kitchen in the nighttime hours, before the other employees showed up and the place was overrun by hungry morning customers. She liked the work of shaping the various doughnuts each morning and getting them fried. It was always fun getting them into the display case; watching the empty trays fill up with Top Pot's “hand forged” doughnuts, and thinking about how excited people were to come in and buy them. Linquinetta considered how many of her colleagues were working in Afghanistan and China, and thought that she could have been doing a lot worse for herself.
At 3am, she had just begun frying the morning's doughnuts. She set a batch of maple bars out to cool, and as she switched her now greasy pair of latex gloves for a fresher set, she realized that the garbage hadn't been taken out. Better to do it now, before she forgot and things got busy. She set a doorstop in the back door of the shop so she wouldn't get locked out; even though she would be away from the door for a few minutes, the shop was on the ground floor of a condominium complex and no one was able to get in from the street, so she wasn't concerned about vagrants or hoodlums sneaking into the store while her back was turned.
She realized her mistake when she came back, after only two or three minutes. As she started to open the door, she could hear voices from inside, and they were not voices she recognized. Linquinetta paused for a moment and listened, trying to decide what to do. There seemed to be two men, young. Probably drunk—they sounded like they were having a grand old time.
Her personal inclination was to go in and teach them a lesson. There were always plenty of potential weapons in a kitchen, and even without the butterfly knife and the taser she always kept on her for emergencies, Linquinetta's krav maga training made her more than a match for up to three opponents in a typical situation. But she maintained her discipline. If these guys hadn't been sent for her, violence on her part would only blow her cover. She crept closer and listened hard. The intruders were definitely not professionals; no one with any training would have ever made that much noise. For a moment she considered simply taking them out quickly and disposing of the bodies, just in case: a quick jab in the neck with her keys should do it. Then she remembered that she had left her keys in the kitchen. There was no way to get them without being seen.
“Aw, hell naw,” She breathed to herself. Now she was angry at herself, for getting so soft. A year ago, she would never have left her keys unprotected. If the boss found out about this, she would be disciplined. And she'd deserve it.
As humiliating as it was, she knew the best option was to let the local police force handle things. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911.
“Somebody just came in here and stole a bunch of shit,” was how she described her emergency to the 911 dispatcher. She couldn't help adding, “And now my keys are missing.”
“What did they steal?”
“They came in here and stole some donuts. And they stole my car keys, my keys to the building, and my house keys.” Not to mention one other key that she had better not lose, but she refrained from mentioning what that one would have opened.
“What do you need?”
Amateurs.
“I need you to send some cops here to make sure people don't steal shit.” Come on.
As it would turn out, the “criminals” were a local NFL rookie and a buddy, and they had just wandered in by following the smell. They hadn't taken anything more than a few doughnuts, and the whole thing turned into a bit of a joke. Linquinetta didn't see the humor.
On the other hand, she knew better than to dwell on something that wasn't worth it. She needed to go home and get some sleep. Her grandson's birthday party was that afternoon.
*Name invented.
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