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Sharon's Weekend Job
(MF oral bd drugs)
Part 1 2
3 4
5 � 2013 Rhys Lysander The next morning a thin ray of light crept slowly down the wall behind the bed. When the beam reached Sharon's face, she squinted and slowly opened her eyes. Pain burst in on her consciousness and she felt a strong urge to vomit. The back of her skull felt like someone was doing a drumbeat on it, and her guts were in knots. She tried to reach for the phone on the nightstand, but her hands wouldn't grasp it. Struggling against the agony in her head and pain in her abdomen, she desperately flailed for the button she knew was under the lip of the stand. As her fingers found it and pressed, she spied a small trashcan. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and then their weight carried her entirely and inelegantly over the edge, her head narrowly missing the table. She hit the floor in a thump. With her limbs barely answering her wishes, she struggled to get her face to the trashcan as a wave of nausea welled up inside her and she heaved. She heard the door open as she continued to wretch into the small plastic receptacle. Big, strong hands lifted her to a more comfortable position on her knees as she deposited just an unsatisfying trickle of bile into the can. She collapsed into the hands holding her, dazed by the pain in her head and added to by her clenching stomach muscles. She heard a woman's voice directing actions, and then she floated onto a gurney and watched passively as they wheeled her down the hallway. � Four hours later Sharon's eyes slowly fluttered open. The medical equipment in the room was out of place with the d�cor, which was similar to the room she had visited last night. She wondered just what the hell had happened. Her head ached, but only as a distant reminder of the pain she had felt earlier. Her stomach was still queasy, but now she sensed the stirrings of hunger. Taking stock of her surroundings before moving, she noticed an IV stand next to her and the thin tubing going into her left arm. She was covered with a thin sheet, but other than that she was naked. She pushed up on her elbows and spotted Jacqueline sitting in the corner, reading. �Hey,� she said. The older woman closed the book as she looked up at Sharon. She smiled. �Good to see you are with us again.� �Mmm. Needless to say, I'd like to make a complaint. I'm not supposed to feel any effects the next morning. Having a hangover from hell isn't part of the deal.� She groaned and rubbed her temples. Jacqueline stood and walked to the edge of the bed. �I was more than a bit worried when we brought you here. Your vitals were fine, but we couldn't rouse you. We did some blood work, gave you an IV and did an exam. How do you feel now?� Sharon mentally checked herself before speaking. Other than the headache she didn't have any aches or pains to indicate rougher than allowed handling. �I'd love some plain old water right now. But other than the lingering headache I guess I'm okay.� When Jacqueline didn't say anything, she said, �It must have been that damn pill he gave me.� �More than a sleeping pill I gather?� Sharon nodded, �I have the feeling it was the same thing a client gave me a few months ago.� Jacqueline frowned, �Unlikely to be a coincidence then. And you were fine last time?� �That's the only part that doesn't make sense.� Sharon relaxed back onto the bed. �So, did the exam turn up anything unusual?� Jacqueline smirked. �Not unless you think the fact he came five times was unusual.� Sharon moved her hand under the covers and traced the skin from her breasts to her thighs. Though she still had a splitting headache, that number was quite a compliment. �Five?� �Mmmm. He was obviously quite into you, if you will excuse the pun. And in all the usual places. Don't worry, we cleaned you up while you were asleep. Even your hair.� Sharon took Jacqueline's words to mean she had been rather thoroughly fucked. She was oddly annoyed that she had no memory of any of it. After all, Dave sure had fun. Subconsciously, she ran her fingers through her red mane�she never had understood that kink. Her head still throbbed now and then. �Well, as long as I'm not bruised.� Jacqueline shook her head, �No marks whatsoever. Your, ah, pussy looks a little worked over, but nothing I haven't seen before.� �So back to the pill. How long to get the results of the tox screen?� �I have a private lab that handles such things. I'll send you the results in a couple days.� �And then?� �If there's anything wrong we'll reimburse you and ban him.� �What I want is to find him and kick him in the junk,� Sharon said. �Junk?� �Sorry, there's this new guy at work and his vocabulary is, ah, colorful.� �Mmm hmm. I understand. But you know I'll not give you the client information.� Sharon groaned. �Fine. But you're going to find something, and when you do, I'll expect to hear about it.� �Of course.� � Sharon spent the remainder of that particular weekend doing very little, even though the effects of the drug had worn off by the time she got home. Of course, her stomach was still tense after the dry heaves, and even the little bit she had eaten had not settled very well. By Sunday morning she felt almost back to normal, but still decided to spend the day curled up on her couch reading. An author from her youth, David Brin, had finally put out another novel and she was tearing through it. � The Monday morning after that dreadful weekend had started off well enough. The Metro was uncrowded, she swiped her badge in one attempt, and the pool was as vacant as the Metro. All of that goodness ended two hours after she got to the office, when Mr. Freer came back from the morning meeting with his hair on fire. �Sharon, we've got until Friday to get the A-S-D's testimony through Policy and the O-G-C,� he said in a huff as he stormed past her desk and dropped into his chair. She turned to face him, �No pressure then.� He slapped the folder down on his desk. �It's, it's not even written yet! Can you believe that? We can't even expect the draft until late tomorrow. Crap!� Sharon ignored his outburst and focused on the solution, rather than the problem. �So, what are the key areas that might be of concern?� Freer opened the folder and looked over. �European missile defense, Japanese missile defense, deactivation of the W-84, and funding for A-224.� �What the heck is A-224?� Sharon asked. Freer shrugged. �Don't know. That part seems to be classified differently than the rest of the material. I suppose we aren't on the hook for that one.� Sharon nodded, then turned back to her monitor. First rule of Pentagon business, there are only a few people actually working in the building at any given time. Second rule, sometimes that person is you. Third rule, whoever it is that needs help, no one does it alone. She scanned through her electronic rolodex and selected a set of people she thought could help. She sent them each an email describing what her situation was, and told them a draft would be coming tomorrow afternoon. Then she wrote down their office codes, and took off for a walk. Four of the people on her list were men she had worked with in the past. One was a woman, one that no one seemed to be particularly fond of. In the building that could mean any number of things, but the most likely was she was just a pain in the ass. Someone who thought that rule two never applied to themselves, and that someone else was always supposed to do to their work. Most of these people eventually learned that the big roulette wheel of life landed on everyone's number from time to time. It was always just a matter of time before that realization came true. Sharon was fortunate enough to find each of her first four collaborators in their offices. A pleasant chat with each and she was sure they were ready to help when it came down to it. Most of them had needed her help now and then, and now it was time for some extra work. That's the way things were: what goes around comes around, and when a coord buddy needs help, you might stay at work an extra hour so they would do the same in the future. Your number could always be next. Diane Fontaine, the woman known as a pain in the ass, never thought the number would be hers. She had done fairly well ensuring it never had in the past. That Monday morning, however, when Sharon walked into her office, Diane was at her wits' end trying to solve a problem. �Hi Sharon, I'm afraid I can't talk right now. I've got a deadline to meet and no idea how to get there from here.� Sharon dropped down in the open seat. �What is it? Can I help?� Diane eyed her warily. That amused Sharon on some level, but she didn't know what it was that was bothering the other woman. �I don't know, exactly. Do you have a few minutes?� Sharon nodded and took out a note pad. When Diane didn't speak up, she said, �Go.� Diane took the next ten minutes explaining in detail the issue she was trying to work. It would need help from State, DHS, and probably the FBI. Sharon smirked at that. Whenever the FBI was involved the key was to tell them you knew they were in charge: even when it really had nothing to do with them. The interagency nature was tough, but not really hard. Sharon thought it over for a couple minutes, asked some questions, and immediately knew how to proceed. Before Diane could object, she laid out her approach, complete with names of contacts. Diane was scribbling down notes, not even bothering to say thank you when Sharon stood. As Sharon turned to go, Diane surprised her. �Sharon, you didn't come by just to chat. Is there something you need?� Sharon smiled. �Tell you what, get this thing on track and I'll come by when you have more time.� Diane nodded and went right back to work. Sharon couldn't tell if her words had even registered. Later that afternoon Sharon checked up on her collaborators, and even called the people she had mentioned to Diane. Most of them didn't know Diane, but when Sharon called them they were willing to listen. Sharon had made a good name for herself under all the rules. To be fair, being a knockout redhead didn't hurt. By Wednesday afternoon Diane's project was going well, and Mr. Freer had acquired the draft testimony. It seemed that the bit about A-224, though it was classified, needed to be coordinated through part of AT&L. Specifically, someone working in Nuclear/Chemical/Biological Defense. Something about that tickled in her mind, but she pushed it aside so she could focus on the remainder. Diane had decided that Sharon was worthy of helping after her own project was completed early. Sharon met her for coffee to discuss the package. �It's that last part that is sticky, this thing about A-224.� Sharon shrugged. �I have no idea what it is and no one in Chemical Weapons Defense is talking.� �CW? I know a couple people there. Let me call them.� Sharon just about blew her coffee out of her mouth. CW? Chemical Weapons? Was that related to Dave? Oh, shit. �Sharon? You okay?� �Um, yeah, thanks. Please do.� Diane nodded and went back to her coffee. � The rest of the day Sharon could not focus on anything but the series of odd events that seemed to be coincidences. Still, she tended to disbelieve in such things when the coincidences became harder and harder to explain away. Two men had approached her and used the same drug on her, or at least it seemed likely to have been the same drug, though the effects had been noticeably different at the end. Both had access to significant money, since the cost of her services was nearly five thousand. Sharon only received two thousand of that sum, the remainder went to the not insubstantial overhead of the operation. With a momentary shiver she realized the plum colored pill was a near perfect date rape drug, and she wondered what other uses it might have. And where had it come from? If it was designed for some military purpose, as some of the indicators suggested, then how had Dave and Gordon come to have it in their possession for personal use? Add in the money and it seemed they were somehow involved in selling it outside official channels. Research? Unlikely. No one in the government had a legitimate use for a part time call-girl, even if Sharon refused to see herself that way. But she was getting ahead of herself. Dave had mentioned CW, which possibly meant Chemical Weapons. A-224 was possibly related to CW. And even if A-224 was not the mystery purple pill, nothing good was likely to come of her involvement. To Sharon this all added up to something rotten, and quite possibly something very, very bad. Wednesday evening Sharon walked to the Pentagon Fashion Mall and bought another disposable cell. She had intended to do so earlier in the week, but she'd been so busy she hadn't thought about it until she'd been on the bus both days prior. She texted Jacqueline on her way home and was surprised to get a response almost at once. The results of her toxicology screen were in, and there was only one thing out of the ordinary: a long chain molecule that was identifiable, but not known to her doctor. They had searched for it, but had not found a match. �Fuck,� Sharon said under her breath. She texted Jacqueline back, telling her not to bother looking any further. Then her phone rang. �Hello?� she said, not recognizing the number. �Mena, it's Betty.� Jacqueline was using prearranged names meant for urgent problems. Urgent as in compromise. Double fuck. Two guys with purple pills. One with ties to Chemical Weapons. An unknown molecule that had to be the drug. And now safe names. �Yes,� the younger woman said. �Mena, I've got trouble. We had some inquiries at the lab used by my doctor. Even though they didn't know anything, I suspect there are more questions coming. It's all related to whatever you took.� Sharon exhaled the breath she'd been holding, then spoke up. �Betty, I have some ideas, but I suggest you do what you can to erase things before they these guys show up at your door.� Sharon was controlling the concern in her voice with great effort. �What's going on?� the older woman sounded nervous. Sharon's head was spinning. �I'm not sure, but I'll see what I can find out. I have your private number. I'll contact you when I know something.� �Keep your head down Mena.� �You too Betty.� Sharon got off three stops early and threw the phone in the first trash can outside the metro station. Pausing on the side of the street, she formulated a plan. �.
As was her habit, Sharon
arrived early at the Pentagon and hit the gym. Slipping out of her
traveling clothes and into a sleek one piece, she made her way to the
pool to get in her laps before work. Sharon loved distance swimming, and
she held it a close second to distance running. After high school she
hadn't swam for years, taking up running in college with some of her
friends, both male and female. When she landed her job at the Pentagon,
it was easy to keep running, what with all the men at the gym and on the
Mall. She didn't wear four inch heels around the halls of the five sided
building like many other 'trollers', but she did enjoy watching and
being watched as she ran on the indoor track or around the famous
buildings on the Mall.
Running or swimming any kind
of distance took time, and that was time alone with her thoughts and
away from any concerns of the day. If her thoughts wandered from her
pace, her steps, her stroke or her breathing, she just pushed herself to
run or swim harder until those errant neurons were brought under
control. A year after starting her job she managed to get signed up for
the Marine Corps Marathon, but an injury four months out had sabotaged
that goal. It did more, however, since it was the push that ended her
distance running and got her back into swimming. Secretly, she didn't
mind the change, since she thought she looked better in a swimsuit than
her running duds. Still, she would have been happy to keep running, but
as the Stones told us, �You can't always get what you want.� |