Oscar Rat's Secret Missions

  ***

  "You American?" Thank the Supreme Rat it was a female voice and in English. "Where’s your suit? Diplomats need pin-striped suits."

  “What you sees is what you gets,” I replied. “Where the fuck are you?”

  “‘To your right. You"ll find a rathole next to the tomato can. I"ll meet you in there. I have to light a candle first."

  I followed her instruction. There was a tomato can a few feet to my right. I passed it, only to step into a pile of dogshit with both front feet. When I tried to wipe it off with a rag, the cloth felt slippery.

  A light went on at the other side of the can, naturally. I saw a lovely ratface peeking out. Her smile turned to a frown.

  “‘Not in MY house,’ she said.

  Standing in candlelight from the rathole, I saw I was covered with dogshit smeared around by a paint rag. Hell, it was red, white, and blue so I was in character, he-he.

  I was forced to stand outside using a bottle cap of lighter fluid to clean myself. As it were, I seemed to spend that whole damned period dirtied up by one substance or another. I should get hazard pay.

  What galled me the most was that, covered by lighter fluid, I couldn’t even have a smoke to steady my nerves.

  I found her inside, waiting for me on a fancy oriental couch. Malodor would have loved that couch. Although alone and at night, she wore one of those damned pin-striped suits.

  “We’ll have to get you proper clothing," she said, frowning at me as though I still wore that dogshit. Maybe, I thought later, she’d prefer dealing with the shit than an American. Her name was Iyana Ratcohen and she considered herself a type of Zionist royalty.

  “Never happen, babe. You wear the suits, I spread the moola.”

  “Americans." She dropped the facade long enough to spit on a spotless floor. "You’re hardly my choice of diplomatic material but I"ll have to persevere. At least one of us can speak their language. I don’t suppose you speak it, or any Russian?"

  “No. But I’ve found most of us rats, worldwide, speak a basic rat language.”

  “Only low-level rodents talk that trash. And what would a -- hack -- rat like you know of the world?"

  Not taking a liking to her, I only smiled. She reminded me of Condie. I never got along with that human.

  ***

  Stopping his tale, he sat back to drink while I headed for the kitchen.

  “She doesn’t seem like such a nice female,” I agreed while putting a frozen pizza in the microwave. It looked to be a long evening.

  “Hardly. We were at each other from the get-go" he continued....