The Trouble with Dirk

Karl was lying on the bed in the Axelhaus hotel room, smoking a cigarette and fingering a condom packet when his cell phone buzzed. He turned and looked at his watch that he’d placed on the nightstand next to the phone. Dirk should be along in a few minutes. Karl was ready for him. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. He’d fucked the young man before sending him off; there’d be no reason not to fuck when he came back, as well. Different controllers handled their assets in different ways. It was just the sort of discipline the rent boy understood. Or so Karl rationalized his desire to dip his stick again.

“Hello.”

“Karl, you dumb shit. Do you know where your asset for this operation is right now?”

“He should be along in a few minutes,” Karl answered, stung a bit by what Lars had called him. But they’d never been what you could call friends. Lars never had given him full credit for his contribution to the intel operations.

“No, he’s not going to be along in a few minutes, Karl. He’s right here… hey, you two stop that stuff.” The last phrase sounded dimmer, like it was directed away from the telephone.

“Excuse me?”