Agent Pinkyfeld

Herein begins the first installation...
Agent Pinkyfeld: Installation One

"Oooohh, I’m sooo tired!" The dark haired woman rolled over in her tiny bed and pulled a fluffy pillow over her head. She ignored the electric pink HelloKitty! telephone by her bed; still it rang as imperviously as any feline related telecommunication gadget would...her answering machine clicked on and her outgoing message began: "This is Yeong Jung’s TaeKwonDo Studio; leave a message or get a life. Have a nice day!"

Agent Pinkyfeld tensed as she waited to hear the caller’s voice "Sweetie, its Mom...I know you’re busy fighting evil and everything, even though no-one’s supposed to know about it-and I can’t even brag about you to the girls at the beauty shop-and Mrs. Shah keeps talking about her husband’s typing class-could you just plotz?-anyway, honey, we haven’t seen you in a while, and you know the Triple Three-Eid, Hanukkah and Christmas is coming up....you missed Buddha’s birthday while you were in Lahore-darling, its not my place to become, as they say, a kebab meh huudi, but what kind of secular humanist are you? You re missing big spiritual love over at the Ethical Center...anyway, call me!" click.

Agent Pinkyfeld groaned; "Oh maaa...if you only knew..."

She slowly stretched and her alarm clock begin to tweet. The golden strums of a sitar filled the room.

"Ravi..." she muttered as she unhooked the top of her Amish granny nightgown so that she could roll her neck in concentric circles "what would your lovely daughter do without you?"

She padded to the kitchen and reached for one of the huge onion bagels resting on the counter. With one hand she reached for her black and decker kitchen machete the other tossed the bagel into the air.

"Slish" two bagel halfs rolled cleanly onto a plate. The knife clattered in the sink, and she pulled a tub of cream cheese out of the fridge, paused, then put it back. A bottle of mango achar emerged.

The phone rang again, this time a little more ominously. Agent Pinkyfeld put the bottle down and walked lightly towards her bedroom to listen to the call on her machine.

"Ahhh the glamorous life of a Hindu Jewish spy..." she murmured under her breath.
- Saminasha

Agent Pinkyfeld: Installation Two

This one had an ominous sound to it, a shrill menacing tone like the dangerous cackle of witches in a deep midwinter winter. She didn’t want to pick the phone up. Here was evil.

Slowly, she placed the cold glass bottle of pickles on the table. Ahmed’s Mango Pickle.

Brought all the way from Lahore by her aunt’s son-in-law, Ibrahim, a year ago. She remembered the delight with which she had first opened it. No child-proof, tamper-free nonsense here. They didn’t keep such goodies from children where she came from. The scent of the pickle was bewitching, taking her back to those blessed early years spent in the Punjab. The soft winter sunlight, sitting in the lawn by her grandmother, listening to the family gossip, the old ghosts making her acquaintance for the first enchanted time. How she remembered those mellow mornings and breakfast with Nana, the ovaltine and paratha and, of course, mango pickle. But that was long ago, before college and moving out and loneliness, somewhere far far away. Now it was just her, and the sound of the phone, shrieking in the dark.

Trembling, she picked it up.

-Aamir Ansari

Agent Pinkyfeld: Installation Three

"Alright, yaar!" she muttered to the black eyed cat receiver trembling on its hook. She wiped her achar sticky hands on the sides of her flannel gown.

"Yeong Jun-"

"Its me, Pinkyfeld." a voice cut chillingly through her greeting.

"Nurse Practioner Yes." her voice fell flatly into the mouthpiece.

"Darling, don’t sound so excited to hear from me..." her caller’s inflections arched in delight.

"You’re my number one servicer of madness, machinations and mayhem...what’s not to love?" Agent Pinkyfeld retorted smoothly.

She began to pace through her apartment. Her eyes rested on a instamatic snapshot of her family in front of the Taj Mahal. The shiny, smiling faces of her parents and brothers in the yellow rose dusk.

"You forgot the last "m" darling....’murder’..."

She spun away from the snapshot and began to walk towards the phone unit."What do you want, Nurse Practioner Yes? I have not the time nor the patience today."

"Ahhh, just a little matter of a little international imbrioglio that may or may not interest you; its in the Motherland darling, and we know how you love the idea of Home..."

Agent Pinkyfeld rolled her eyes in front of the mirror and waited.

"It has something to do with a historical issue of dispute..." the smarming voice continued.

"And which historical issue would that be Yes? Kashmir? The Sri Lanka-Tamil engagement? The Jihadi Factor? The BJP? The overlay of Amitabh Bachaan’s rein in Bollywood?"

"Mee-Ow, darling, Mee-Ow..less time feeding of the cats in Central Park, and more time with the El Newspaper, comprende-vous? Well, okay, since we seem to be suffering from a lunar biological condition at the moment-" Agent Pinkyfeld snorted.

"-suffice it to say, your boss will be calling you about this matter...you might want to start packing your saris and shalwar qameezes...ta!" Click! The line went dead.

-Saminasha

Agent Pinkyfeld: Installation Four

Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling! "Who on earth could be at the door this early in the morning!", said Agent Pinky. She ran to the foyer. Screaming "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" like a banshee, she leapt high up in the air, and delivered a mighty kick to the front door. The door smashed into tiny pieces (she would have to make the usual call about fixing the door to the handyman later that day).

Standing outside the door was a very scared looking paper boy. "What??", screamed Agent Pinkyfield.

"Man asked me to make sure you get this right away, ma’am," said the boy as he handed her a white envelope.

-Tahmed

Agent Pinkyfeld: Installation Five

Agent Pinkyfeld looked accross the leather bar to where her nemesis, the Mullah Mendacity was standing, posing as a transvestite entertainer working the 87th birthday party crowd in the corner.

She shifted nervously, feeling for her gun. Damn he looked good with waxed thighs, fishnets and those high high heels....

"Tell me" she inched over to the bar tender. "Who is that person over there?"

Mendacity began a lap dancing routine with the geriatric birthday group. The music slithered sinuously across the room

KashKashKashMeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer!

KashKashKashmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer!

"Tha t one? The name’s Ann." The bartender pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Ann Thrax".

Pinkyfeld craned her neck, trying to see what "Ann" was doing. Suddenly a bikie octogenarian rose to his feet and shouted across the room:

"Hey you! The one in the goofy glasses. What are YOU looking it?"

Ann raised her face from the table, startled, her eyes glazed over and some powder sticking to her nose. Pinkyfeld rose, trying to look nonchalant.

"Nothing wrong with me, man, just kicking, y’know..." She started to sidle over. This was her chance to make contact with the enemy...

-Zafar Al Talib

Agent Pinkyfeld: Installation Six
Agent Pinkyfeld quickly scanned the room; if she was going to get close enough to interrogate Mullah Mendacity, she’d need to think on her feet. Grabbing a big pink and blue striped drink festooned with various paper umbrellas she faked a stagger towards the working Mullah.

"Has anyone seen Mr. Scott?" she called, weaving and dipping through the room."Hey, I said, I’m looking for Robb Scott. I’ve got his drink..."

"What, did ’e ordah anotha ’Dinner With Andre’ Colada?" someone shouted from one of the tables.

Agent Pinky forced a high laugh. In the back of her mind was the very strange nightmare involving a poodle, a delivery boy and achar. "Geez Louise", she thought She unfocused her eyes and squinted so that she could trip more convincingly towards the object of her attention. All she needed to do was to fall -

"Oh, ExCUSE me!" It wasn’t as hard as she thought, esp. when some vicious queen had her/his size tens stuck out under one of the tables.

"Think slingbacks, sweetie" she hissed at the Navajo choker wearing, blond hair teased, immaculately made up trannie who didn’t apologize as Agent Pinky stumbled past her"

"Bubblegum pink lipstick is not EVEN retro" the queen snapped, without batting a thickly mascaraed eyelid.

"I’m not wearing lipstick" ground out our heroine.

"My sympathies."

"Kashmir I will have you, your milk and honey will soon be Miiiii--iiii---iiiine".

Almost there. Mullah Mendacity had gotten up from a customer and was moving over to giggle with one of his co-workers. The smoke, darkness and strobe lights were getting to her. "Just get to him, and you can find out what that cartoon Nurse Practioner Yes is up to" Agent Pinkyfeld reminded herself.

-Saminasha

Agent Pinkyfeld: Installation Seven - Leather Bar cont.

When we last left Agent Pinkyfeld, she was staking out the Leather Bar for the Mullah Mendacity. Posing as a drunk patron, she is stumbling on her way towards him...


Almost there...

"Pinku!" A long sinuous arm reached out of the Macarena-ing crowd and pulled her into it. Agent Pinkyfeld found herself looking into a pair of laughing kajal rimmed eyes floating in a delicate cinnamon face.

"Chaumtolli!" She gasped and quickly pulled the girl into a hug.

"Pinku, where have you been, larki?!"

"Ssshhh! I’m on mission!" Agent Pinkyfeld looked around the dance floor. Fortunately Mullah Mendacity was flirting with a geriatric partier who was wearing knee high black trouser socks and sandals and a lei of flowers around his neck.

"Macarena, then!" Chaumtolli and Agent Pinkyfeld started to move their arms rhythmically behind their heads.

"Who are you looking for?"

"Mendacity."

Chaumtolli shook her long black hair back in derision. "That gentlemen is no mullah."

"I know, I know, but its still officially his day job."

"What passes for religious authority nowadays." Chaumtolli wrinkled her nose, "And no one wants to believe the Virgin Mary is a Black high school dropout teenage mother in the South Bronx."

"Is it true, then?" Agent Pinkyfeld’s had heard this information from a credible source.

"She’s the real thing. We’ve got her under protective surveillance; if word got out before time, she’d be killed. Too many people would be threatened by it. Who told you?"

"Imtiaz." Agent Pinkyfeld said grudgingly

Chaumtolli’s eyes slanted teasingly. "You still talk to Imtiaz Sahib?" Agent Pinkyfeld slightly nodded.

"Hmmm.." Chaumtolli wisely kept silent. "Do you need me to help you get over to our friend?" Mullah Mendacity had moved to the bar and was ordering a drink.

"I’d better handle this on my own. But I know you’re here if I need you."

Agent Pinkyfeld turned her back to the bar.

"Go get ’em!"

"Call you later, Chaum."

The music had switched to a staccato techno beat. Artificial smoke begin to roll through the club. Agent Pinkyfeld moved quickly. She slithered towards the bar where Mendacity was swaying to the vocals pumped out on the sound system. She slipped in behind him and put her hand on his back. Mendacity turned around, smiling coyly, expecting a customer no doubt. As he turned, Agent Pinkyfeld reached down and grasped a portion of his upper thigh and pinched hard.

"She-cat!" Mendacity gasped in pain as her recognized his tormenter. Agent Pinkyfeld held on tightly.

"How can I compare his fine taste in dress? In appearance he is like a prince" she quoted Mast mockingly.

"Let me go!" Mendacity’s face quivered.

"Keep it down, Omar, or you’ll blow your cover" Agent Pinkyfeld warned.

"What do you want?" Sweat begin to pop up on Mendacity’s forehead.

"What’s your boss up to?"

"The Sheikh? Why we would tell bintes like you?" Mendacity taunted. Agent Pinkyfeld twisted the slippery pinch of flesh she was grasping. Mendacity twitched.

"Careful, pet. It would be in your best interest to make like bird and sing." Agent Pinkyfeld stared into Mendacity’s face.

"Go to hell" Mendacity managed.

"Hmmm is that the place you wanted to take Artem? Oh, I’m sorry, hell is your word for your bedroom."

"Artem?" Mendacity twitched slightly, "Who’s Artem?"

"Come on Mendacity. Artem, the young man from Uzbekistan. A face like the kiss of China and Europe. Blue, slanted eyes, cheekbones like the Himalayas." Agent Pinkyfeld watched his face turn pale.

"I don’t know anything about any Artem.You are crazy." Agent Pinkyfeld thought she saw a flicker of an indescribable emotion pass over his face. She steeled herself and continued.

"Look, I don’t know anything. I am telling the truth."

Meanwhile, the size ten trannie had walked over to them. Seeing Mendacity’s stricken face, she/he moved to intervene. Agent Pinkyfeld let go of Mendacity’s smooth thigh. He slashed his hand up to slap her. The trannie began to scream. But no-one heard her/him in the din of the music. Agent Pinkyfeld brought her knee up sharply into his groin and as he doubled over pulled her fist upward and into his jaw. He groaned and fell to the floor.

The trannie backed off, his/her palms open in a gesture of peace. "Sorry about my comment about your lips," she said to Agent Pinkyfeld with her eyebrows raised. People were beginning to stare. Agent Pinkyfeld shoved herself into the crowd and was gone.

-Saminasha