The Little Man, or, My First Codename
I came out of the building as quickly as I could, but was nevertheless intercepted by a man much taller than I was, in peak condition, and smiling widely .
"Can't even buy a pack of cigarettes, and he single-handedly breaks up a child prostitution ring."
"Well, I don't buy cigarettes."
"Oh really," he laughed even harder, "what's that in your pocket, then?"
Cigarette vending machines are not easy to find. Damn it.
"It's a...uh...pack of playing cards!"
He just laughed even harder. "I'm not here to get you in trouble for smoking, man!" He shook his head. Mom!
I breathed a sigh of relief, took out the "playing cards", and offered one to the guy.
"You want one? I know I need one." I put it in my mouth and fumbled around for my lighter.
"That was the whole thing. The entire operation."
"Nnnnnno," I said, feeling a little guilty that I couldn't share his appreciation. I was grateful for the visit, and making my mom proud was really just everything to me, but I wasn't going to give out any false impressions, despite all of this.
"I'm really glad you're here and I'm totally glad you're happy about it," first and foremost, "But this...there's way more to this..."
"Yeah, we know that. But that one. That one was yours!"
I said nothing and silently shook my bowed head in gratitude.
"You need to start smokin'. That was some good work."
At this point, my codename was not "the man," but instead, "the little man." Pretty good, I thought. In time though, they became differentiated into "the vessel" and "Death". I'm sure there are others, but these are the standard. This is where we are now, as far as I know. Having written it down, I'm sure this has all changed. On the other hand, as I mentioned before, this chronicle itself is a directive. I don't know the names of my fellow agents, so there's no endangerment here.
Despite what you hear in the movies and TV, this is actually the case in reality. When an agent outlives their usefulness, when their cover is blown, they are not discouraged from writing these things down, especially if they've been good, and very especially if they make the Agency look good. The truth of the matter here is that they've deemed me worthy of this task, and I am currently fulfilling it. There's an awful lot to do still. It's been going on full throttle for twenty years, so it's going to take some time. I must remain patient.
Mom kept talking about it so much that, out of apparent spite and an inevitable leak of information (yes, they have moles, too), the vending machine was removed from the lobby. Every time I complained about it, people just laughed. This laughter, however, was not out of spite, since it was the same kind of laughing I often heard when, after soliciting people at the front doors of liquor stores around the neighborhood, they would come out and hand me a pack before leaving.
Most of those people from that meeting are dead now. And that's a true story you can smile about.
If you're still looking to blame me for something, this would be my first suggestion: Chicago Illuminati, I was instrumental in killing your little pedo friends.
What's the matter? You don't like me anymore?