There's A Good Reason The Tables Are Numbered, Honey, You Just Haven't Thought Of It Yet

Marissa and James work to stop a sabateur at a banquet for the mildly inspiring. Based on a PATD song of the same name.

Chapter One

"Please," started the doorman. "If you could leave all your outerwear in the guest closets, it would be appreciated. All overcoats, canes, and top hats should be removed."

After slipping by security without so much as a sideways glance, Marissa entered the main hall where drinks were being served, and guests discussed politics, business, and the most "secret" of scandals. She hated these stupid banquets, where all the world leaders and other esteemed citizens of powerful countries could gather and talk about nothing for the sake of diplomatic relations.

Her dress was plain, black, and not exactly form-fitting. However, she was quite pleased with her appearance as she glided in inconspicuously between the daughters of two Japanese dignitaries. Through their thick accents, she could make out some talk of the Korean representative and his affair with the head of the Joint Intelligence Committee. But Special Agent Marissa Ramson was not here for idle gossip. She was out to catch a saboteur before they struck.

A faint cry ran out from across the room, which she pinpointed to table 12. She was too late. And if he was attacking now, he was sure to strike again at midnight.

"I, I don't know what happened," stuttered a waiter, the platter of cocktail shrimps trembling dangerously in his hands as Marissa darted over to the scene. "He, he just collapsed!"

Snap snap. Two large and dangerous looking men were suddenly peering over the body of the head of the Polish Ministry of Defense. The body was zipped up in a black bag, and much to Marissa's surprise, no one noticed as they carried him out, as he was alone at his table while the rest of the guests mingled. The waiter was "escorted" out to be dealt with. And, well, almost no one noticed.

"Need any help with that body?" Marissa found herself face to face with a small Irish man, who had evidently seen the body being...disposed of. Edging away from table one, she stared at him intently.

Marissa put her fingers together to snap once again for backup, but the man reached out and grabbed her hand, his cold ivory cufflinks brushing against her skin as he pulled her closer.

"Who are you?" asked Marissa, who was quite frightened by the tiny man's haughty air.

"A guest," he slurred, gesturing with his free hand. "Just another guest among the mildly inspiring."

Marissa shot him a glance that would have turned anyone else to stone. He smiled in response, his hazel eyes glazed over with a perverse sweetness. He released Marissa's hand and she jerked her arm away with disgust. He approached again her from the side, his upper lip grazing her ear, his breath hot against her porcelain skin. His proximity made Marissa uncomfortable, but she didn't dare move.

"I can help you. I know why you're here. I see everything, I hear everything."

Marissa spun to face him, and pushed him away. He gasped in abomination and dusted off his suit.

"Westwood!" he exclaimed in horror. Marissa just stared, too frightened to even snap into her audio transmitter for backup.

"Let me help you," he offered again, reaching out his hand. She took it reluctantly, feeling like she was finalizing her deal with the devil.

Everything was moving too fast, Marissa thought, sighing and shaking her head, her mouse brown hair masking her similarly colored eyes.

*buzz buzz*

Maria pulled out her phone from her handbag and opened up her messages. It was from forensics.

Check out what we found in the Polish guy's mouth.

Maria went to attachmentsimageopen and squinted. A picture of a wet piece of old fashioned looking parchment in a bag from the forensics department was occupying her phone. On it was inscribed in an archaic looking cursive hand:

Where the fox and the hound speak as equals

This is the beginning, in lust lies the sequel

Follow the fox for the key to the cave

Where the dragon and the serpent together shall stay

Marissa thrust her phone into her purse. Fox...hound...serpent...dragon...she felt like she knew what it meant, but she was really quite clueless. She assumed the fox was the victim, the hounds were henchmen, and the serpent and dragons were the criminals. The serpent and dragon must be responsible for the deaths. But, then again, it could go either way. Who was the fox? Marissa wondered. But most important, who had left the note?

Suddenly, a flash of red darted across Marissa's line of vision. A small woman sat down at table three, a cigarette holder trapped between her slender fingers. She was dressed in a fitted black dress with red trim that matched her hair and a white fur coat specked with tufts of light grey. Surrounding her was a gaggle of young men, dressed in identical blue suits and red ties. Each of them was wearing a small pin on their lapels, inscribed with an image of a fox hunting dog. The hounds, thought Marissa.

Ah, suspect number one, Marissa thought anxiously. If she was interpreting the poem right, the fox could be the saboteur, too. And this woman certainly looked like quite the vixen herself.

"Marissa Ramson," Marissa said coolly, extending her small, chalky hand for a handshake. The woman looked up at her with a piercing, almost vampirish gaze. Her rich, dark, chocolate brown eyes were coated with a milky white film, like that of a corpse. Yet the life in her blood red lips, and similarly colored, short, slicked back hair told otherwise.

"Elena Khrushchev," she replied with a hint of ice and fire in her voice, taking Marissa's hand in her own pale metacarpi. Her elongated fingernails, smooth and polished, dug into Marissa's skin, but not enough that it hurt. "Are you from MI-16?"

"Yes, why?"

"I was told to give you this." She felt around in her purse, and found nothing. "Maybe it's with my husband," she laughed airily.

She got up and paced quickly over to table 33 at the other side of the room, Marissa running to keep up. After muttering a few words in Russian, she produced a small red envelope from her husband's pocket and handed it to Marissa without a sound. Before Marissa could utter a word of thanks, she slipped off into the crowd.

Marissa found an unoccupied chair in a corner of the octagonal room and sat down to open the envelope. Inside was another verse.

The fox, being clever, has hidden the key

In a code that one plainly can see

Thus her heart beats, the animal breathes

The forest being hidden amongst the trees

The fox again! As Marissa got up to find Elena, her phone buzzed in her bag.

Do you want my help or not? The name's James by the way, James O'Malley. Department of Agriculture.

Marissa cringed, then set her thumbs to the screen of her smartphone.

Yes. But you're undocumented. You can't deal with my team or get any credit.

Marissa wasn't sure to be relieved or frightened when she got James' response. But she needed the help.

I do this for fun.

Chapter Two

"Elena?" James asked salaciously, putting his hand on her fur clad shoulder. Marissa had texted him everything, and he was so grateful. It had been years since his time as a detective, and since then, his life had been so boring. He didn't know why Marissa trusted him, but honestly, he didn't care.

Elena looked up and smiled, showing her teeth in an oddly primitive manner.

"I'm James O'Malley. Like to take a walk?"

She nodded intently, shedding her fur coat, since it was early spring, and it was cooler inside than out. She and James tread silently through the crowd and slipped out through a back door to the unoccupied courtyard.

"Why am I here?"

Elena seemed worried. She was outside, alone with a strange man, and people might talk.

"I need you here." Elena's collected expression turned into that of stark terror.

"I have a husband."

"That is of little import," James whispered seductively, tracing his fingers against the tattoos that encircled her neck like jewelry. Elena was silent, and James smiled. His good looks were still useful, he decided.

Elena's tattoos were all done in black and red ink; fauna and flora entwined in a Book of Kells like manner. The image of one animal caught James' eye. Elena's rapid breathing, gave the illusion that the phoenix on at the base of her neck was breathing by itself.

"I'm done here," James announced, briskly turning away and striding off into the darkness. Elena gazed longingly after him, then shook her head and walked in the opposite direction.

Phoenix. James typed frantically, his fingers shaking with elation. Solving a case was better than morphine. The key is a phoenix. And he'd gotten it so quickly, too.

How did you find out? came Marissa's response.

Debauchery. James replied, trying not to be specific.

Such an archaic choice of words. came Marissa's next text. James grinned, pleased with his innate ability to seduce and manipulate.

James entered the enormous banquet hall once again, biting at his lip. Gazing off at one of the walls, he saw a tapestry with an all too familiar image of a phoenix woven onto it. The phoenix seemed to be staring down at table 18, and James rushed over, pulling over an empty chair.

"James O'Malley," he said to the solitary man at the table, extending his arm for a handshake. The man nervously took his hand and shook it weakly. James found it odd that someone dressed so sharply would be sitting all alone like this. And it was funny, James thought, that he was alone at the table adjacent to the tapestry.

"Marcus Wood," he returned. The man looked like a male version of Marissa, skinny, with mousy brown hair and pale skin. Except this man's teeth protruded significantly over his lower lip. Underbite over here is definitely my top suspect, James muttered to himself. As a waiter stopped over and took a plate from Marcus, James noticed a red envelope under his plate. Marcus didn't seem to see it at all, but instead offered James a cigar. James politely refused, instead, taking out his phone.

Table 18, now.

Chapter Three

Marissa snuck up behind a head of messy hair, stealthily snatching a red envelope from right under the man's rodent-like nose. She slipped it behind her back, then came up behind James, sliding her hand around his and pulling him away from Marcus.

Together they sat and ripped open the envelope like savages, together they read the third verse.

The phoenix spits flame

Yet lives all the same

Find the one to quench the fire

Or light your own funeral pyre

"I'm so scared," James said dryly.

Marissa picked up her phone and opened up another image. It was from an office girl at MI-16. James looked on with mild interest. An image of a Japanese boy with a red streak through his raven hair occupied her screen.

The waiter that saw the Pole die. Only 22, name's Hunter.

"Poor kid," commented James. "Must've been quite a shock."

Marissa nodded her head in agreement, though she was surprised the cold little man could show any kind of emotion like this.

"Well," continued James. "I'll be looking for whatever this is supposed to be." He gestured lazily towards the paper, then sauntered away with a little wave and a "ta ta!".

Maria paced around nervously, trying to think of what could "quench the fire". This verse wasn't exactly as lighthearted as the others.

After a few hours, Marissa caught sight of a group of girls whispering and eyeing her. Through all the hubbub, she could barely make out a "passé" and "bland". Choking back tears, she ran to the ladies room, brushing by James, who had a number of women clinging to his side. Marissa looked at her face in the mirror. It was pale and make up free.

"At least I'm not an empty shell covered in cosmetics," she said to her reflection.

She ran her fingers through her straight brown hair.

"I don't have to be Marie Antoinette to be pretty."

She pulled up her black dress and brushed it off.

"At least I have some class. Not like those pompous idiots."

For a moment, she thought of James, parading about like the pied piper, a myriad of females following him like rats.

"He's a diva!"

Marissa's elbows slammed into the granite countertop, nearly tearing out her hair as she collapsed. Her legs splayed out to the side; her feet were skewed and looked like they were nearly falling off. The salt water dripped from her tear ducts, down her face and arms, hot and sticky on her blushing face. The veins in her sclera became more pronounced, her breathing sped up as she sucked the mucus back into her nose.

Well, that was counterintuitive, now wasn't it, she thought to herself as she wiped of herself. It wasn't James' fault he was irresistible. She looked back up at her tear stained face in the mirror. In the corner of the reflection was table 23, decorated with a Greek styled fountain. The water seemed like it should be coming from the mouth of the blue and white clay fish, but instead it was dry.

Marissa nearly ran straight into the table as she grabbed the fish fountain and muttered a few apologies to the stunned guests. With the assistance of her sharp fingernails, she pulled a scroll of paper out from the mouth of the fish fountain. The tip that was inside the fountain was soaked, but much to the guest's pleasure, the fountain was working, and the clay fish began spurting water.

Now you must hear the fateful plea

Of this creature of the sea

In the cigarette box lies a deathly sin

The smokes on the table, laced with nitroglycerin

Marissa's mind was racing. Nearly everyone was smoking a cigarette or cigar. Which smokes? Which table? Every time someone picked up a lighter, she felt like her heart would stop.

"You alright?" came a familiar Irish brogue from behind her. James' hand on hers calmed her, but just barely. Despite the fact that she was almost scared to death, she noticed that James' presence wasn't as jarring. In fact, it was a comfort.

Despairingly, she held out the parchment to him. He read it and his face grew grave. Then he began to grin. He jumped up, clicking the heels of his wingtips with glee, and ran off towards table 13. Marissa followed, perplexed.

"Empty table? Cigarette box from the seventies?" James huffed with pride. Opening the box, he pulled out a cigarette and held it in front of Marissa's eye. Marissa could just barely detect the hints of yellow and the smell of nitro. She snatched the cigarette box up, and looked at it from every angle. Running her fingernail over ridges on the label on the back of the box, she realized it was a lenticular image, and turned it to the side. It read:

Where the roads cross

You will find the key that is lost

You may have outfoxed the fox

But the game is yet to stop

"Where the roads cross?" Marissa asked James hopefully. James shook his head. The two racked their brains. Marissa's thoughts kept wandering to the book she'd been reading, Dracula, and the vampire's estate, Carfax.

Carfax, Carfax, Carfax.

Crossroads! That was it. Carfax meant crossroads. And she'd happened to notice Lord Rupert Potter on the guest list.

"Table 36," she said simply to James, and walked away. As she turned away, she couldn't help but grin. Finally, a chance for her to be vague and confusing like James.

"Lord Potter," she said, sitting down beside him and smiling. He was a strapping young man, the kind you would see horse riding in the country, or sitting at a desk composing poetry. Composing poetry, she thought. She added him as third to her mental list of suspects.

"Ah, you're Agent Ramson from MI-16, aren't you?"

"How does everyone know who I am?" Marissa wondered aloud. "I'm supposed to be undercover," she clarified, blushing. She wished her powder white cheeks hadn't been tinted with pink in his presence, but oh, goodness, his eyes.

"Don't worry, I won't tell," he said with a handsome grin. "Nice to see another English face amongst all these-"

His sentence was cut off by a cough from James, who motioned for her to hurry up.

"Do you have anything for me?"

Lord Potter looked puzzled. "Should I?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Marissa replied exhaustedly.

"You can have my number, if you like," he said, his deep baritone resonating through the air and gently echoing through her mind. James rolled his eyes. Lord Potter pulled a piece of paper from his herringbone jacket and began to scribble a telephone number. He handed it to Marissa, and she accepted it, speechless.

"Come along, Marissa," James said, a hint of jealousy infecting his voice, now an irritating falsetto.

Marissa followed, still in shock.

Once they were no longer in Lord Potter's range of hearing, Marissa squealed excitedly. On the back of the paper was a map, and another verse.

The game soon shall be over

But the land that births clover

Has born another son

Hunting the fox, the game he has won

"Marissa, you are brilliant!"

She responded, not with words, but with a dainty curtsy. James checked his watch. Eleven forty three. "Let's catch a saboteur."

Chapter Four

After following the map into the darkened courtyard, and through the old fashioned maze of hedges, Marissa and James were stuck. They had gotten to the center of the maze only to find nothing but a couple of stone benches.

"Any ideas?" Marissa asked.

James shook his head.

"We should make a suspect list, for now. It's already eleven forty nine."

James nodded, and opened up notes on his smartphone. He came up with this:

Elena Khrushchev:

-gave second verse (knew Marissa)

-could be fox referenced in first verse

Marcus Wood:

-sat at the table indicated by phoenix

-had third and most threatening verse

Lord Potter:

-knew who Marissa was

-had sixth verse and map

Somehow, all these people were connected. But he couldn't determine who.

"Look!" shouted Maria, who was holding the map up to the one ray of moonlight that streamed down into the center of the maze through the canopy of hedges. On the paper was an arrow pointing straight down.

Marissa kicked at the dirt, and found it opened a trapdoor. James pulled it open, and indicated with his hand for her to proceed. She didn't take the hint, so he gracefully said, "Ladies first." Marissa descended through the trapdoor and James followed.

What they found was a polished room, with silver linoleum floors and white tile walls. None but a few clumps of dirt had gotten in when they entered. In the center of the room was an old computer, and on the ceiling were speakers.

James walked apprehensively up to the computer.

Passcode requested

He tried a few random sequences, but none of them worked. Then, he came up with a brilliant idea. He typed slowly, only barely recalling the numbers.

6

Accepted!

"How did you do that?" Marissa asked in wonder.

"Table numbers," he replied. "Everywhere we found the verses."

Marissa nodded.

Green words began to appear on the black screen.

The woman first met was the fox

You are the snake that with the key unlocks

The hounds were the great men beside her

And James is the dragon none the brighter

The poem was directed towards Marissa, whose jaw dropped.

"You're the dragon?"

James was equally stunned, and retaliated with "You're the serpent?" He then changed his tone to that of contempt. "Is this thing calling me stupid?"

The verse on the screen went away and was replaced by another.

And don't tell me to stop

For my dear, I shall not

Now James is a man of foolish coquetry

But the true answer lies in the poetry

James knew exactly what it meant. He didn't know how he knew, maybe it was foresight, maybe it was just his gut, but he knew. He began to mentally calculate, closing his eyes and drumming his fingers slowly.

He looked at each verse.

Table 12: line 1, letter 2: H

Table 33: line 3, letter 3: U

Table 18: line 1, letter8: N

Table 23: line 2, letter 3: T

Table 13: line 1, letter 3: E

Table 36: line 3, letter 6: R

"Hunter is the saboteur," James said solemnly. Marissa looked at him quizzically, so he explained the decoding of the verses.

"Aren't you a smart little man!?" A childish voice rang through the room. "Did you catch the 'land that births clover' part? No? Japan! Japanese clover, because I'm-"

The voice, who Marissa and James both assumed was Hunter, started laughing.

"You didn't even catch the 'hunting' pun! I worked hard on these little poems, you know. Speaking of hunting, guess who I have here? No guesses? Why don't you introduce yourself, sweetie?"

A hoarse cry for help came through the speakers, the high frequency of the woman's Russian accent making them squeak.

"Yes, it's the fox!"

"What are you going to do with us now?" James bellowed gruffly, his voice changing entirely. Marissa had no idea what to make of the whole situation and was quivering with fear.

"Well, let's see," Hunter considered. "I've never been so surreptitious about my plans before now, I'm sorry I haven't told you. But I was a bit distracted when I spiked the punch, so maybe I'll just bomb the place!"

Hunter giggled with delight. Then, blank. Just blank.

Epilogue:

Special Agent Marissa Ramson and Head of Ireland's Department of Agriculture were dead. So were the U. S. President, the Prime Minister of Britain, the President of China and a number of others. There was one man left, one man, aside from the screaming masses in the streets after the entire world had descended into anarchy. His name was Hunter Takahashi, and he thought he was going to rule the world. But he was trampled by a rioting crowd and died. Just this once, nobody lived. Nobody was brought to justice. And nobody would be ever again.