"An Agent named John" a non-challenge story

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Napoleon Solo sat in the Section II conference room, he was holding a piece of paper in front of himself and did not appear the least bit happy.

“Illya will you look at this list. It’s not only ridiculous but bizarre.”

Kuryakin was standing at a side table pouring hot water from a carafe for his cup of tea. He’d found some English brand teas, though in tea bags, they were more robust and strong compared to the American teas he’d tasted and he’d brought a few along in his jacket pocket.

“Yes I have seen it and can even recite it for you...John Abernathy, John Ames, John Johnson, Johnathan King, John Monroe, John Newly, John Washington...need I continue?”

“No, please. Doesn’t it seem odd to you that nearly every new agent who’s been assigned here to Section II and III has the name John?”

“It is odd, but there are two who are not. There is Aubrey Winchester and Maurice Petit. At least none of them are named Sue,” Illya quipped.

“Was that supposed to be a joke Illya?”

“Sort of,” the Russian shrugged.

“Well I hate to tell you but it crashed and burned. That brings us back to two out of a dozen who aren’t called John. How are we going to handle this? Do we just call them by their last names all the time? Agent this or that will eventually become an annoying mouthful, especially during our meetings.”

“That would seem rather formal, or if you do not use the designation mister, then it would be condescending and rude.”

Napoleon snickered,”This coming from a man who’ll just snap his fingers when he wants something from someone?”

“Tsk, I only did that once when I was working on something delicate and could not take my eyes away from it. That you find funny but not my joke?”

“Mmm, yup.”

Kuryakin waved his hand, dismissing his partner’s comment as he seated himself to Napoleon’s right,

“Illya, I’m not joking around. How can we handle this in a professional manner?” Napoleon glanced at his wristwatch, noting the time. They had fifteen minutes before the meeting with the new agents would begin.

“Perhaps we address them by their given names as well as their middle names?

“Good idea,” looked at the list again, seeing that four of the twelve had middle names. That left six Johns.

Illya could read his partner’s expressions more readily than others.  “Perhaps nicknames? You could ask if any of them have preferences for such a thing.”

Fifteen minutes quickly passed and one by one the new agents entered the conference room; some after being encouraged by Solo, helped themselves to coffee, tea or water before they seated themselves.

Once they were all settled in Napoleon rose.

“Welcome gentlemen, as most of you know I am Napoleon Solo the chief enforcement agent of UNCLE Northwest. The gentleman seated to my right is my partner and our number two agent, Illya Kuryakin. He is to be given the same respect and obedience you would give me.”

Illya nodded his greeting but said nothing.

“I act as a liaison between you and Mister Waverly, to whom Mister Kuryakin and myself report. Your assignments will come through us, as will your performance reviews.”

“Though there are times you will receive an assignment directly from Waverly himself,” Illya added. “He keeps a keen eye on all the goings on here at headquarters and does not miss a thing, just to give you fair warning.”

Napoleon nodded his agreement with that additional bit of information

Solo began to slowly walk, circling the table as he looked at each man.

“None of you have been assigned partners or offices for that matter, such things come later as you establish your abilities and success rate when completing your missions. When you report to headquarters according to the posted duty roster, you’ll wait in the agent’s bullpen to be called for an assignment. Though of course if you’re in the Commissary for a meal, your name with be called over the public address system if you don’t answer in the bullpen.”

Napoleon looked to Illya to continue, and the Russian took his cue.

“There is one small problem with this, your group of agents.  All except two of you have the same given name, and that is John.”

The agents suddenly looked around the table at each other and one quickly raised his hand.

“Mister Kuryakin if I may, this problem was addressed while we were at survival school; Jules Cutter gave us nicknames.”

“Oh, we were unaware of that. Then since you are familiar with such a thing, we will continue to use them here,” Illya said

“Sir, I don’t think that’ll work.” It was Agent Ames who spoke.

“How so?” Napoleon asked.

“Well I was called Shit head, Monroe was Maggot, King was Douchebag, Newly was called Pussy…”

“All right all right, I get it,” Solo laughed. He suddenly recalled how crass Cutter could be with his recruits. It was of course, all meant to toughen them up, mentally that is. It went hand in hand with the physical training, and classroom work that would turn them into successful agents.

“How about you make up your own nicknames, or tell me a nickname you had before you joined the Command? Mister Ames you go first.”

“I was always called Duke, after John Wayne.” Given Ames was a tall guy like the real Duke, it made sense.

“Okay, John ‘Duke’ Ames it is. Mister Kuryakin, make a note of these nicknames if you please?”

Again Illya silently nodded as he picked up a pen and jotted down the name on the list of agents.

John Abernathy became ‘Nate,’ John Johnson was now ‘J.J.’ Johnathan King remained unchanged. John Monroe became ‘Monty,’ John Janssen chose ‘Dutch’, John Washington decided on his middle name James, or rather Jimmy.

That left John Douglas, John Warner and John Ramirez, none of whom had a middle name.

“Gentlemen, what’s your poison?” Napoleon asked.

“Could I just keep John sir, since no one else has. Johnathan is different enough from John isn’t it,” Douglas asked.

Napoleon looked at Illya with a shrug. “I don’t see why not, since you’re the first to ask. Now that leaves you Mister Warner and Mister Ramirez.”

“I guess you could call me Red, since that’s the color of my hair.”

“Red Warner it is,” Napoleon smiled; this was going better than he thought. “Mister Ramirez?”

“I’m sorry sir, I just have no idea. I’ve gone by John all my life and never had a nickname.”

Illya flipped through the dossiers in front of him. “It says here you are from Los Angeles. Your surname is Spanish, do you speak the language?”

“Sí Señor. I also speak French, Latin and I have a smattering of Greek as well.”

“How about Juan, since that’s John in Spanish?” Solo asked. “You’re from Los Angeles, how about Angel?”

“No sir, I’d like to stay away from that enthic stuff. It took my family a long time to get themselves out of the barrio. I was the first one to graduate college. Not that I’m embarrassed by my Spanish roots, but nowadays it’s better to move up in the world if you’re less...ethnic. Does that make sense?”

“It does Mister Ramirez,” Illya said,”given that I am Russian and we are in the middle of the so called ‘Cold War’ I understand your concerns. Do you have a favorite musician?”

“No, but my dad’s favorite musician is Ramón Santamaría Rodríguez.”

“Yes I know of him,” Illya became very animated. “ He is a rumba quintomaster and an Afro-Cuban Latin jazz percussionist. He lives here in New York City. He has been an integral figure in the fusion of Afro-Cuban rhythms with rhythm and blues and soul. He paved the way for the boogaloo. His1963 rendition of Herbie Hancock's "Watermelon Man was…”

“All right Mister Kuryakin, we get that your familiar with him, but Mister Ramirez the musician you mentioned, his name is Ramón. Isn’t that still ethnic?” Napoleon asked.

“Well sir, Ramón Santamaría Rodríguez went by the nickname of Mongo. Could I go by Mongo Ramirez? It sounds sort of powerful.”

“The name Mongo is one of Yoruba origin meaning ‘famous,’ Illya said. “I think it is an excellent choice.”

“Mongo Ramirez it is then,” Napoleon closed the folder with their list of names in it. Illya would type out an updated copy for him as well as for Mister Waverly.

“Gentlemen,”Kuryakin rose from his seat. “If you will follow me, I have some people from Section III who will be giving you a more detailed tour of headquarters. After which there will be a test.”

All eyes went wide upon hearing that.

“He was joking,” Napoleon smiled.”You’ll get used to his strange and often fatalistic sense of humor.”

“As you will Mister Solo’s,” Illya countered.” I caution you now, beware of his puns and idioms.”

Everyone was ushered out the door to their waiting tour guides.

“Fatalistic sense of humor?”Illya squinted at his partner.

“Well that’s how you come across tovarisch. Now as to my puns and idioms, they’ll probably get the ones I use as they’re all from the United States.”

Illya huffed and changed the subject. “I am hungry. You are buying lunch today.”

“Since when?”

“Since I decided it was your turn.”

“I bought lunch yesterday.”

“And who loaned you the money to do so?” Illya squinted at him.

“Point taken. Say, could you …”

Illya had already pulled out his money clip and drew out a ten dollar bill.

“Thanks, I owe you partner,” Napoleon snatched the money from Illya’s hand.

“Yes you do. Remember that as Friday is payday, and you owe me more than ten dollars.”

“I know. I had dates with Yolanda, Erica and Marge this week.”

“You know my friend, you owe me much less money when we are on assignment. Having too much time off is becoming a bit costly for you.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Napoleon, you just did,” Illya quipped.

“You’ve a mind like a steel trap tovarisch.”

“Yes I know. Now lunch please?”

Comments

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Thank goodness I wrote this last week. Don't know how much writing I'll have in me right now. Too much stress and upset.

See my answer to Laurose for an explanation of how this story came about.