Episode 14-1: Ispio Exists!

Author's Note: Prepare for some P.O.V. switches in this one, and I'm not talking about the usual "Partner-to-Partner" methods.

McAllen, Texas: Bicentennial Boulevard Overpass

Troy's P.O.V.

"Now that's one handsome fox," I said, pointing at the painted wall that was visible to thousands of drivers taking this overpass. "Although, that dog next to him could use a little editing."

Clyde wasn't amused, "Really? You're joking at a time like this!? Do you even realize what's going on!?"

Someone somewhere decided to graffiti our faces, and the name Ispio, on this overpass wall. As flattered as I was to see myself glorified in a cool art style, it meant that Ispio's secretive methods have been compromised. With both our faces tagged in the picture, it's obvious that we're the ones to blame for this information leak.

I rub the back of my head, "This is pretty bad, huh?"

Clyde huffs, "Pretty bad doesn't even begin to describe it. Not only does someone know that Ispio exists, but they also know what we look like. That's a personal target on our backs, Troy!" He continues to stare at the traffic passing by, the driver's eyes sticking to the artwork as they make their turns around the bends.

I started to feel distressed by Clyde's words, "Well, what do we do? Are we screwed? Should we tell Marston? What's he going to think about us when he finds out we've been compromised!?" Clyde stayed silent, and I grabbed his arm frantically, "Say something!"

He shoves me off of him, "Take it easy! Look, there's some cleaning supplies in the van, along with some city maintenance uniforms. We'll put on the jumpers, clean this mess up, and take down any other billboards this guy might've left."

I stick my tongue out in disgust, "I have to scrub walls? Me? Really?"

"Shove the damn hoity-toity shtick and grab a sponge," he barks, "this isn't the time to be picky about our jobs."

Great, the legendary Troy Hearth has been reduced to a janitor thanks to some jerk who's too smart for his own good!

*** *** ***

McAllen, Texas: Alisa Granite's House

Alisa's P.O.V.

I scrubbed my hands under the warm water of my sink for a whole ten minutes, and the paint still stubbornly stains my skin. I could hear Jackal's laughter even behind two closed doors as he happily danced away in my living room, the broken straps of his straitjacket jingling away as he hops around. My heart skips a beat as my bathroom door bursts open behind me, and I see the coyote's maniacal grin in the mirror.

"I'm sure that gave them a scare!" he screeches at me. He was obviously talking about the graffiti we did on the overpass. Well, the graffiti I did as he watched.

"Yeah," I meekly said, "that ought to open up some people's eyes." Don't get me wrong, Jackal has been my friend since our youths, but his recent escape from the asylum has got me on edge about the police marking me as harboring an escaped mental patient. The main reason why I haven't turned him in is that he knows about the Ispio conspiracy, and is willing to help me learn more about it.

Jackal's face contorts from a smile to a serious frown, "Don't worry, we'll expose those creeps by the end of the week. I promise. And remember, I never promise to humans, but you're okay in my book." His eyes wander to the ceiling and he throws his arms up, "Not that I'm racist, it's just that humans aren't very trustworthy."

I laugh awkwardly, "Right, um... thank you." I think. I shut off the water and turn to face him, but he already retreated back to the planning room. It's just my basement with a bunch of newspaper articles and pictures posted on a board. I join him shortly to find him staring intently at the evidence we've collected.

"Troy Hearth. Clyde Barker," he says to himself as he gently rubs one finger against a clipping of an article he cut out. "An anonymous tip gave probable cause to local law enforcement to investigate a Margate, Florida modern club, in which they reportedly found the production/shipping of the new drug, Life." His mouth hangs open for a moment, saliva dripping from his muzzle and onto the concrete floor of my basement.

"Jackal? You okay?" I asked, slowly approaching him from behind. I reach out and touch his shoulder, to which he responds by quickly turning around and grabbing me by my arms.

"Explain to me, Alisa!" he yells, "Ispio does so much good in this world, why do they choose to not take credit for any of it?"

The smell he was letting off hinted to me that it's been a while since his last shower, "Oh! I don't know, maybe because they wouldn't be a secret organization anymore!?"

His exuberant eyes turned dull, "Too true. Why do you wish to expose them anyway?"

This question caught me off guard, "Well, so that-"

"Right-o!" he throws himself off of me, spinning around to face the board again. "My dear Alisa, we must work more. Come with me, I have an idea!" he says, extending his hand towards me. I grab it and he yanks me up the stairs and out of the basement, through the front door, and into my car.

*** *** ***

McAllen, Texas: Hearth and Barker Residency

Troy's P.O.V.

"My hands hurt," I complained.

Clyde plopped himself down on the couch and placed his feet on the coffee table, "Boo-hoo, poor Troy had to do manual labor. We're lucky it was just one wall, but who knows what else this guy has done."

I saw the file of our next case resting next to Clyde's boots, "What about that?" I asked, pointing at it. "Marston's gonna want a daily report for that."

Clyde glares at it and sighs, "We don't have a choice but to put it on hold. Ispio's incognito status is in jeopardy, I'm sure he'll understand."

A lump in my throat formed, "So... we are gonna tell him?"

Clyde thought in silence for a moment, "Upholding a reputation is one thing, but we're talking about the entire company's profile being leaked to the public. If people knew we exist, our jobs would become impossible to do."

Well, he's not wrong about that, every bad guy would know all the agent's faces and methods. They'd know exactly who to be on the lookout for, and not every agent was gifted with the same disguise expertise as I am. Still, I am going to miss the "Legendary" title they use on us. I opened my mouth to say something, but a knock on our door cut the conversation short.

With my gun at the ready, and Clyde standing up now, I approached the door slowly. Peering through the peephole showed an old friend standing on the other side, and he was wearing a worried face.

I holster my gun and open the door, "Teddy! What a pleasant surprise." I step aside and beckon him with my arm, "Come in, come in."

He walks in quickly, spotting Clyde standing near the couch, "You're both safe and sound?"

Clyde looks at him quizzically, "Yes. Why the sudden interest?"

He presents some papers he was keeping in his blazer jacket, "At exactly 13:24 hours, both of your tracking devices went off-line for thirty-two minutes. 13:56, your trackers came back on, and your positions changed drastically." He looks back at me, "Why didn't either of you answer your comms?"

My eyes went down to the floor as Clyde began his dialog, "Listen, there was-"

"-A suspected target we were tailing," I interrupted. "We went silent just in case there was reverse-signal-tracking involved, but the target seemed like a bust anyway."

Teddy seemed satisfied with that answer, "I see. What case does this pertain to again?"

Clyde fell silent as his ears drooped in defeat, "It was..." He looked back down on the coffee table and spotted the manila folder resting on top. "It was this one." He picks it up and opens the folder, "Case number 5067."

Teddy nods his head, "Right, that one was assigned to you this morning. Don't forget to include your terminated signals in the report, or else parts of the timeline won't make sense." He glances at us quickly and smiles, "I don't know why Mr. Marston got so worried about a dead signal, y'all are the best agents Ispio's got. Like there's anything that you two can't handle."

He laughs, and we awkwardly laugh with him. I open the door for him and say, "Well, at least we know you care. We really need to get back to work, so have a safe drive back to H.Q."

He nods, "Yes of course. You must be planning your next move, I'll leave you to it."

As he turns down the hallway at a brisk pace, I gently close the door and turn to Clyde, putting a sheepish smile on my face, "So, that went well."

Clyde face-palms and slumps back on the couch, "You idiot! Why do you care so much about your stupid reputation?"

"Hey! It's not just my reputation, it's our reputation."

He gave me a squinted glare, "Yeah, that's not exactly softening the blow." A loud beeping spooked him, making him jump slightly in his seat. He pulls out his Personal-Task-Manager from his pocket and reads the news flash scrolling along the narrow screen. "The name 'Ispio' has been spoken again."

"What? Where?"

He shows me the screen, "At these coordinates. Let's go!"

He bolts up from the couch, but I grab his arm before he could exit the door, "Wait, what about disguises? Did you forget that he knows what we look like?"

"No time, he won't be there forever!" He continues his march, dragging me along with him easily as I clung to his arm. Whoever this guy is, he sure is working fast today.

*** *** ***

McAllen, Texas: Honey's Cakes and Pastries

As Clyde pulled the door open, a little bell went off, alerting the woman behind the counter. She gave a smile and a dainty wave, but then suddenly put on a face of unsureness.

"Oh!" she starts, "Are you two, Troy and Clyde?"

Shocked that she knew both of our names and seemed to be expecting us, I stared an open-mouthed stare for a moment before answering back. "Y-Yes, how did you know?"

"The cake you ordered is finished," she said. "Stay right there, I'll go get it from the back."

I turn to Clyde, "This is getting out of hand."

"You think?" he replies angrily. The woman returns from the back room, a cake in her hands. She pushes it across the counter, letting us see the pastry for ourselves. Red velvet cake, topped with cooked roux icing and frosting that spelled out a message.

Happy Conspiracy Cracking, Ispio!

"It's already been paid for, go ahead and grab it on your way out," the woman says as she goes back to close the door she left open.

"You've gotta be kidding me," I hear Clyde whisper as he glares at the mocking frosting. He turns his attention to the woman again, "Excuse me, do you have the number that called this in?"

The woman reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out a jumble of crushed receipts, "Um, if I do it would be in this pile. These are all the receipts of today's orders." She spreads them out across the counter and quickly scans them. "Ah," she says while pointing at one, "Red Velvet Cake: 'Happy Conspiracy Cracking, Ispio!' Oh, there doesn't seem to be a return number. Odd."

I look at Clyde, "That only happens when a pay-phone calls. Maybe we're underestimating this guy's intellect."

Clyde's brown eyes narrowed down in apparent anger as his breathing got heavier, "Underestimate this!" he says, flipping the plastic covering off the cake and shoving a small time bomb into the spongy bread. He grabs it from the counter, walks outside, throws the cake into the air, and detonates the explosive, showering the street and sidewalks in red velvety goodness.

I run outside and stop behind him, "Well that was melodramatic!"

He turns around to face me; his front side covered in cake, "This guy is playing us! We need a break, and we need it now."

I look back into the store to see the woman missing, most likely ducking behind the counter in fear of more explosions. "I'm all for breaks," I said, "wanna go get some dinner?"

A grimace takes its place on his face, "Not that kind of break. A break as in a new lead, and a powerful lead too. Something that'll point us directly to this smug bastard's hiding spot." He looks down at his feet, "It's things like this that make me miss Fake Troy."

I punch him in his arm, harming myself more than him. "Don't you dare say that!" I shout while shaking the pain off my hand. "We do not need some magical parasite to do our jobs for us. We're Troy Hearth and Clyde Barker, the greatest minds this agency has ever seen."

"Wow, you're really letting that get to your head."

"Shut it! I'm serious. Now let's take a step back and examine this from a different perspective." I began my train of thought, realizing that there was little to no evidence to collect for even the slightest hint of which direction to choose. Would we still be able to use Ispio's laboratory without being questioned about which case it pertains to?

"Hey," Clyde says suddenly, "do you think we could get anything from the sponges we used to clean up the graffiti?"

"I doubt it, we used hard acids to clean that stuff. Any form of DNA would've been tainted beyond repair." Clyde's ears drooped again. Another loud beep from the Personal-Task-Manager went off, "Where to now?"

Clyde reached into his pocket and pulled it out, "Oh no. We gotta go."

I point at his cake-drenched clothes, "You should probably get cleaned up first."

He scoops up a large bit of frosting on his shoulder with his finger, "You wouldn't happen to have a sweet tooth, would you?" He flings it at me, nailing me right on my nose.

"Ew! The calories!"