I shook this man's hand, telling him my name.
"Jagan Cover. A unique name," I almost blushed, thinking myself rude for blurting this, "a- a nice name. Very nice..."
He chuckled, sensing my embarrassment for my faux pas. Why can't I just keep my mouth shut sometimes? I'll blurt out things without thinking, and they are usually something that should be kept to myself.
"It is, well, a different name," he says, still smiling, "but I like it. And I'm stuck with it. The boys used to make jokes because of it. Like, 'what are you like an 'under cover' agent, now?'. Hillarious."
I giggled. That's what I was thinking about. "You'd make a great spy! Perhaps you're in the wrong business."
It was his turn to giggle, in a man-like way, I mean. "Yeah, well, the CIA never called me back after the interview. They sure seemed interested about my name, but not about my thoughts concerning the way they run the government. I don't know. Maybe it was because I didn't care too much for the President. But then, who does?"
We shared a nervous laugh, and then turned back to the body lying motionless. I think we both felt like we'd offended the women by our humor.
Suddenly, I heard and then saw a car pull up. A dark SUV with tinted windows.
Jagan voiced my thoughts: "I wonder who that is?"