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    Carlos Hazday
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 


“You looking forward to tonight?” CJ straightened Owen’s bowtie and stepped back to admire him. His husband always looked good, and he was stunning in formal wear. At times, clothes did make the man.

“Yeah, this is what you’d call one of those bucket list things. I mean, how many people get to watch a Bolshoi Ballet performance live, while getting VIP treatment?” Owen ran a hand over his jawline while turning his face side to side in front of the mirror. The smile meant there were no stray hairs left. Unlike CJ who shaved daily, the Aussie did it every couple of days. “Aren’t you?”

“I am.” CJ knocked his husband’s hand away and ran his own over the smooth surface. “You look great like this, but I think I like you scruffy better. Anyway, a little apprehension’s dampening the excitement.”

“We’ll be fine. I was a bit nervous myself when Jimmy came over, but the two of you convinced me we’d be okay. Don’t go getting jittery on me now.”

“Nope. I’m sure the adrenaline level’s gonna spike later, but I’m fine with that. There’s no way it’ll match the thrill of hurtling down snow-covered mountains next week.” In seven days they would be in Vail to celebrate Christmas and the prospect of time on the slopes helped tamper temporary jitters. “Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go say goodbye to the girls.”

Trixie Newman, CJ’s coworker’s daughter, was once again babysitting and spending the night. In anticipation, since they rarely kept junk food in the apartment, Owen had stocked typical teenager snacks.

“Give me a kiss, Munchkin.” CJ leaned close to his daughter, trying to keep away from her slimy hands. She was having Jell-O for dessert and as usual, her hands were the primary utensil.

Owen repeated the move. “I stocked up for you.” He smiled at Trixie. “You can let her have an Oreo or two later, but careful about giving her too much sugar. She’ll end up bouncing off the walls and driving you nuts.”

Trixie laughed. “I’ll be careful, Mr. Liston. You and Mr. Abelló have a good time. I’m jealous of you.”

“Because we’re going to the ballet?” CJ was confused; he had shamelessly asked Domogarov for two admissions to the Sunday matinee performance for Trixie and her mother. “You’ll get to see it in two days.”

“Yeah, but tonight’s the glamorous night. Everyone will be dressed up and sipping champagne.”

“Ha! These are Russians, Trixie. I expect more vodka than bubbly. And trust me, these receptions aren’t always fun. There’ve been times we’ve quietly slipped away early. A bunch of grownups trying to act sophisticated can get pretty boring.”

Not wanting to bother with taxis or Uber, they had rented a limousine for the night. Jimmy Chen, the IT cum CIA guy at the embassy had facilitated the arrangements and their driver was a former British SAS operative who would double as a security man in the background.

“I doubt you’ll need him, but just in case,” Jimmy had said.

CJ was certain the man carried a weapon.


The illuminated Palacio de Bellas Artes acted as a beacon in the night, advertising the evening’s performance. Inaugurated in 1934, the facility was Mexico City’s principal art institution. While the center hosted opera, ballet, and classical music performances, it was also celebrated for its artwork. The most well-known being Diego Rivera’s El Hombre Controlador del Universo.

Man at the Crossroads referenced humanity’s position at the center of scientific, technological, and societal advances. The inclusion of Lenin and a Soviet May Day parade led to the Rockefeller family rejecting the work initially painted at the eponymous New York City property. It was deemed inappropriate due to communism being glorified. The original was white-washed, and Rivera recreated it for display in his native Mexico.

Owen stared at the imposing structure through the car’s window while they waited in the line of vehicles approaching the entrance. “When we were here before you said it’s Art Nouveau, right?”

CJ nodded even though his husband couldn’t see him. “Yep. And the interior’s Art Deco.”

Although it was the first time they attended a performance at the theater, it was not their first visit. Since their arrival in Mexico City, they had explored different locations, with the fine arts center being one of them. In an attempt to satisfy their individual interests, and provide their daughter with varied experiences, they alternated between natural wonders and man-made ones.

The Museo Nacional de Arquitectura had drawn CJ. Located on the third floor, it afforded a close encounter with the glass and iron cupola atop the soaring atrium. Owen had rolled his eyes in resignation, and CJ had cheered, when Liebe was fascinated by the models, designs, and photographs of works by Mexican architects. They attributed her interest to CJ’s running commentary during the hours she spent sitting on his lap while they built Lego structures for their joint amusement.

The driver asked them to remain seated for a moment when they reached the front of the vehicle caravan stretching behind them, waiting for the opportunity to drop off attendees. He brought the limousine to a halt, stepped outside, and a moment later opened the rear door for his passengers. “Sorry for making you wait inside; I wanted to do a quick scan to ensure everything was fine.” The middle-aged man shrugged. “Force of habit.”

Once on the sidewalk, they were accosted by a man speaking Spanish with a heavy Russian accent. “Please, a picture for the ballet’s archives?”

While posing, CJ realized the photographer had not asked their name for subsequent identification. He assumed the Russian was part of their intelligence service and the resulting images would be run through face recognition software to identify those in attendance. CJ had no doubt Yevgeny Domogarov was behind the charade.

The opulent interior was crowded with formally attired guests, sipping vodka and champagne. CJ and Owen accepted a glass from a roaming server. They walked around for a few minutes, not recognizing anyone until spotting Kent and Dorothy George.

“Owen! CJ!” Dorothy appeared truly glad to run into them. “So good to see you. Are you looking forward to tonight?”

While CJ and Kent shook hands, Owen and Dorothy exchanged air kisses. The process was repeated in reverse a moment later. “I am. CJ’s not too fond of ballet, though.”

The woman wove an arm through CJ’s. “Maybe tonight will change your mind. We’ve seen their performances a few times over the years, and all have been exquisite.”

Kent nodded. “I’m not a big fan either, CJ, but you’re in for a treat. Considering how you feel about it, how come you decided to attend the opening gala?”

“Yevgeny Domogarov.” CJ realized that was not what Kent expected to hear; the raised eyebrows and surprised expression were the giveaways. “I know, I know. When he invited us to the show and the reception at the embassy, I wanted to back out. My boss insisted we attend.”

“Ambassador Cox?”

Both CJ and Owen nodded.

“Margaret’s an outstanding diplomat. Listen to her, and you’ll get a better education than you received at school or Foggy Bottom. You lucked out your first posting is under her.”

“I’m slowly figuring her out. She’s been extremely supportive of my little projects.”

“She better be, the amount of favorable publicity the two of you have engendered can’t be bought. Congratulations to you both on that school project.”

“We loved the picture of your family with the first lady,” Dorothy interjected while looking at CJ. “You look just like one of your fathers.”

“Yeah, the older I get, the more often I hear that. By the way, Kent”—near the end of the Sinclairs’ dinner party, the British diplomat had insisted they use his first name—“I took your advice. When my dads were in town, I asked for golf clubs for my birthday later this month. Lessons are next on my list.”

“Excellent, excellent. Once you’ve had a couple, let’s get together at my club for a round. If I recall, you’re going skiing over the holidays; we may have some news for you when you return.” Kent lowered his voice but did not expand on his cryptic comment. “I’m certain I don’t have to tell you to be careful around Domogarov, but I think you’ll like the Russian ambassador. Anatoly’s a good man. We’ve known each other for years. He facilitated our attendance tonight and invited us to the reception. Watch the vodka consumption, the bloody Russians push it on you as if it was water.”

The shared chuckles were interrupted by flickering lights. “I think we better go find our seats. It’s our first time here, so we’re unfamiliar with the auditorium. Cheers.” Owen raised his flute in their direction and downed the remainder of the champagne.

“If we don’t run into each other during intermission, we’ll see you at the party. It’s been brilliant seeing you gentlemen again.”

CJ and Owen’s seats were nearly dead center a few rows away from the orchestra pit. A Mexican couple sat on one side of them and a French one on the other. They all exchanged platitudes until the lights dimmed.

The Nutcracker was a Christmas staple in the United States. Tchaikovsky’s ballet was mounted by school, amateur, and professional ensembles during the holiday season, with revenues from those shows often accounting for a large portion of the companies’ annual income.

CJ had seen it several times and his knowledge of the story allowed him to concentrate on the dancing instead of trying to decipher the plot. He had to admit the Russians were impressive. At intermission, CJ and Owen stood to stretch their legs but remained by their seats. Domogarov stopped by to say hello and invite them backstage after the performance. The standing ovation at the end CJ felt was well deserved.

The Russian spy was there to meet them when they stepped into the aisle. “So what did you think, CJ? Have we converted you? Do you like ballet any better?”

“It was a incredible, Yevgeny. Thank you so much for inviting us. I did enjoy it.” CJ’s words were accompanied by Owen nodding.

“Good, good. Did you know the Bolshoi was founded in 1776? The same year your American Declaration of Independence was signed.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Why don’t we head towards the dressing rooms? I want you to meet the company’s danseur noble.”

“The principal male dancer?” Owen’s question saved CJ from asking what the man meant. It was but one instance of the Aussie anticipating his husband and smoothing the path ahead.

“I’d forgotten you’re fluent in French, Ozzie. Although that required a little knowledge of dance itself.” Domogarov’s knowledge of Owen’s language skills and use of his nickname made CJ shudder.

“My sister took ballet lessons when she was a kid.”

The maze of corridors would have been hard enough to navigate empty, chockful of staff, performers, and visitors, it was a nightmare.

“Ah, here we are.” The card on the door read Konstantin Novikov, but Domogarov opened it without knocking as if it was his own.

CJ did not know who was more surprised, him and Owen or the chiseled, naked man tugging on the end of a long white penis.

He immediately stopped adjusting his foreskin and used the hand to cover his genitalia. “Proshu proshcheniya—”

“English, Konstantin.” Domogarov issued the command as if speaking to a child.

The dancer’s stoic expression did not change. The carved-from-stone, wide, Slavic face had not registered any sort of emotion since the initial surprise. He stared into CJ’s eyes. “Of course. I begged your forgiveness. Certain body parts end up smorshchennyy”—the dancer paused for a fraction of a moment—“I think the English word’s scrunched.”

CJ felt bad for the man. “I completely understand. I have the same problem whenever I wear compression shorts.” He knew where the man’s hand had been, but he was going to do whatever he could to ease his discomfort. He extended his own. “CJ Abelló. And this is my husband, Owen Liston. You were incredible tonight. It was hard not to stare.” CJ, and Owen when he repeated the handshake, kept their gaze fixed on the man’s face.


“These are the friends from America I mentioned.” Domogarov turned to CJ. “How did you guys arrive tonight?”

“We hired a car for the evening.” CJ was uncertain where the question led.

“Perfect! Why don’t you two hang out with Konstantin and get to know him? I have to go talk to a couple of reporters, but I’ll see the three of you at the embassy.” Domogarov made a production out of turning the doorknob’s handle so it would lock when closed. “Enjoy yourselves.”

The proverbial lightbulb went off in CJ’s mind. Glancing at the dancer, the neutral expression was gone replaced by a combination of fear and resignation. CJ’s dislike for Domogarov was turning into hatred. “Is that your family?” He pointed at a framed picture on the makeup table.

A ghost of a smile graced Konstantin’s face before turning somber again. “My wife and children.”

“She’s beautiful. They are beautiful. Are they home in Russia?” Maybe if they talked about pleasant things, the man would relax. CJ did not want to outright tell him he had nothing to worry about quite yet.

“They are. Separation’s hard but my art provides a good life.”

“We have a daughter ourselves, but she’s only a year and a half. Yours look older.” CJ held a finger to his lips, indicating Konstantin and Owen should remain quiet. He was about to gamble the dancer was not willingly involved in Domogarov’s plans.

Retrieving his phone from the tuxedo jacket’s pocket, he opened the application Jimmy had installed, and tapped the screen a couple of times. He slowly turned 360 degrees holding the device aloft. “Good. No listening devices. We can speak freely.” CJ thought the risk of revealing the high-tech gadget would not compromise the operation if he used it in front of the ballet dancer.

Konstantin appeared shocked. “You can learn that with your phone? Are you CIA?”

Owen was the first to chuckle. “Nah, mate. I’m a lawyer, and CJ’s a paper pusher at the embassy.”

“Hey! Paper pusher my butt.” CJ’s attempt to look offended failed. “We’re not spies, Konstantin. But we know Yevgeny is, and we don’t like the bastard. Can I ask you what he said about us?”

His nudity apparently forgotten, the dancer bent one way and the other, stretching his back. Except for a small patch on the crotch, his body was devoid of hair. Skin tightly stretched over sinewy muscles made CJ wonder how low his body fat percentage was. Konstantin halted all movement before glancing at the ground. “He… he said you were important to Russia’s security, and I should seduce you. He said I should let the two of you use me anyway you wanted.” The man looked up and moist eyes darted between the two visitors. “Please take it easy on me. I’ve never been penetrated.”

CJ’s anger rose to the point he wanted to storm out the door, find Domogarov, and beat him within an inch of his life. Before he could utter a word, Owen acted. He took two steps and wrapped his arms around the dancer. “And you won’t be by either one of us. Or have anything else done to you. I’m sorry, mate. That bloke deserves to be shot for trying to use you as bait with us.”

“Yeah!” CJ added. “Although I want to use my fists, I think we’ll deal with him in a different way.” CJ smiled when Owen let a red-faced Konstantin go. The Russian appeared unaccustomed to hugging other men while naked. “Why don’t you get dressed, grab your bag, and join us when you’re ready. We’ll wait outside the door to give you a little privacy and prevent anyone from barging in.”

As he was about to close the door, CJ stuck his head back in the room. “And don’t worry about him trying to pull something similar. By the time tonight’s over, I think Comrade Domogarov will be returning to Mother Russia with his tail tucked between his legs.” Konstantin’s bright smile made CJ feel better about the situation.

Although Jimmy Chen had facilitated the limousine rental and selected their driver, CJ decided not to discuss Domogarov in front of the British operative. The thirty-minute ride to the Russian embassy was spent by the three passengers sharing background details and talking about their children. At their destination, Konstantin excused himself and promised to rejoin them after he talked to somebody in the ballet company.

CJ and Owen each did a shot of vodka so cold it shocked their system. “I think they keep these in the freezer. Brrr!” CJ replaced the slender glass on the roaming server’s tray and picked up a champagne flute. “Great, vodka shots with champagne chasers. You think they’re trying to get their guests plastered?”

“Nothing would surprise me tonight.” Owen raised his glass. “Cheers, mate. We gotta make sure neither one of us has too much. Hey! There’s our neighbors. Let’s say hello.”

As usual, Felicia Barrosa’s greeting was effusive while her husband’s was more subdued. Both uttered warm words. “I sent your fathers a note thanking them for the gorgeous flowers.” César had ordered a gigantic arrangement as a token of gratitude for their hospitality. “When will you see them again?” Felicia had already intertwined her arm with CJ’s.

“Next week. The entire family’s gathering in Colorado to celebrate Christmas.”

“Well, you guys must thank them again for me. For us. It was a very thoughtful touch.”

Owen nodded. “My in-laws are very good at showing their appreciation when someone treats them right. And the two of you went above and beyond by hosting a reception for them.”

Andrés chuckled. “They’re interesting men, and I enjoyed meeting both. However, you must realize I wasn’t entirely altruistic when I suggested we hold it at COBASA’s building. The ensuing publicity helps our bottom line.”

“I like your approach, Andrés. I was taught if we do the right thing, accruing benefits from our actions is often a welcome if unexpected surprise.”

“It wasn’t our primary intent. Even though Felicia’s the outspoken one, I agree with her that what you guys did was an incredible act of philanthropy. It was a pleasure to entertain your parents, CJ.” Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but the man spoke for longer than he usually did and sounded sincere. “Their business model’s unusual, most of us are focused on accumulating wealth instead of effecting change, but I’ve been thinking maybe there’s something to their method. I plan on touching base with them soon. I think I’d like to discuss partnering at some point. Either here or in the United States.”

“Have you guys met the ambassador and his wife?” Felicia waved and smiled at a couple approaching them.

“Not yet.”

“Well, you’re about to.” She air-kissed the couple and took a step back. “Ambassador Karlov, Mrs. Karlov, these are our friends, Licenciado CJ Abelló and Dr. Owen Liston. CJ’s at the American embassy, and Owen’s an attorney with an environmental NGO.”

CJ felt his heartbeat rise. The rush of adrenaline coursing through his body was part of the fight or flight response, and he was not going anywhere.

As soon as introductions were over, and Felicia engaged the ambassador’s wife in conversation. CJ discretely tapped Owen twice. It was the signal they had agreed upon when planning with Jimmy. The CIA agent had mapped out possible scenarios, stressing it was up to the couple to choose the proper action based on the circumstances. If they became unsure, they had the option to abort the operation.

When Owen suggested he and Andrés search for a server with champagne, CJ struck. “I thoroughly enjoyed the evening’s performance, Ambassador. It was truly magnificent.” He moved in closer, barging into the Russian diplomat’s personal space, and lowered his voice. “However, I must warn you unless you call your dog off, next time I run into Yevgeny, you may never see him again.”

The ambassador's eyes opened so wide, it disfigured his appearance. He could not have expected an ambush by an American in his own embassy.

CJ reached into his coat pocket while issuing the threat. One of the listening devices found in the apartment after the wine tasting found its way into the ambassador’s hand. “He’s not as smart as he thinks and hasn’t mastered the finer points of spycraft. He disrespected me, my husband, and our home by leaving a few of these trinkets behind.”

The ambassador looked at his hand, quickly closed it, and stuck it inside his pants’ pocket.

“I’m not sure why he targeted me; I’m new and my job’s pretty menial. But he must be desperate. Earlier tonight he again insulted us by gifting us one of the ballet dancers for our use.”

While CJ maintained a pleasant expression and smiled through his diatribe, the ambassador’s expression was hard to decipher. The initial surprise had morphed through anger and maybe a little fear.

“I realize our countries are competitors, but his Cold War methods won’t work on me. Or anyone else at our embassy once I’ve filed my report covering this evening. I’ll also make sure diplomats from other countries get to hear about what Yevgeny undertook. You may as well send him home; I’ll ensure his usefulness as an intelligence officer’s over.”

CJ was perspiring. He could feel sweat trickle down his back. But he was proud he had kept his composure, not raised his voice once, and not used profane language. Considering his anger, that alone he counted as a victory; he badly wanted to scream fuck you and your spies. Instead, he placed a hand on the ambassador’s shoulder and offered him the other one to shake.

“Once again, the performance was magnificent and so has been the reception. Thank you for having us. I suspect you and I will see each other again, and I hope it’ll be under more pleasant circumstances.”

The steps he took to reach Owen and Andrés were not as sure-footed as usual. “Hey, guys.” CJ immediately reached for his husband’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Everything good?”

CJ nodded. “Perfect. The ambassador and I were talking shop. I need vodka, wanna go find some?”

While Andrés begged off and went in search of Felicia, CJ and Owen approached one of the tables set around the perimeter. They had been warned the place would probably be teeming with sensitive microphones so the hand squeeze had been CJ’s signal all had gone as planned.

“Can we steal it?” Owen nodded at the crystal bowl holding what must have been pounds of caviar. Surrounding it were silver platters with crackers, thinly sliced black bread, and toppings.

CJ immediately used one of the small silver spoons to pile the delicacy atop a piece of pumpernickel. “Hmmm… You should have worn your kilt to sneak it out under it.”

“Wanker.” Owen raised two fingers in the direction of the young woman dispensing drinks. The vodka bottles were frozen inside solid ice blocks, and he was surprised at how easily she maneuvered them. “Spasibo.”

Through a mouthful of caviar dotted with chopped egg, CJ chuckled. “You just blew your Russian wad.”

“Nope. I can say nostrovia too.” He downed his shot and placed the empty glass atop the white linen tablecloth. “Another one?”

“You can, I want a clear head for a bit longer. I still need to talk to Domogarov.” This part of the evening they had discussed in advance. “I think I’m ready to tackle him and go home.”

“I’ll call the driver, ask him to bring the car around, and I’ll meet you outside.”

Once Owen left his side, CJ went in search of the Russian spy. He did not have to look far, scanning the room he noticed a grinning Domogarov approaching him. “CJ! I hope you’ve enjoyed the evening so far.”

“I have, but we’re leaving.”

“So soon? Where’s Owen?”

“We have a kid at home we don’t like to leave for too long.” CJ tried to maintain his composure; the sight of the man made him want to rearrange his face. “Owen called for our car and went outside to meet it. Walk with me, and you can say goodbye to him.”

“I’m not sure I can do that right now, you’ll have to tell him I send my regards. I need to get back to the people I was talking to before.”

CJ placed his left hand on Domogarov’s shoulder and discretely squeezed. “I’m not asking. You’re coming outside with me. We have a present for you, and you may not want anyone else hearing what I have to say.” When CJ tightened his grip, the man flinched but retained his composure. “And don’t even think of calling for help. You wouldn’t want me to cause a scene, would you? Considering who we’re friends with, you know it would be front-page news tomorrow.”

Domogarov knew how to play the game; he smiled, further incensing CJ. “Be a good little spy, walk with me, and we’ll be out of your hair once we have a few words.” He kept a hand on the Russian while steering him toward the main entrance.

“What exactly are you up to, CJ? This isn’t proper diplomatic behavior. Are you willing to risk your career for whatever it is you have in mind?”


The response must have surprised the Russian; his step faltered, but CJ kept his hold on him and propelled him forward. At the same time, he reached into his coat pocket and palmed a small plastic bag. Once they reached the limousine, CJ asked the driver to give them privacy; the man sat behind the wheel and shut the door. Yevgeny was encouraged to lean his back against the car.

“We knew what you were and still invited you to our apartment. And how did you repay us? By disrespecting us and our home.” To anyone watching, CJ simply reached to shake the man’s hand. He discretely passed the other eavesdropping device he had carried all night to the spy.

“We kept all but two. This one, and the one I gave your ambassador a little while ago, after describing how it came into my possession. Didn’t all your research on me tell you I’m vindictive and can be vicious?” CJ kept hold of the man’s shoulder and hand, applying incremental pressure.

“Tonight was disgusting and despicable. The fact you were willing to prostitute a straight man to entrap me and Owen shows what type of scum you are.” Domogarov was good at maintaining his composure, but flinched when CJ mentioned involving the Russian ambassador, and again when he apparently experienced discomfort.

“This is goodbye, Yevgeny. I ever see you again, I’ll hurt you. You try to retaliate, I’ll hunt you down and hurt you.” CJ pulled the man closer and whispered so Owen would not hear his final words. “You fuck with us again, I’ll kill you.”

What appeared as a friendly embrace made Yevgeny’s legs nearly give; CJ’s hold kept him standing at the same time he bent the Russian’s wrist backward until the man grimaced. “Go back to Russia, Yevgeny. Or I’ll go public and ruin your reputation in the diplomatic community.”


Trixie and Liebe were asleep when they got home. CJ immediately sent Jimmy Chen the previously agreed to text: Home safe. Mission accomplished. Then he joined Owen in the shower for a quick rinse.

“What did you whisper in his ear at the end?” Owen finished drying himself and tossed the towel on the floor.

“Told him if he fucked with us again I’d kill him.” CJ’s calm demeanor did not falter. Any trepidation he may have experienced prior to his stunt was long gone. “Then I hurt him. I either sprained, dislocated, or broke his wrist.”

“CJ! Not funny.”


Copyright © 2021 Carlos Hazday; All Rights Reserved.
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Thank you to my support team, you improved the story. Any remaining errors are my responsibility. And thank you to all readers for supporting me. I hope to hear from you.
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Story Discussion Topic

I miss interacting with readers. And since CDMX won't be published for a while, how about a look at part of chapter one?  
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