The disclaimer telling all of you that I don't own any Archer characters is off making a list. I get the sense that Mallory and Gladys spent a lot of time together over those three years while Archer was in a coma. This could be one such interaction.

Mallory's List

"Good morning Ms. Archer," Gladys the nurse walked in with her checklist. "How is the world treating you today?"

"Like that Baby Yolo thing treats a frog," Mallory groaned as she sat at a small fold up table working on something while checking her phone every few minutes. "I keep trying to kick my way out of its mouth before I end up a mess in its diaper."

"What are you doing?" Gladys asked as she walked over to Mallory.

"I decided to do something productive today," Mallory said as she crossed off something in a medium sized notebook. "I waste enough time just sitting here waiting for Sleeping Sterling to wake up and feeling sorry for myself. Today I will keep busy."

"Oh, that's nice," Gladys said. "What are you doing?"

"I'm updating my enemies list," Mallory told her.

"Enemies list?" Gladys asked. "Who are you? Richard Nixon?"

"Let's just say I made a lot of enemies in my time," Mallory sighed as she looked at her phone.

"From your spy days?"

"That too," Mallory shrugged. "Oh! Here's one! One of my former society foes, Gertrude DeFillbuster."

"What did she do to you?" Gladys asked.

"She blacklisted me," Mallory grumbled. "Twice! From two different prominent organizations. The Tri-State League of Women Voters. And the Catholic Charity League."

"I didn't know you were Catholic," Gladys remarked.

"Oh, I'm not," Mallory said. "But at the time I was dating a man who was. And I thought, that's a way to get in with him and make more contacts."

"So, what happened?" Gladys asked. "Why did this Gertrude woman hate you so much?"

"Why does any rich woman hate another rich woman?" Mallory sighed. "Maybe because I was prettier than she was? Maybe because I was more outgoing and popular than she was? Maybe it was the fact that my son Sterling beat up her son and stole his bicycle? And then wrecked it when he crashed into those trash cans. And left it there to get run over by that garbage truck."

"That may have had something to do with it," Gladys said dryly.

"True," Mallory remarked. "But not as much as me sleeping with her sister's husband. In hindsight that might have been the real issue."

"You think?" Gladys gasped.

"I know," Mallory groaned. "What was I thinking? The man was terrible in bed."

"You are so bad!" Gladys snorted.

"It doesn't matter now," Mallory said. "She's dead. Food poisoning if you can believe it. Which is hard because I never saw that woman eat anything. She was so thin I thought she survived on martinis and air."

Mallory looked at another name. "Here's another winner. Helen Harmonowiz-Grenker. Very uptight petty little cow. Was on the PTA. Held a grudge against me just because my son Sterling beat her son in a lacrosse game. And put him in the hospital. Oh, she died of food poisoning as well. I can cross that name off."

"Did you sleep with any of her relatives?" Gladys asked.

"Of course not," Mallory waved. "All her relatives looked like the less attractive brothers of Frankenstein's monster. And worse manners to boot."

Mallory looked at the next name. "I did however sleep with Mary Astor-VanBelt's husband. I don't know why she was so upset. She was sleeping around more than he was."

"Really?" Gladys asked.

"She even slept with his brother," Mallory said. "Then again so did I. I can't blame her. The man was hung like a racehorse. And had the stamina of a Kentucky Derby winner."

Gladys snickered. "So bad…"

"Trudy Beekman is…" Mallory looked. "Still alive. Damn it. That woman has a constitution like an ox. Probably because she's eaten so many of them."

"How are you finding out who is alive and who's not?" Gladys asked.

"How does anybody find out anything about anyone else these days?" Mallory scoffed. "The Internet! Space Book is surprisingly informative."

"It is," Gladys admitted. "That's how my relatives keep track of their children. And in some cases, their husbands. Or should I say ex-husbands?"

"Speaking of soon to be ex-husbands," Mallory checked on something. "Huh. Ron's status on his Space Book page. Still says married."

"That's good isn't it?" Gladys asked.

"You don't know Ron," Mallory groaned. "Technology isn't exactly his forte. I can't get the man to make a cup of coffee. The only reason he has a website is for work reasons. Which I suspect some bimbo made for him."

"Speaking of bimbos," Mallory checked another web page. "Ha! Lolly Latrusse. Should have been called Lolly La Tramp! Back in the day she was one of my main society rivals. Snagged this guy I was kind of interested in and has been lording it over me ever since."

Mallory paused. "In hindsight I probably shouldn't have spent so much time sleeping with her brother. And her father. And that one weird uncle of hers with the mustache."

"Oh, my lord!" Gladys was shocked.

"Oh, don't be so shocked," Mallory rolled her eyes. "Most of these society types are so rich and bored they have nothing to do but sleep with each other. Trust me, Lolly and half of New York slept with a lot of other fathers, brothers and husbands. It's basically the upper-class equivalent of going on a ride at an amusement park. You know? You have to do it because everyone else has. And half of New York did Lolly."

"It's a shame," Gladys clucked her tongue. "All that money and you lot don't know what to do with it."

"Oh, I know what to do with my money," Mallory told her.

"Besides spend it on alcohol?"

"You say it like it's a bad thing," Mallory scoffed. "Anyway, Lolly's dead too now. Huh. Complications from the flu. She never did keep a very tidy house. I think her maids were paid extra not to dust."

"Sad when all your friends die," Gladys said sympathetically.

"They weren't my friends!" Mallory told her. "Hello! Enemies' list? Is the core concept that hard to understand?"

Mallory looked at her phone. "Like Veronica Callen Smith Rothchild. She came from one of the most well-connected families you could hear of but she sounded she had marbles in her mouth. The woman mumbled so low only dogs could hear her."

"Why is she on your enemies list?" Gladys asked.

"Oh, she was a bitter petty woman who would hold a grudge over the stupidest things," Mallory groaned. "I got a higher grade in English class than she did so she was mad about that. I was prettier and more popular and she was mad about that. I took her boyfriend to prom and she got mad about that. She claimed my dog bit her dog and she caused a fuss over that. My son bit her son and she got mad about that. My son slept with her daughter and dumped her in the coat check room as soon as he was finished with her. All petty, petty grievances."

"Really?" Gladys raised an eyebrow.

"Apparently she died of food poisoning recently," Mallory scoffed. "Good!" She crossed a name off of her list.

"I have to hear more of this," Gladys remarked. "Because this sounds better than a soap opera."

"Well some of these women loved to make up drama," Mallory remarked. "Like Laura Van Volenstock Muntz Houten. Do you know why she hated me? Not because I once dated her cousin and dumped him. Not because my dog constantly beat her dog in competitions. Not even because I was prettier than she was. She hated me because Sterling called her daughter a bulldog with an uglier face!"

"Really?" Gladys asked.

"I know right?" Mallory groaned. "She should be grateful. Her daughter was one of the few girls Sterling didn't try to get into the skirts of. Then again Sterling isn't blind. The girl has as much sex appeal as a burlap sack."

"Let me guess," Gladys said. "She's dead too."

"No, she's in a coma," Mallory remarked. "Irony, I know."

"I'm guessing she's in the maybe section," Gladys remarked.

"Debra Millville hated me because my son slept with her daughter," Mallory checked the list. "She's dead due to food poisoning. Gloria Morriston Smythe hated me because my son slept with her daughter. Also, dead due to food poisoning. Regina Masterson Sinclair hated me because my son slept with two of her daughters and her sister…Also died of food poisoning."

"I sense a pattern," Gladys remarked.

"So do I," Mallory checked something on her phone. "Ah! Here it is! Apparently at the last Women's Society League of New York meeting somebody made bad potato salad. Which had more botulism than Krieger's test tubes on a Friday night. Over a quarter of the league has died."

"That's terrible!" Gladys gasped.

"Tell me about it," Mallory groaned. "Trudy Beekman hates potato salad! Figures! The one food she won't eat!"

"Sometimes it pays to be a picky eater," Gladys shrugged.

"I've seen pigs that are picker than Trudy Beekman," Mallory scoffed. "Although she is more discerning than Pam. Technically, she's above the bar."

Mallory checked the phone and crossed off a few more names. "I'm telling you one thing. It's very convenient when a number of your enemies die off in a food poisoning incident. Saves me so much time. Fewer people to get back at. Not to remember all the things Sterling and I did."

"Hooray for you," Gladys said sarcastically.

"Okay that's the society section of the enemies' list down," Mallory remarked as she moved to another section of the notebook. "Now let's get to the work section. Well I can cross Wilhelm Von Matten off the list. I got a note from his solicitor last week that he died of a heart attack. Left me his boat."

"That was nice," Gladys said.

"Not really," Mallory scoffed. "I had it checked. The boat's engine is busted and it has more leaks than the latest CIA scandal. Clearly, he was trying the old 'Give My Enemy A Boat And Hope They Take It Out To Sea And Die' trick. Like I'd fall for that again!"

"Again?" Gladys asked.

"When I was much younger and a little less worldly," Mallory waved. "During the war actually. Fortunately, the boat sank in less than three feet of water but still…"

"Why did he hate you?"

"Let's just say we were on opposite sides and leave it at that," Mallory waved. "Plus, I wouldn't sleep with him. The man was repulsive and had fewer manners than a barn animal. Little wonder I was better at spying than him."

"What did you do with the boat?"

"What else could I do?" Mallory shrugged. "Sold it for scrap and put it towards Sterling's bill. Barley even covered this month let me tell you. And apparently there's such a thing as an inheritance tax which the government scammed some of my money. Ugh."

Mallory checked her phone and the list. "Ah here's another winner. Robert Madrid. We were both in the CIA at the same time. Took a promotion that was meant for me. I lied to his wife and said I slept with him and was carrying his baby. Should have seen his face when she left the bastard."

"That's horrible!" Gladys gasped.

"Not as horrible as him sleeping around the secretarial pool and actually impregnating one of them," Mallory shrugged. "It's not like I was framing the man for something he didn't do. He's just someone I wouldn't do."

"You never slept with him?" Gladys asked.

"Despite what everyone says I didn't sleep with every man who crossed my path," Mallory huffed. "I didn't sleep with all of my work contacts. Although I admit there is some overlap in that department."

Gladys looked at Mallory. "What happened this this Madrid guy?"

"Heart attack while visiting a prostitute," Mallory remarked. "You know if I had dollar for every time that's happened…"

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't see that a lot," Gladys admitted. "Wait they won't put information about spies on Space Book…"

"Of course not," Mallory snorted as she typed in an address on her phone. "But they do put it on certain pages on the dark web. Krieger showed me page."

"Unbelievable…" Gladys was stunned.

"Let's see," Mallory cross referenced her phone and the list. "Died in a coup. Convicted of espionage and shot to death in Pakistan. Convicted of espionage and shot to death in Iran. Strangled to death by a traitor. Died in a coup. Another one shot to death by a different traitor. Died of a heart attack while visiting a prostitute. Died in a coup that he tried to instigate. Got shot in a training accident. Died of complications of an ax to the forehead. Run over by a train. Eaten by a lion…"

"How do you get eaten by a lion?" Gladys asked. "Was he on safari or something?"

"No," Mallory remarked. "Ran afoul of some mobsters in Florida."

"I've actually heard of that one," Gladys realized.

"Plane crash in the Andes," Mallory checked the list. "Shot by his co-worker who turned out to be a traitor. Shot by his wife when she caught him having an affair with a prostitute. Killed by poison darts by a mole in his agency. Killed by his coworkers who set him on fire."

"Jesus," Gladys winced.

"Yeah," Mallory sighed. "The spy business isn't exactly known for its longevity in its members. Over half of the spies in the business have the life span of Spinal Tap drummers."

"And more violent deaths," Gladys realized.

"Ooh here's a good one," Mallory grinned. "Old Nazi foe from back in the days. Tracked down by Mossad in Argentina and brought back to Israel. Convicted and executed. Good!"

"Okay this sort of news I can understand you being happy with," Gladys admitted.

"Heart attack with a prostitute," Mallory checked the phone and the list. "Heart attack with his 23-year-old wife. Typical. Okay that one I need to cross off in the Men I've Dated section as well…" She did so.

"I've never seen anyone with such an organized enemies list," Gladys looked. "And it's personalized?"

"It's like those Christmas card address books but for revenge," Mallory explained. "I had this one specially made. Say what you will about Miss Gillette but she can organize a list with such meticulous calligraphy, a 14th century monk would be jealous!"

"Every day I think I've seen everything," Gladys was stunned. "And every day I am proven wrong. Especially when I hang around you!"

"You don't have an enemies list?" Mallory asked.

"No!" Gladys protested. "Well not like this. My momma taught me that it is un-Christian to hold a grudge and hate people."

"But?" Mallory raised an eyebrow.

"But…" Gladys admitted. "There are a few people I won't cry over much at their funerals."

"Like…?" Mallory prompted. "Oh, come on! I told you a bunch of mine! Spill it sister!"

"Devona Green," Gladys folded her arms.

"What did she do?" Mallory asked.

"My ex-brother in law," Gladys admitted. "And she had the nerve to call my hat in church tacky."

"Oh well then she must die," Mallory remarked.

"She's calling my hat tacky?" Gladys snapped. "She shows up to church in a blouse so low cut you can practically see her navel and sweatpants with the word juicy on her ass and she thought my hat was tacky?"

"What kind of hat is it?" Mallory asked, clearly interested.

"A light lavender with a very small flower on the side," Gladys said. "A small bit of gold trim. Christine Moore, I believe."

"I know that designer," Mallory said. "That does sound like a nice hat. Clearly Devona has no taste in fashion."

"Or men," Gladys remarked. "If you knew my ex-brother in law."

Mallory snickered. "Who else? I know! It's Nurse Ratchet on Floor 3 isn't it?"

"Nurse Wilson is an extremely devoted professional nurse," Gladys said simply. "Who has served this hospital well for decades."

"But…?"

"I'll be happy when she retires," Gladys admitted. "In two months, one week and three days."

"Oh yeah," Mallory snorted. "You don't hold a grudge."

"Okay! She's a pill!" Gladys said. "I admit it."

"She should take a pill," Mallory remarked. "Preferably loaded with cyanide."

"Ms. Archer!" Gladys was scandalized.

"I can get them for you if you'd like," Mallory said. "I know a guy."

"From what I've seen on this list you know a lot of guys," Gladys remarked. "Including…Oh my."

"What?" Mallory noticed Gladys had seen something on her list. "What?"

"Nothing," Gladys covered.

"Gladys…" Mallory warned.

"I can't," Gladys said. "Hospital confidentially rules."

"Oh please," Mallory scoffed. "I think those rules were thrown out the window and onto the street when Dr. Gorenstein hit on that boob job patient and then begged Dr. Feltman to be in the surgery in the hallway. Spill it."

"I recognized one of the names on your list," Gladys said.

"Who? Gladys tell me!" Mallory gasped.

"It may not even be the same person," Gladys protested. "A lot of people have that last name."

"Which last name?" Mallory snapped as she looked at the list. "I know it can't be Bumblesnoot. That's not common. Well at least not in America."

"It's not really…" Gladys began.

"Not common," Mallory looked at the list. "Not common…Cabot! Is it Cabot?"

"Uhhh…" Gladys paused.

"Henry Cabot?" Mallory asked. "Henry 'I Love Nazis' Cabot? Is this the man?" Mallory typed something into her phone and showed her a picture.

"Well that's a younger picture but it's definitely…" Gladys stopped herself.

"What room is he in?" Mallory asked.

"I can't tell you…" Gladys stopped. "Wait, did you say he loved Nazis?"

"He was a God damn Nazi sympathizer during the war!" Mallory snapped. "I personally stopped him from sending out a lot of coded messages during the war! And no, I never slept with him. I admit I did sleep with a few Nazis but only before I assassinated them so…"

"Hang on," Gladys said. "If he was a Nazi…"

"He got a pass because he also happened to be a scientist," Mallory said. "He turned evidence like the yellow-bellied coward he was and after the war he was shipped off to some think tank in the desert. Think of it as a former farm for Nazis. I lost track of him fifteen years ago when they released him and didn't think he wouldn't give a correct forwarding address."

"Ms. Archer I can't tell you where he is," Gladys said. "I have to respect the hospital protocol and patient confidentiality."

"On the other hand," Mallory said. "Nazi asshole."

Gladys responded within a beat. "Room 5B, fifth floor."

"Thank you!" Mallory got up and grabbed her pocketbook.

"What are you going to do?" Gladys asked.

"Just pay my respects," Mallory had a look in her eyes as she left the room.

"Oh dear," Gladys decided to follow her.

Mallory made it to the room faster than Gladys thought possible. "Hello!" Mallory walked into the room. "Have I come at a bad time?"

Inside the room was a pale bald man on a bed hooked up to a respirator. A thin brown-haired balding man wearing a brown suit and an older nurse. "You can't be here!" The bristled. "This is for family only!"

"Oh, Cabot and I here have gone way back…" Mallory said smoothly. "Oh Henry…You don't look well."

"What is she doing here?" The nurse snapped at Gladys. "This man is on his deathbed!"

"Oh good," Mallory grinned. "I got here just in time to see him die! Today is a productive day!"

"Again, she can't be here!" The nurse snarled.

"Oh, shut up Wilson," Mallory snarled. "I was taking a walk when I overheard some of your younger nurses gossiping about this man and it sounded like an old friend of mine. I just had to see if it was true!"

The man on the bed gasped in recognition. "You…You…"

"I told you that one day I'd find you and watch you die," Mallory said with malice. "Maybe I should join forces with Carol's gypsy woman?"

"Excuse me…" The thin man gasped. "But…"

"Shut your damn trap," Mallory snarled. "I've waited over forty-five years to see this traitor die. And I'll be damned if I let anyone stop me! Who the hell are you anyway?"

"I'm Derek Bale," The man said. "Mr. Cabot's lawyer."

"Really? No family?" Mallory asked brightly. "I ask knowing no sane woman would touch this loser with a twenty-foot pole!"

"I'm afraid not," Mr. Bale admitted. "Mr. Cabot has no children or other family to speak of. He does have a brother but…"

"He disowned his Nazi ass once he found out about what that traitor did," Mallory cut him off. "So, I might as well stay because no one else will!"

"I wondered about that Adolf Number One tattoo on his shoulder," Nurse Wilson realized.

Mallory pointed. "This man is personally responsible for not only spilling several secrets to the Gestapo during World War Two, but for the deaths of five brave patriots. One of them was Steve Regis. A very dear and very close friend of mine."

Mallory paused. "Full disclaimer, we were lovers."

"I figured that part out," Gladys groaned.

"And I promised Steve as I stood over his grave that I would do everything in my power to see this bastard burn in Hell!" Mallory snarled.

"AAAA-EEEECCCHH!" Cabot clutched his heart and passed out. He soon flatlined.

"Give my regards to Heil Hitler and the rest of your Nazi nitwits as you burn!" Mallory said triumphantly.

"Well he's dead," Nurse Wilson bristled. "I hope you're happy! Disturbing this man's final moments!"

"Yes," Mallory grinned. "Yes I am."

"Oh Ms. Archer…" Gladys groaned.

"You're Ms. Mallory Archer, aren't you?" Mr. Bale realized. "Hang on, Mr. Cabot specifically asked me to give you something once he passed on."

"Oh, I'll bet he did," Mallory rolled her eyes as Mr. Bale took something out of a bag.

Mr. Bale took out a small jewelry box. "He said for you to have this. That you deserved it."

"I figured he'd say something like that," Mallory took the box and carefully put it on a tray. "Does anyone have a pencil I can borrow?"

"I do," Mr. Bale gave her one. "Why?"

"Just stand back," Mallory ordered. She used the pencil to gingerly open up the box and quickly stepped back.

Just in time for three darts to shoot up out of the box and imbed themselves into the ceiling. "OH MY GOD!" Nurse Wilson gasped.

Gladys stood there in shock with Mr. Bale. "Jesus! Are those…?"

"Poison darts," Mallory looked at the celling. "Looks like it. Probably won't know for sure until we get them to the lab. But five will get you ten, they're filled with some kind of weird South American frog juice."

Mr. Bale gasped. "I wondered why he left me his frog collection."

"Boy if I had a real dollar for every time some chump tried that trick," Mallory scoffed. "Am I right? Gladys? Gladys?"

Gladys' eyes were wide open in shock. Nurse Wilson gasped in shock as well. "So, people have tried to poison you before?" Nurse Wilson gasped.

"I believe it," Gladys groaned.

"I wonder how much that jewelry box will go for?" Mallory mused. "Again, this is a very productive day for me."

"What kind of woman are you?" Nurse Wilson gasped.

"Trust me," Gladys groaned. "I don't think you want to know the answer to that question!"