Called to Kill

by A. M Surtees

  I couldn’t contain my laughter at the dirty pun, but he was absolutely right. We take his perfect girl, red hair, God’s naughty daughter, we geek her up and we make her serve him whiskey and talk dirty tech to him and he will be eating out of the palm of her hand, or should I say the palm of my hand. It was perfect. Acting out men’s hidden fantasies without them knowing it was because I had been given a thorough background check, was always the highlight of my job, aside from the five digit paycheck of course.

  After thanking Jackson for his help, I collected the file and notes from my desk and made my way home. A set up like this was definitely going to take some preparation. Good thing I still have 5 solid hours before the required arrival time.

  Against all internal resistance, I brought up an episode of ‘God girls gone wild’ and beamed it to play through the tv while I got ready. Against my internal resistance was right. As far as porn goes, this was terrible. Laughing so hard I almost turned my ‘cat eye’ eye-line into a bat wing, I thought it best to go with what I already knew, rather than trying to get inspiration from a d-grade porno. I did, after all, have the better part of a decade worth of experience in this sort of thing.

  Admiring my golden variation of a smoky eye and my centimetre perfect highlighting, I changed into a pair of high waisted acid wash denim jeans and a red button down blouse because the outfit Jackson had sent over from the department for later tonight was hardly something to be worn in view of the general public. Especially if you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself. The things that they have hidden away in storage really makes you question life. Inside the bag was a green tartan mini and a white tie up collared shirt with a tie that matched the pattern of the skirt. They really hit the nail with the outfit to match the hair. Opening my closet I pulled out a knee length red coat that would be the perfect covering for over the outfit during the set, offering up a big reveal to make the boys sit up and take notice, only one of them would be getting my attention though and when he realises why, he will wish he had stayed home tonight.

  Mr Atkins was a Friday night regular down at the Gentleman’s Club so when he got an email invitation for a VIP showing of their newest girl, he didn’t hesitate to click ‘attending’. That was mistake number three. Mistake number two was landing himself on Jackson’s radar and the first mistake obviously, was stealing tech from his employer, GameCorp.

  I gazed at the reflection before me, at the mass of shoulder length, wavy chestnut brown locks that I had been gifted before flattening it out into a double French braid that made it a lot easier to add the deep Irish red wig that cascaded down to the top of my hip. I’ve worn a lot of wigs in my time, and had a lot of wig spills but the French braid down either side of my head always gives me something secure to attach the wig clips too to prevent it from slipping and falling, especially on nights like tonight where I would be expected to dance around and put on a show with it on. For nights like this I always use the wigs that not only have clips around the edge, but also have a non-slip strip like you find in thigh high stockings, that seals against your flesh to hold the wig in place and make it look significantly more realistic. Thankfully, after many years in this game, I have around seventy different wigs in every colour and length you could ever need.

  Collecting my bags with both the items for the show and the items for later, including the spills kit, just in case, I walked out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind me until I heard the little ‘click’ to indicate that the room was locked and secure in my absence, when I heard a familiar voice behind me,

  “Off again are we dear?”

  I turned to face Mrs Elizabeth Harrison, a 5 foot 2, 90kg woman with thinning grey hair and deep brown eyes and couldn’t help but smile at the welcoming face, her thin lips turned upward as she smiled back at me.

  “Hello Mrs Harrison, yes, off again but only for one night this time. How’s Georgie doing?”

  Georgie was her pet cat. He was a Persian with thick grey and white fur. Georgie had been getting on in years himself and had gone blind in one eye but ever since her husband died thirteen years ago, Georgie had been the closest thing she had to a companion which was sweet and sad all in the same breath.

  Mrs Harrison brought some semblance of normalcy to my otherwise abnormal existence. She never questioned my story of working as an airline hostess, explaining my long and late hours and my ability to vanish for days on end. Instead, she would welcome me home after a long stint away, with a pot of her absolutely divine Hungarian spiced, paprika chicken soup. It was almost like a marriage of chicken noodle soup and paprika chicken and I don’t know how she pulled it off, but she did it with ease and it was the best part about returning home sometimes.

  “Have a safe travel dear, and how many times to I have to tell you darling, please, call me Liz.” Her smile showing her natural white porcelain dentures beneath her soft, thin, wrinkled yet still an infant’s shade of pink, lips. I thanked her for the well wishes, using her name as per her request, vowing to have a coffee with her and tell her about my latest adventure, or at least tell her something that would satiate her desire to be a friend to me, rather than the truth. I think at this point, if I were to be honest with her she may very well keel over from a heart attack.

  Hailing a taxi to take me to the club so that I didn’t risk drawing attention to myself by taking my car, I piled my bags into the boot before instructing the driver where I needed to go. I had him drop me off at the café a few doors down, again to reduce suspicion and paid my fare and watched him pull away before making the short journey on foot to the club, using the side door at the back of the building to gain entry.

  It was customary for the girls to use alternate entrances to the patrons so that they couldn’t see the girls out of uniform. Doing things that way, both protected the girl’s true identities and also made it harder for patrons to follow them after their sets because the fantasy may walk out on stage, but the girl who walked out at the end of her shift, was just a normal girl trying to make a living. Some of the regulars had a hard time understanding that once they clocked off for the night, they were no-ones ‘honey’ and didn’t owe them anything. By making them change out of their work attire and instructing all the girls wear wigs to cover their identity, safeguarded them as much as possible and kept everything above board.

  I was greeted by a six foot three, heavy set man with a receding line of ash blonde hair that he kept up in a man bun style gathering on the back of his head. He had muscles for days, which considering the kind of patrons you get around places like this, it was almost expected that security would be a group of burly towers of men.

  The security guard escorted me to the spare dressing room where I would be getting changed for the set, and where I could safely keep my things in the secure locker behind the door. They didn’t know what I was here for, specifically, but they knew I was undercover, assuming I was AFP or something and they also knew that Atkins was my target so they were happy to accommodate my need for additional security for my possessions. I wonder if they would be just as accommodating if they knew I was here to trap and kill one of their regulars. Hmm, I doubt it. Good thing they don’t know then hey.

  A red envelope sat in the middle of the small round table situated beside the blue two seater couch. I knew it was from Jackson as soon as I saw the handwriting. The front of the envelope had my stage name for the night, ‘Ruby’ and was sealed at the back so we would know if it was tampered with before I could open it.

  Using a pen as a letter opener, I tore open the envelope and withdrew the piece of paper tucked inside.

  Ruby,

  Your client has been seated in the VIP section, stage left at table L2, seat number 3. He is wearing a red collared shirt and navy blue jeans.

  You know what to do.

  Jackson.

  Chapter three

  The music began to play through the surround sound system as my cue to enter the public view side of the small semi circle stage b
ackground. Strutting out to the beat of the music, I stood in a pose in the middle of the stage, red coat still done up to conceal the inner workings of my costume, the silver kitten heels being the only part of the ensemble that was visible to the adoring patrons.

  With hand on hip, my right arm swung beside me as I walked down the small runway that connected the stage and the circular platform, complete with rotating performance pole. The VIP tables were each five seat circles, with all five chairs positioned on the back half of the table to enable all seated, to be in full view of the show. There were three of these tables on either side of the catwalk, with the path to the bar and bathrooms, directly in front of the pole, allowing sufficient room for the waitresses to navigate around the tables with food and drink orders.

  My cue came when the music shifted into a slower, more sombre vibe, allowing me the opportunity to sway slowly, in an almost hypnotic slight that drew you in. Turning toward the bar and tilting my head sideways to first glance at the right and then the left, offering a momentary additional gaze, straight at table L2, seat 3. Right into the eyes of my mark, Richard Atkins. His eyes lit up, a bright smile that showed his teeth donned his face. Focusing my line of sight back toward the bar, I gripped the lining of my coat with each hand before swinging my arms outward to reveal God’s naughty daughter. I peered over my shoulder to gauge the reaction from Atkins and wasn’t disappointed. His eyes were wide and his jaw sunk down, mouth gaping as he struggled to believe that what he was seeing was real.

  Sliding my arms out of the coat and dropping it down onto the floor at the end of the platform, I turned on my heel, gripping onto the pole with my left hand as I walked around it slowly until the only thing between me and the end of the platform, was the pole. Placing my right hand over the left, I dropped down into an open squat, releasing my left hand from the pole and guiding it up my thigh, giving myself a soft pat on the rear before extending my legs while maintaining a flat back so that Atkins was in full view of the black lace thong that contained just enough material to cover what was necessary and exposing just enough to be enticing.

  The set went for three and a half minutes but it felt like a slow song that kept on singing, but not in the kind of way that makes you turn it off, more like the kind of song you wish would never end but sadly knew it would.

  Taking a breather backstage for a moment, I thought about the next move and how it would play out. I was always thorough with the planning in order to maintain the standard of success I occupied. I walked out and straight towards the bar, nodding to the barkeep that it was time to grab the drink for Atkins.

  There was another waitress drooping herself over Atkins in a far too desperate manner. She read him like a book, eyeing his expensive watch that indicated he had money to burn and tried to capitalise but he only had eyes for his dream girl with the long red hair. His eyes focused once he spotted said dream girl walking his way with a silver tray in hand, a square glass of single malt, Tennessee whisky placed on a white silk napkin in the center.

  The waitress shot daggers with her eyes as she stormed away, her envy obvious to anyone who was in viewing range. She clearly wasn’t accustomed to being turned away. To be fair she wasn’t exactly playing on a level field in this instance. She may have possessed the tools to show him a good time but what I had in my arsenal would make him believe he was awake in a dream.

  Approaching the table, I was able to get a better look at him and I must say for a tech nerd, he was rather tidy at around five foot ten with sandy blonde hair that was swiftly greying and hazel brown eyes, the type that draws you in.

  “You were amazing up there” his voice strong and deep. His accent tickled with something foreign, possibly German, telling me that while he now called Australia home, he once came from a far off land.

  “Thank you sir, that’s very kind of you to say. Im glad you liked it” I whispered, sitting down beside him and placing my hand on the top of his thigh. “Maybe I could interest you in a private show in my dressing room?”

  He couldn’t contain his smile as he imagined what it would be like to have his ultimate fantasy dancing only for him, a pool of saliva forming in the corner of his lips as he nodded his head in agreement. Taking hold of his hand, I led him away from the table and through the exit door to the left of the stage.

  Resisting his attempt at trying to wrap me in his arms, I shoved him onto the couch in the dressing room as I took a step backwards, holding out my hand, motioning for him to stay where he was. I was going to rock his world, and then I was going to destroy it.

  Whatever I didn’t learn on the street, I learned from binge watching ‘The Client List’ starring Jennifer Love Hewitt. It was about a stay at home mum who moonlighted as a masseuse with a few added extras on the menu. Now Riley Parks was a woman who knew how to indulge fantasy, she was a true inspiration.

  His eyes opened wide as I stood before him and began to slowly unbutton the white shirt to expose the black lace bra that perfectly matched the thong that got a spotlight of its own during my set. He was taking in every twist and turn that was my body, every curve, every freckle, every inch of my barely dressed form. A fantasy that he had only ever before dreamed, was coming to life right before his eyes and if the look on his face was anything to go by, it was safe to say he was extremely pleased.

  I threw the shirt on the floor and took a step toward him, bending forward and placing my hands on the bottom of his thighs as I drew his knees apart to offer sufficient room between his legs, allowing me to give him a dream come true. Not too much of a dream though, I did still need to get him to take me home first so I could get my hands on that computer.

  Gliding his hands along my skin as I moved, sent him into a frenzy, his hands gripping as if he would never let me go again, this was my cue. I sat down on his lap, leaning until my back rested against his torso and hooking my legs over his, drawing his knees in until they touched, his hand finding its way to my inner thigh, which I allowed, even going so far as to tilt my pelvis forward slightly, as if to offer him an invitation to delve a little deeper.

  “I want you so badly” I whispered into his ear, his hand clenching against the top of my inner thigh at the words. He attempted to move his hand to the inside of my panties but I stopped him, gipping his hand. He sighed loudly, confused by my resistance after just claiming to want him.

  “Company policy, I can’t. Not here. You don’t want to get me fired on my first day, do you?” My voice tinged with a higher, childlike pitch, longing for him to provide a solution so that I could fulfil his deepest desire, his face lighting up when the answer I had been waiting for, finally hit him.

  “Come home with me.” He was so proud of his idea, licking his lips as the thought of having me wrapped around him made him tense up all over. I looked at the time 11:02pm and allowed him to experience my sense of glee at discovering that it was two minutes passed my ‘knock off’ time. That was all the green lighting he needed, scooping me up over his shoulder as he darted for the door. I told him to wait so I may grab my bags before continuing on towards the carpark to find his car.

  His keys fumbled about in his hand as he frantically tried to get them into the lock of his beat up old emerald green VT Commodore. If the other dancer had seen what he was driving, she may not have been so quick to beg him for a dance. The interior was worn and damaged and the car smelled like someone had died in it. Just when I think I found a mark with some class and this is his ride.

  “Fifty thousand dollars, Tamikah, fifty thousand.”

  I reminded myself of the fifty thousand reasons to push on with this mission. I needed to get that tech and I needed to take this guy out. Now was not the time to get grossed out by a smelly old car.

  He lived close by thankfully so the trip was rather short before pulling up the drive of a small cottage style unit not too far from the Prahran train station. The unit was nothing special but it was well kept which made me breathe a sigh of relief. After getting into his car, I i
magined his house would be a cesspool for mould and rodents with empty pizza boxes stacked in a corner or something. I was pleasantly surprised.

  Scanning the room for signs of where his office would be, I eyed a door beyond the kitchen that was sealed with a slide lock that had a padlock secured to the bottom of it, preventing it from being opened without a key. I could probably use bolt cutters to open it but that required having bolt cutters. Jackson trusted that I would have the ability to get into that room with charm rather than with force.

  Atkins led me to a cream floral couch that reminded me of fond times at my grandmothers house in the spring before she passed away. For someone who stole $5M worth of gaming data, he sure didn’t splash it around. Smart man. It was a genius move. Everyone knows when money goes missing, the first thing they look at is the poor man in a million dollar yacht.

  After instructing me to make myself comfortable, Atkins disappeared into the kitchen to fetch us both something to drink. I could almost guarantee that he would return with two glasses of whisky given that it was in his file as being his favourite and when I brought him on earlier on at the club, he dropped it in one mouthful, without hesitation so when he walked back into the room with two cans of Jack Daniel’s, I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. He handed me a can before sitting down on the couch next to me, our thighs touching gently as he smiled my way.

  After taking a mouthful from his can, he leaned forward and retrieved one of the remotes from the table and engaged the power button. I thought it bizarre of him to want to watch television with me sitting next to him but then soft jazz music filled the surround sound speakers that were suspended from the roof in each corner of the room. He stood up and turning to me, held out his hand, gesturing for me to get up and dance with him. At the club he was filled with a sense of urgency at the concept of getting me back to his place but now that we were here, he was taking his time, trying to be hospitable. It was almost as if he, no… I laughed, trying my best to internalise it as much as possible. Was he trying to woo me?