She took a sip of her sorrel drink and reflected on the last job she’d completed a week earlier, a three-man job in London.
*
Aoki received her orders and a ticket to the UK. She landed at Heathrow Airport twenty-four hours later, since The Commission had given them a week’s timeline to complete the job. Packed light, she moved through the terminal with her carry-on and stayed focused. She looked like a woman traveling on pleasure. Eyes shifted her way, and the UK men took notice of her sexy physique in tight jeans and crop top under a wool coat.
It wasn’t Aoki’s first time in London. She took in their accents, their Estuary English, and their love for tea. Aoki had her own accent and differences, and when she spoke, she too stood out. She wanted to fit in, so she had to change her dialect, like they’d taught her on The Farm, and speak proper English. Agents had to know how to camouflage themselves in any situation. Aoki did her best to become invisible. The last thing she wanted to do was look like was a wide-eyed tourist with a strong Jamaican accent and bring unwanted attention to herself.
She exited the busy terminal and got into a cab. “Where to?” the driver asked her.
“Corinthia Hotel.”
“Fancy gaff,” the driver said.
“Just take me there.” Aoki wasn’t in the mood for talking.
The driver made his exit from the airport and merged onto the M4 motorway toward London. Aoki had five thousand pounds on her and the instructions.
She soon arrived at the front entrance of the Corinthia Hotel London, a five-star hotel on Whitehall. She climbed out of the taxi and paid the driver the fare. It was a 500-pounds-per-night hotel, but The Commission was footing the bill for everything. The ornate Victorian building with glass-domed lobby was a two-minute walk from Embankment tube station, and six minutes from Trafalgar Square. Her upscale room had it all: flat-screen HDTVs, Nespresso machines, a suite bathroom decorated with marble and rainfall showerheads, along with 24-hour butler service and a private furnished terrace. It was a far cry from Brooklyn.
Aoki stepped out onto the terrace and took it all in. London was a beautiful city. The sun was setting, draining away the light and gradually transforming the city into nightlife. Aoki had no time to get caught up in the beauty and the culture of the city. She was there to do a three-man job, one of her most challenging contracts yet. She had to scope out her targets and come up with a foolproof plan.
As she lingered on the terrace, she suddenly heard a knock at the door. She turned and went to see who was knocking. She was waiting for her connection to make life to her assignment.
As she approached the door, someone slipped a thin manila envelope underneath. She picked it up, tore it open, and removed the contents. There were three glossy pictures of three different men and their accompanying details. All three men were white and successful in their careers. The Commission wanted them executed for the multi-million dollar Ponzi scheme they had masterminded, stealing five hundred twenty million dollars from very powerful men. Their names were Thomas Cell, a banker, Henry Hutton, a prominent lawyer, and Jonathan Bowen, a high-ranking public official.
Aoki studied their faces and details, committing everything to memory. She then destroyed the information. She couldn’t risk anything getting into the wrong hands. She had to be untraceable, a ghost in the city.
Her suite was quiet and relaxing. She ordered room service and champagne, and dined alone. She then undressed and took advantage of the bathroom, submerging herself into the large white tub with the soothing hot water and small TV embedded into the wall. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
As she was getting comfortable, her cell phone rang. The call came from an unknown number. Aoki answered.
A female voice spoke on the other end—her contact. She was blunt with no formal greeting. “In an hour, you will meet your handler at the Silver Cross bar on Whitehall.” The call ended abruptly.
Aoki ended her soothing bath and threw on a pair of tight jeans, a chic T-shirt, put her hair into a long ponytail, and donned her leather jacket. She stepped out of the hotel suite, stepped into the elevator, and pushed for the lobby. Aoki was like a robot—showing no emotion and remaining focused.
Two young white boys got on the elevator from the floor below hers. They tried to flirt with her, like it was their right to do so.
“Where are yeh from, beautiful?” the boy on her left asked. His accent was thick, and he couldn’t stop staring at her. There was something about him that she instantly didn’t like.
Both boys were dressed like they came from money—old, inherited money.
She remained quiet.
He continued to talk to her. “I fancy ye’re from the U.S,” he said.
She remained silent.
He added, “What’s the matter? Moggy got y’r tongue?”
The other boy laughed at the comment.
Aoki remained silent and deadpan. She had no time for little boys. But the one on her left was relentless with his tongue and his vulgar approach.
He said, “Yeh don’t fancy compliments when yeh get ’em, huh?”
Aoki cut her eyes his way. Her look could definitely kill.
“Just making some conversation,” he said and shrugged.
The elevator reached the lobby, and the doors opened. Aoki was the first to step out, saying to them while moving from their presence, “Go fuck yourself!”
Her harsh comment left the two boys befuddled, with the other boy saying, “What the fuck is her problem?”
“I guess she’s not getting enough dick in her life. She might be one of those lesbians, y’know, a carpet-eater.” He laughed.
The other shouted, “Ugly black bitch! You know who you just snubbed?”
Aoki stopped dead in her tracks and spun around, glaring at the two young boys walking away. They were uppity and ignorant, probably always getting their way in life and suffering no consequences for their rude behavior because daddy had money and power. She figured they were related.
She marched their way with her fists clenched tightly and ready to react. She followed them as they walked toward the hotel bar, which was swelling up quickly with customers. They took a seat at the bar. She purposely bumped into the boy with the rudest mouth, spilling his drink onto his sweater vest, staining it.
Turning around and seeing that it was Aoki, he hollered, “You clumsy black bitch! Watch where ye going!”
“Excuse me. I’m so sorry,” Aoki apologized.
“You owe me a drink,” he demanded.
She smirked and simply walked away. He cursed at her, but she ignored him, walking farther away from his verbal onslaught.
Aoki had what she needed from him. She had pickpocketed his cardkey. She planned on paying a visit to him real soon. But, first, she had work to do.
She walked to the Silver Cross bar, a large split-level traditional pub situated in the heart of London with its spacious dining area and flagstone floors. Patrons were having a good time, ordering drinks in rounds and laughing and chatting.
Aoki stood near the entrance and looked around. There were too many faces and too much activity. She had no idea what her handler looked like, but she was sure he or she knew her identity. She stepped farther into the pub and soon felt a nudge from behind. She quickly pivoted, and a man motioned his head toward a corner booth.
She didn’t say a word and walked toward a lone stranger having a beer in the booth. She took a seat opposite him and looked into his eyes. They were cold and callous, matching her own. He was a lean and handsome man with a grayish goatee, wearing an expensive suit and a diamond Cartier watch. No doubt he was the handler and connected to The Commission.
The man took a sip of his beer and then placed a set of car keys onto the table. He said, “There’s a black sedan parked around the corner, an AMG E63 S Mercedes-Benz. Take the keys, open the
trunk, and take out what you need.”
Afterwards, he removed himself from the table and from her sight, disappearing into the crowd of lively drinkers at the pub, leaving Aoki seated alone with the car keys. She snatched them up and made her exit.
She strutted outside, turned right, marched around the corner, and placed the key into the trunk and opened it. Placed inside the trunk was a small black duffel bag. Aoki unzipped it and found a small arsenal of guns and knives inside. She pulled out the bag, shut the trunk, and casually walked away.
She went back to her hotel room and placed everything in the bag onto the bed. The most impressive weapon was the OA-93 that was fitted with an M4A1-style collapsible stock. It was sleek, effective, and deadly. It also came with a suppresser. Aoki had two choices to carry out the contract—pure bloodshed to send a message, or subtle and unnoticed.
*
The lawyer and banker were easy to track down. They were self-assured men with egos as big as the Grand Canyon, and they both enjoyed their money, success, liquor, and pussy. They were known to frequent the nightclubs together, spending their stolen cash like water. Aoki knew every move of the banker and the lawyer, but the high-ranking official had gone off the radar and was difficult to track down.
Jonathan Bowen was a shrewd man in business and frugal when it came to his money. The man didn’t go out. He didn’t do nightclubs or restaurants. He wasn’t a whoremonger like his friends. He wasn’t married and had no kids. He was pretty much a forty-three-year-old recluse with international political connections and ties to organized crime in London. He was almost a ghost.
Aoki methodically did her homework on Jonathan Bowen, but he proved harder to track, maybe even harder to kill. Fortunately for her, she finally located him. He was staying on the top floor of the Crowne Plaza. He had the entire top floor to himself and employed a fleet of security. It was like Jonathan knew she was coming for him.
Aoki knew he needed to be the first on her list, before the two baboons. Once word got out about their deaths, Jonathan would heighten his security detail and most likely disappear into obscurity. So Aoki did reconnaissance of the hotel, the staff, and the security—that was the easy part.
The day she planned on attacking him, she hacked her way into the hotel’s computers and phone lines using a Trojan horse virus and listened intently for evidence of her target’s exact location. The Farm had taught her to know everything about her target and learn how to control him from a distance. Learn their habits, their interests, and their routines, and study the people around them. If you know their social life and the company they keep, then you know your target.
Aoki hacked into his hotel invoice and found he ordered room service around the clock. Jonathan had a ravenous appetite. He loved food and his wine. That would be her way to get to him. A paranoid man still had to eat.
She stole one of the female staff uniforms and played the part of a docile worker. When the room service order came in for his room, she intercepted the meal cart and rigged it for her own purpose. She coolly stepped into the staff elevator and pushed for the top floor, using the staff cardkey she’d stolen to access the top floor. The elevator wouldn’t budge without that key—another added security measure taken by her target. Aoki kept calm. One of the reasons The Commission had reached out to her for a difficult job was because they knew she had no fear and was a bold bitch when executing a hit.
The doors slid open, and Aoki pushed the meal cart into the carpeted hallway and toward the hotel door, where an armed guard stood watch.
He frowned at her. “Where’s the regular girl?” he asked.
“She’s out sick,” Aoki said on beat in a heavy English accent.
Aoki was poised and ready for him with something special. She was hoping he didn’t cause a problem. He stood six four with a stocky build.
“I have his order and definitely his favorite today,” she said. “Prawns and pasta.”
“Sounds good,” the guard returned.
Aoki attempted to lift the cover to show him everything was legit, but he took her word. He patted her down, making sure she didn’t have any concealed weapons, then escorted her into the room.
Once inside the lavish room, Aoki counted four armed men in black. But her target was nowhere in sight. She was sure, though, he was somewhere close. Jonathan Bowen had many enemies, not just The Commission, but the mafia and former business partners he’d embezzled money from. For that reason, he spent a fortune on top-notch security to protect him.
“Hey, boys,” she greeted affably in her fake accent. “Where’s your friend?”
“What’s under the tray?” one of the bodyguards asked.
“His food. What you think?”
“Lift it and let us see.”
Aoki smiled. “Okay.”
She lifted the cover, and it happened. She ducked down, reaching underneath the cart, and extracted the 9mm pistol with the silencer at the end. Phew! Phew! Phew! Phew! Phew!
She let loose rapid fire, slamming bullets into the men, and watched them fall like bowling pins. They were all dead in a matter of seconds.
When the smoke cleared, Aoki was the last one standing in the room. She scurried around the suite, gun in hand, and methodically searched for her mark. She found him cowering on his knees in the bathroom, hiding in the shower.
When Aoki walked in, he yelped out like a bitch, “Please, don’t kill me! Don’t do this!” his hands stretched out in front of him, shivering with fear.
Aoki aimed at his head.
“Please, don’t do this! I’ll pay you whatever. I’m a rich man.”
Aoki had nothing to say to him. She released several bullets into his head and chest, and he collapsed against the tiled floor, blood pooling around him. Then she hastily made her escape from the hotel and disappeared before the police came.
*
A few hours later, Thomas Cell and Henry Hutton came staggering out of Core Bar on Queens Street. The beer and liquor had their hormones raging, and they were on the prowl for some young females for sexual gratification. They spotted a beautiful young woman with chocolate thighs in a miniskirt staggering across the street from the bar. Thomas spotted her first and proceeded her way, and Henry followed. The two men pretended to be concerned.
“You okay, miss?” Thomas asked.
“You had enough to drink tonight, I see.” Henry grabbed the petite beauty by her arm and guided her into a more private area. “C’mon, let us help you. Come with us. You’ll be just fine.”
Both men looked at each other, and they were thinking the same thing—the fun wasn’t over yet. The young girl soon found herself in the backseat of their lavish vehicle with Henry trying to feel up her skirt and Thomas behind the wheel. Not only were they crooks, but they were perverts too. Henry squeezed her smooth thigh, kissed her neck, and cupped her breasts.
“Save some for me,” Thomas uttered.
“From the looks of things, she definitely has plenty to go around.”
Thomas laughed. He peered at his partner violating the young beauty in the backseat via rearview mirror and started the car. He was getting hard just watching his friend lick on her body and feel on her crotch and tits.
The girl was totally wasted and probably wouldn’t remember a thing the next day. Henry was trying to undress her, eager to take a peek at her goodies. He undid his trousers and removed his hard member, jerking himself off while fondling the girl. “You have a very nice mouth,” he told her.
She chuckled at the comment.
Henry placed his hand around the back of her head and attempted to guide her mouth into his lap. He was aching for a blowjob. At first, it seemed he was about to get his wish. She opened wide and leaned into his lap.
“Yes, I want yeh to feel me. If you do a nice job, I’ll probably give you a bonus,” he said. “We’re bleedin’ rich men, yeh kno
w. We can take care of you.”
Thomas hesitated in pulling the car away from the curb. He found himself transfixed by the perversion taking place behind him. He could see her thighs opening further with his friend’s help, and the girl’s mouth about to wrap around his friend’s hard cock. The tinted windows gave the men the privacy they needed, and the late, chilly night made the area around the pub sparse with people.
What Henry expected to be pleasure abruptly turned into pain and agony. He felt a quick slice at his genitals and then saw the blood. Aoki had cut him deeply with a scalpel. The blood was real, and so was his screaming. She had nearly sliced off the tip of his dick.
Before Thomas could react and help his screaming friend, Aoki thrust another sharp blade into the back of his neck and twisted it deeply. He shuddered violently behind the wheel and felt his body stiffening. It only took seconds for him to die.
Henry was still screaming out in agony. His hands were coated in blood, and he was in absolute shock. He looked Aoki’s way in panic. He was horrified as he sat paralyzed from the sheer pain between his legs and his blood spilling all over the backseat.
“Aaaahhhh! You cut me!” he exclaimed. “Aaaaahhh! Oh shit!”
He desperately tried to stop the bleeding by frantically clutching his dick and balls, wanting to put his family jewels back together again, but there was too much blood.
Aoki hated perverts. She wanted him to feel some pain. Then she wanted him dead. It would have been fun to play around with him, but he was a contract kill, nothing personal. She plunged the scalpel into his eye and throat repeatedly, and he slumped against the door and died screaming.
This killing reminded her of the day she had killed two men in similar fashion in Brooklyn. Her first contract kill was for AZ. She was doing a favor for a man she once considered a friend. Now Aoki had graduated into something much more devious. Killing someone with a knife turned her on. She loved the up-close approach. She could feel the blade sinking into their flesh, and she could see their body react from the pain.
Killer Dolls, Part 3 Page 5
