Death at the Sapphic Ball

by Jane Brooke

  “Hum Hum Hum.” The soft hum and vibration from her watch brought her awake.

  Glancing at the watch the green numbers blinked back at her 2 Am.

  Perfect, she thought as she wrapped her fingers around the small jar, smiled at its occupant, stood and kneeled down before the tri pod, tube and her night goggles with the fish eye lens camera attached to them.

  Slotting the goggles to her forehead, she cautiously fed the co axel cable into the hole, revolved it slowly, catching the complete breath of the room in a green haze as she did.

  The room was lightly lit and of course as the hotels schematics and blue print’s had showed on her lap top, there approximately ten meters from the hole in her wall and across the suite was the open bedroom.

  In it, she could see Mick Moran sleeping soundly in his bed.

  Revolving the co axel cable, the fish eye lens showed that he was alone. She thought that might be the case, for Mick Moran, “The Irish God Father” is what the press had named him for this 1st night of redemption was the solitary reason she was there. She had other plans for the sons, and since she was an artist of death, creativity was so very welcomed and much needed in her life.

  Now on full cruise control, she took her night goggles off, laid them on the floor, adjusted the tripod and quietly moved it so the tube-tip that was in the hole was now some quarter meter sticking into the other room.

  Peering in to the tube hole, she made adjustments to it and, then through a small digital cross hair, she centered it onto the wall, just a meter above a sleeping Mick Moran’s head. She smiled to herself; she again was pleased with everything to the moment.

  Twisting around on her knees, she took the small Glass jar, brought it to her eyes, looked at what was inside of it and smiled to herself. From the bed, she placed on her hands a pair of black, thin leather gloves.

  Turning to the reel, duel fishing line and tube ensemble, she pressed the lever on the compressed air canister.

  “SWOOOSH.”

  Silently fell around the room as the finned needle dart blasted almost silently out of the tip of the Mali blow dart gun, impacted its dart and twin fishing line about a half meter above the sleeping Moran’s head into the wall.

  She quickly pulled the dart gun back out of the wall and detaching the reel, she sealed the twin suction cups of the reel to the wall, thus creating a taught twin fishing line from the needle in Moran’s bedroom to her reel, centered across the hole in the wall.

  It was perfect and she knew it, yet still she felt her heart pounding just a little, for time now was important, for she most likely knew that at any moment, perhaps body guards or even the Moran’s brothers might show; she just didn’t know.

  She knew that 2 Am was the quite time; the death time, yet still haste was on her mind.

  Taking the small jar in her hand, she unscrewed the lid, turned it gently on its side and, then watched as the female Cambodian Brown Recluse Spider, in all of its yellow, blues, reds and deadly magnificence fell into the palm of her gloved hand.

  “It is time my beautiful girl. Do you not sense the aroma of your mate beckoning you? Go now, it is your time for magnificence.”

  The Brown Recluse, was of course one of the most deadly spiders on Earth. Its venom first immobilized and, then paralyzed and, then killed its victim within minutes.

  As she had earlier moved through the black lobby of the hotel as it had been blacked out, she had sprit-zed Mick Moran’s hair with the male testosterone scent of a Brown Recluse spider in heat, desperate to mate. The females in Cambodia, she had researched, could pick up the scent a kilometer away and staring at her beauty on her palm, she could see her darling was agitated, her hormones boiling, clearly picking up the scent from the other bedroom.

  With the duel fishing lines, just a few centimeters apart, and taught across from her hole and into the dart in the wall, she had created a perfect spider highway from her room to Moran’s bedroom.

  Laying her beauty on the twin lines at the hole, she smiled, as instantly the female killer and at an amazing speed, quite excited by her males scent crawled across the twin lines and, then once hovering over the sleeping Moran, fell onto his hair.

  Mick Moran, never waking, except convulsing as foam and blood foamed from his lips would be dead within minutes. The Brown Recluse female was the perfect, like her friend, the perfect killer.

  Staring through the hole, she smiled and, then hit a button on the reel.

  “SWOOOSH.”

  In a matter of second the end of the dart left the wall in the other room and whizzed back across the bedroom, through the hole and, then slotted solid back into the reel.

  “Perfect.” She hummed to herself.

  She took a small flat trowel, with a black handle attached to it, took her tube of Spackle paste and squeezing the tube, she layered the trowels face with the white paste. She lathered it against the hole, filling both rooms hole tight with the sealant. She took the trowel and in several sweeps on the hole, basically made the hole disappear. Again, if any one had ever thought of such a thing, the hole was not basically invisible.

  Quickly now, she stood, grabbed everything, reversed engineered everything, stripped naked from the clothes she had arrived in and placed everything back into their cases and placed them in her back pack. Left now on the bed we’re her new night clothes, all black and her shoulder holster with the twin silenced Berettas in it.

  Standing naked, she then moved towards the bathroom. Her work in her mind was done for the evening.; or at least she had thought so.

  She did not like sudden surprises when she worked, but sometimes she welcomed them. As all matters concerning death, a new surprise would welcome her and it would be, though never expected, be a good thing,

  A very good thing indeed.

  “Destruction, hence, like creation, is one of nature’s mandates.”

  “It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.”

  DeSade.

  THEY were simply said, thunder struck as Ash entered the conference room. Her white teeth seemed to throw off Solar Flares all set within the most exotically beautiful brown face of any creature Jane had ever seen.

  FREEZE FRAME

  She was not alone. There was, a mammoth of a black man stalling behind her. He must have been six foot six, two hundred and sixty pounds, and in his black suit, white dress shirt, black tie, he looked like he was wearing shoulder pads, yet he was not. His head was shaved, his jaw stark square, and as his bullet black eyes scrutinized them Jane saw a bulge pressing from under his coat. She was convinced in a shoulder holster there was a hand gun. Yet his eyes were what drove fear through Jane.

  The creature Ash, as she staled before them was almost indescribable. She must have been six foot two, so lean, so thin, and she was wearing a pair of black Nike workout trousers. They we’re form fitting on her mile long legs laced low on her nothing hips, spilling down past her ankles. The togs blended into a pair of black tennis shoes, with red soles. On her upper torso, pressing against her small breasts were two long sleeve black T-shirts, pressing down her long arms, half way down her palms.

  Covering the shirts was a black Hoodie and as the press had described her, she looked like a mahogany reed of such elegance and power that simply said there was no other way to describe her.

  Stenciled across her long sleeve black hoodie were red letters with the words: SAVE DARFUR.

  On here small head was a black knit skull cap. Her short black hair peeking out of the back, short on her neck, touched past her elfin ears, inches from her broad shoulders. In red thread the words on it read: PLANNED PARENTHOOD.

  She was wearing a pair of silver framed, Ray Ban’, wrap-around sun glasses. Even those were having problems hiding the largest pair of translucent green eyes Jane had ever seen on a female.

 
Her nose was small per say, yet sharp. Her cheek bones were high and blending along a set of wheaten colored lips so full. They were so wide on her face, well, again, one would have thought she was an alien her look was so exotic.

  Her neck was Egyptian in length, perhaps a Nephrites neck. She wore no jewelry, no earrings, no chains nor bracelets on her wrists, all connected too the longest and most aquiline fingers Jane had ever seen. Her fingers were long and set on surprisingly small hands and protected from the elements she assume by the black leather gloves on her hands.

  On her back, she wore a small, black sport back pack and all of this black now was simply a dynamic background, for she was smiling at Jane.

  Blinking, Jane had to clear her eyes, for her teeth were white as chalk and literally she could feel her pulse banging in her wrists. Ash in her mind was the most sexual female she had ever seen.

  Jane kicked looks at her staff; they were as unnerved as she was.

  Ash moved to Jane, towered over her, removed her gloves, her sunglasses, laid them on the table. What Jane saw stunned her. Her eyes were a color of green, perhaps shards of blues and violets too, that again were indescribable. Jane thought they were literally exploding with so many different things, that suddenly Jane felt unsure of herself.

  They were satiated with confidence, intelligence, and pathos, clearly genius, and Jane saw all of it within them. She felt unnerved for Ash was staring at Jane as if she we’re the almost nineteen year old and she was the master. She was scrutinizing her and seemingly looking through Jane’s blue eyes, perhaps into her soul, maybe her heart.

  Bending, she took both of Jane’s hands in her silk fingers. She squeezed them and leaned in and in progression brushed each of her cheeks with a kiss.

  Jane’s heart skipped a beat. Her lips, well they were so soft, warm and Jane literally felt a tremor rumble through her loins.

  As if she we’re a child, still holding Jane’s hands, Ash smiled and in an odd accent, perhaps a mix of French, American and British, and yes, sounding like Kate Hepburn she said.

  “Miss Jane darling, my, you are lovely. I am so-very honored to finally meet you. Mother said you were smashing. Mother is seldom wrong about such things.”

  WHAT THE FUCK.

  Did she just call her darling? Apparently so?Jane blushed and didn’t really know if Ash’s Mensa mind was toying with her or was this who and what she really was.

  “Ms. Bai, aaah.”

  “Please miss Jane, Ash...Were friends now, dear. It would delight me so if you called me Ash.”

  “DEAR?”

  Who was this girl? What was this girl? Who talks like that any more?”

  Jane looked over her shoulder at Ann who was either fighting laughing or crying, she didn’t know. She got a wink from Claudio, which she did not appreciate in the slightest.

  “Ash then. Thank you. It is we that are so excited about you giving us the privilege of representing you. We are great fans of yours, and hopefully we can be of some help to you.”

  Ash smiled. In unison she nailed Claudio with a stare. He, the dashing Italian man that he was nodded through a smile and, then down the line to Sue, who smiled, ending up with Clare. Clare hadn’t blinked or closed her yap since the fucking Amazon entered the room.

  “Yes, fans, we shall talk about that vacuous word in a moment but, where are my manners?”

  Turning, she glided to the giant black man, touched is huge skull and turning to Jane, she said. “Ces’t Marcel, mon proteceur, isn’; il simplement delicieux? Merci Marcel, sil vous plait, je suis sur ici. Je vous verrai quand nous sommes faits.”

  French, Jane spoke it and Ash’s was perfect. She just told them that this man was her bodyguard and wasn’t he simply delicious and she was OK and she would see him after the meeting.

  Marcel, his jaw tightening, looked like he was fighting a smile. Obviously he adored her as she took both of his massive hands in her own and continued whispering to him in French.

  Jane literally shook her head trying to get a handle around her as she jerked her eyes at Claudio, who shrugged his shoulder. Ann was grinning, Clare was gawking at Jane. Jane, shrugging her shoulders at her, got a blank stare in return. She returned to Ash just as her protector walked out the door.

  Walking up to Jane, she smiled and said. “Marcel.”

  Ash seemed to go all dreamy and such. “I would be lost with out him. He is my protector. ”

  What was Jane going to say to the freak goddess as she turned to the rest of her crew and stepped before Claudio. Claudio was about five feet eight, perhaps an inch taller in his black, Italian leather tie ups.

  Jane immediately moved along side of Ash and made the introduction, hoping that Claudio could keep it together, for the girl literally towered over him.

  “Ash, this is Claudio Venerusco, he handles our modeling and celebrity book.”

  Leaning down, she brushed two kisses on his blushing cheeks. He blushed as she stood to her full height, took both of his hands in her own and spoke perfect Italian to him.

  “Oh, Italiano, cosi adore tutto Italiano. Claudio, sono cosi felice di incontrarlo, sono Ash, il mio piacere...che citta siete? Lascilo indovinare. Si, sembrate nordico, io scommettevate Milano.”

  Like most foreigners when spoken to them in their own tongue, and wanting to show off that he also spoke her tongue, Claudio, unnerved by her eyes, bowed slightly and spoke to her in his beautiful Italian/American accent.

  “Miss Ash, Claudio’s pleasure, I too love all things Italian. You are more beautiful then I see before. Yes, I am Milano, how did you know? I also love this city, gratzi, prego.”

  “My secret Claudio.” Jane watched as Ash threw her head back and laughed.

  A brief moment passed as she calmed and softened as she drilled Claudio with her green lasers directly through his eyes and purred at him.

  Yes, it was a purr.

  ”Roma, Florencia, Venetia, for tourists, no? Your city Claudio, elegant, yes I knew Milano instantly. Such a misunderstood northern city, I so adore it.”

  “Si, yes Ash, perhaps you will allow Claudio to make you famous there?”

  Ash giggled, as again she looked at him as if he were a child though not in a cruel way as she replied through an impish smile.

  “Fame, perhaps, it is not what I seek, but perhaps, we shall see, no?

  It was all so fucking surreal Jane almost did not believe what was going down in front of her, as she actually saw Claudio unnerved.

  Stepping in, Jane took Audrey Hepburn by her hand and moved her in front of Ann. Ann looked so in love she looked like she might never blink again.

  Well, Jane was not surprised about the love thing at all.

  “Ash, this is Ann Morgan, Ann handles our Literary. There is none better at what they do than she.”

  With out hesitation Jane watched as Ash took both of Ann’s small hands in her long tan fingers, gripped them and brushed a kiss on each of her cheeks. Jane gulped, for she actually saw Ann close her eyes as the last kiss vanished from her cheek. She swore Ann’s lips trembled as Ash straightened and towered over her, still holding both of her hands.

  “Miss Ann, my pleasure. I found your female client list quite interesting. I so love Forugh Farrokhzad and Zoya Pirzad. Iranian female writers are so courageous. You were very brave representing them.”

  It was obvious the creature came prepared and had researched the agency as Ann swallowed, clearly unnerved. Jane could see that she was either so turned on by this enigma of a female, or really off of her game and Jane liked it.

  Fuck, they all were.

  Ash wagged her finger at her and in doing so playfully scolded her with it with the words that fell from her lips.

  “Ann Houlter, Ann? Tsk, tsk, tsk. I am sure that was a simple error, perhaps we might chat about tha
t later. I know I could never have any connection with that female, but of course I am nothing in the grand scheme of life. Perhaps we might chat about it at least, that is if you should care to honor me with such a conversation.”

  “Aaah, well, I’m sorry, aaah, you’re not a fan of Ms. Houlters?”

  Again, and as if she were the ten year trench warfare ball busting lit agent and Ann was the eighteen old girl, Ash smiled, almost seemed to giggle. She grew calm as her grip tightened on Ann’s hands and as Jane watched, it seemed as if Ash’s eyes intensified in light.

  “It is not my position to make judgment’s on others, Ann, I am, simply too imperfect. But really dear, wouldn’t you agree that she is product of our so tragic times. I believe when a marginal talent, basically a bleach blond bimbo with a gift of gab, so filled with mind profanity, hatred and such venom, basically a pimped out whore of Rupert Murdock can peddle such filth, well might someone so special like you, as well as Miss Jane’s agency, perhaps for a moment, be concerned being associated in any way with her?”

  The room went deadly silent. Ann’s eyes went stark and Jane could see her hands beginning to shake. Jane exchange eyes with her and Claudio and Carol who both were shaking their heads at her, for of course Ash was right.

  The thing was that she had brutally cut through the spin of a new celebrity based world in a few easy paragraphs, as direct and as harsh as those words had been.

  No one spoke as Ann looked at Jane for help. She had none for her. But she knew that Ash embarrassed them and had chastised them like greedy children and Jane felt ashamed.

  “Now Ann, please dear, I am very excited about you and my work, nothing is perfect, as I said. We shall chat on it more. Now, what did you think of my work, I so value your opinion?”

  Ash let Ann’s hands ago. Jane could see Ann staring at her palms and fingers, almost as if they’d been heated by Ash’s mere touch. She swallowed, inhaled and gazed up and into Ash’s eyes as she seemed to linger there for a moment. She exhaled and said.