The International Assassin: A Sexy Times Crime Thriller

by Asher, Adele

  “Why did you get involved with Johnny?”

  “I was bored. Tired of the usual trust fund chinless Rupert's on Kings Road. He had a certain charm. I was young…I thought he loved me.”

  “You didn’t think to ask him questions? Meet his mother?”

  I shook my head.

  “No. It wasn’t that sort of relationship. He wasn’t that sort of guy. I wish I had met you ten years ago.”

  “I wouldn’t have known what to do with you ten years ago,” he replied with a smirk.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re an attractive woman. A man has to be a certain age to handle that the right way.”

  “And what’s the right way?”

  “Knowing how lucky you are.”

  “Good answer.”

  “So Johnny was your type?”

  “No not really. Not in retrospect. Young girls fantasy.”

  “So what is your type?”

  “I like a mans man. Someone who doesn’t use hand cream and worry about having botox. Who is just happy to be a man and let me be a woman. Someone who makes me feel protected. Cares about me, doesn’t make me cry too much and can make me orgasm three times a night.”

  “Not much then.”

  “I think Nick Salinger can manage it. He seems to be very capable so far.”

  “Are you always this forward?”

  “Only when I want something,” I said and smiled. “Does that intimidate you?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Some men don’t like it. They like to chase. They don’t like to think of themselves prey of a cunning cat.”

  “I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”

  “It’s just as well I’m doing the chasing then isn’t it or we wouldn’t get anywhere.” I smiled coyly. “It makes a nice change. Johnny was Chelsea’s answer to Henry the Eighth.”

  “So who does that make you?”

  “Ann Boleyn probably.”

  He smiled.

  “How many women have you slept with?” I asked him. He looked slightly shocked and drew breath. “If we’re going to get married have children and live the rest of our lives together it’s better to know.”

  “You’re very certain of that.”

  “You haven’t said no.”

  “I’m not sure I want to answer that.”

  “Okay, I’ll go first. Four. Although the first didn’t really count. He was a virgin as well and he got so exciting he came in my hand when I put the condom on. The second wasn’t really much better. In the back of his mothers Mini-Metro. I wasn’t even sure he had put it in. Third was a drunken night with some chap from Eton that turned out to be very unsatisfactory. He became a homosexual. He’s an MP now. And the fourth, well that was Johnny….”

  “And?”

  “I suppose he was adequate. It’s hard to benchmark after the first three.”

  “Only four?”

  “Women don’t really get into their stride until they hit their thirties and I was with Johnny by that point. And now you, so how many?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “Thirty bloody two!” I exclaimed in shock. “I thought you said you weren’t good at this sort of thing!”

  “I said I wasn’t good, it doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

  “Jesus! You are like a man-whore! Explain yourself you filthy sex maniac!”

  “I started late. And then I was with a girl for four years who just didn’t like sex. Not just with me but sex in general. After she smashed my heart to pieces I just become emotionally shut down. Got drunk a lot. Things happened. Then I grew out of it.”

  “Why?”

  “I was in bed with a girl, Daniella I think her name was.”

  “You think?”

  “Like I said, drink. And she was nineteen, beautiful, everything you could wish for. The sex was perfect and I didn’t feel a thing for her. I realised how shallow and pathetic the whole situation was and decided that was it. I got dressed and left and never saw her again. Or anyone else.”

  “You turned gay?”

  “No, I didn’t see anyone. I took a sort of celibacy vow. The whole meaningless sex thing wasn’t for me so I decided the next person I would have sex with would be the one.”

  “The one?”

  “That one special person that I wanted to grow old and share my life with. A relationship based on friendship and something deep, meaningful - not just sex.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve not worn your fuckstick out,” I said.

  Nick laughed.

  “I nearly broke it a few times.”

  “I hope it’s still working.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “It better be. Thirty-fucking-two! You dirty man slut! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

  “I’m not proud of it.”

  “So why didn’t you lie? You’re a bloody spy. You could have said six. Six would have been acceptable. But thirty bloody two!”

  “You did ask.”

  “I didn’t expect you to be such a wanton shagging addict!”

  “Are you jealous?” he asked me in surprise.

  “No,” I pouted with a sulk.

  “Yes you are! You’re jealous! Look what’s the difference? You were with Johnny the same amount of time and God knows how many times you shagged him. So in terms of miles on the clock we are probably level pegging.”

  “The difference my dear Mister Shagaholic Salinger is I’m a carefully driven four owner with full service history and you are a Hertz daily rental!”

  “I didn’t love any of them.”

  “And that’s supposed to make it better? Correction, you aren’t a Hertz, that would require you checked their driving license. You are a stolen and recovered.”

  “So what is an acceptable number?”

  “Six is an acceptable number. It means that you are experienced enough to give pleasure and not so experienced you can play women’s bodies like Mozart on a piano with your eyes closed. You dirty boy.” I shook my head at him. “Well all I can say is you better be the most mind-blowing, multiple-orgasm-inducing go-all-night and make-my-toes-tingle blow-my-socks-off sex-machine who pleasures me beyond all measure or I’ll be most cross.”

  “What makes you think I want to have sex with you?” he asked demurely.

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “I think we have established that you are not exactly fussy so if you turned me down I would be bloody insulted to say the least.”

  “But that would mean you are my forever girl.”

  “I am your forever girl. I’m your last one. I think you have had quite enough variety and practice mister. It’s time you show some restraint and monogamy.” I shook my head. “You utter man slut.”

  He took my hand.

  “If I’d met you I wouldn’t have slept with any of them.”

  “So it’s my fault is it?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well you implied it! That because you didn’t meet me then you decided to drop your pants for any tart in range.”

  “It wasn’t like that! I can’t believe we are having this conversation!”

  “If you so much as look at another woman I’ll bloody kill you. I’m keeping you locked up at night. You are clearly some sort of sex addict.”

  Nick pulled over the car and put the handbrake on.

  “Why are we stopping?” I asked him.

  He sighed and looked at me quite seriously.

  “Do you know what love is?” he asked.

  “Yes” I replied.

  “Really?”

  “Well…no.”

  “Love is waking up in bed every day with the same person and the first thing you see is their smile, the last thing you hear when you go to sleep is them breathing. Knowing you are always going to be with that person until the day you die. And you are never apart even when you are not together. That’s love. I’ve never had that.”

  “You did have a lot of sex though.”


  “And I would have traded all of it for just one day of knowing that feeling to love someone like nothing else mattered. I wish I had met that person. I wish my memory wasn’t stained with all those casual experiences. That’s regret. And until you learn regret you can’t value love.”

  Nick ran his fingers through my hair.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I ever met. You are crazy and odd but very cute and endearing. I wish I hadn’t wasted half my life not knowing you but I have. And here we are.”

  “Parked illegally on a red-route,” I added with a shrug of my shoulders.

  “What would you rather have? One night like they had, or the rest of your life?”

  “The rest of my life.”

  “Then you have nothing to be jealous of what they had then have you?”

  “Maybe not.” I nodded. “You are going to be good for me aren’t you Nick? After all this business with Johnny. I don’t need any more of that.”

  Nick caressed my cheek with his hand and nodded. We kissed. I’d known him less than twenty-four hours and we’d already had our first row. It felt quite therapeutic.

  “It’s not hard to fall in love with someone like you.”

  “What do you mean someone like me?”

  “Someone who I could spend the rest of my life looking for and not find anyone quite as special.”

  I had to hand it to him, he knew how to push my buttons so it was easy to forgive his excessive past carnal indulgences but if he ever stuck his man sausage in another girl I would cut it off and Fed-Ex it to him. We kissed and made up.

  “Let’s go and get your stuff back.”

  “Okay Batman.”

  Nick put the car back in gear and pulled away.

  “Thirty-two. Man whore…” I muttered. He shook his head and laughed.I smiled at him.

  What of course I wouldn’t tell him was that I was secretly slightly impressed by his naughty conquests. He clearly had some skills and he was bound to have learnt many naughty tricks on the way. Since Johnny was such a boring and useless lover I was looking forward to seeing what kind of bedroom gymnastics Nicky boy had up his sleeves,or more accurately - in his pants. Being in my mid-thirties I had a insatiable lust probably propagated by the ticking time bomb of my body clock reminding me to have children. Only battery powered discretionary lady products from Ann Summers had been able to make up for Johnny’s lack of bedroom abilities. Nick would clearly be more of a suitable entertainment sexual-tour-de-force than four inches of made in taiwan buzzing plastic. The difference between Nick and Johnny was probably down to the fact Nick hadn’t spent several years buggering his fag in the shower blocks at a public school.

  We arrived at the warehouse on the industrial estate in Battersea where my chattels were being held captive. Nick drove straight through the warehouse doors into the large loading bay. He took out my pistol opened the glove-box and swapped it back for his own Beretta.

  “Come with me, bring the clipboard,” he said getting out.

  I got out the car with Bertie’s paperwork and followed him round to the back of the Range Rover. He opened the boot and handed me a bullet vest with POLICE written on it.

  “Put this on.”

  “Will I need it?”

  “I hope not,” he replied and took his jacket off and put his own vest on.

  “It’s not really this seasons colour,” I complained.

  “If you don’t wear it and get shot you won’t live long enough for the Autumn-Winter collection,” he said.

  He had a good point so I put it on. It wasn’t that comfortable and pushed my boobs flat, which wasn’t great because I’m a D cup. It’s probably just as well Page Three girls don’t join the armed police. Nick pulled up the cover on the boot to reveal a large gun-safe with a digital coded lock. He tapped in a code and opened the safe to reveal a arsenal of death. MP5’s, a large sniper rifle with scope and pistols as well as an assortment of smoke and stun grenades.

  “Bloody hell!” I said. “You planning to go to Baghdad or Bond Street?”

  “Anti-terrorism.”

  “Contradiction. There’s enough death in there to terrorise anyone,” I said. Nick took out a MP5 and handed it to me. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Improvise.”

  He took out another MP5 and closed the cabinet and walked over to the portakabin style office in the vast warehouse. He knocked on the door. A burly looking man came out.

  “What do you want?” said the fat bloke.

  Nick took out a police warrant card - which was a surprise since he wasn’t in the police but I guess they gave them one of everything at Spooks R Us.

  “Anti-terrorism. We believe you may have articles in your possession that are connected with our inquiries,” Nick told him.

  “You got a warrant?” fat bloke asked in a deep sarf London accent.

  “Yes,” replied Nick and cocked the MP5.

  “Is that supposed to intimidate me?” snorted fat bloke.

  “No, it’s supposed to kill you. It’s a gun. That’s what guns do,” replied Nick.

  Fat bloke looked at us both.

  “Paperwork?” he asked me. I gave him the form with my inventory on it.Fat bloke looked at me suspiciously. “She’s a bit overdressed for this sort of thing…” he said suspiciously.

  “I’m undercover,” I told him. Improvising.

  “Undercover where? Selfridges ladies fashion department?” he said as he looked at the paperwork again. “There’s something very funny about all this…” he said and nodded at our MP5’s. “Are they even real? They look like they came from a toyshop.”

  Nick pointed the gun at the glass windows of the office and squeezed the trigger. It erupted into deafening automatic fire and smashed all the glass.

  “For Fucks Sake! You can bloody pay for that you maniac! What kind of bloody copper are you! I’ll have your badge for this sunshine!” fat bloke said in surprise at Nick’s sudden assault on his scruffy business establishment.

  “No you won’t,” replied Nick. “Now tell us where the shit is fat boy or things will get unfortunate,” he said pointing his MP5 at him.

  Fat bloke didn’t seem that phased given Nick had just fired his gun at him. He looked like what someone of a lesser education might refer to as being ‘a right dodgy geezer’.

  “I want to speak to your boss,” said fat bloke.

  Nick became impatient.

  “Maybe I just set fire to your warehouse with you in it?” Nick replied.

  Fat bloke shook his head.

  “You aren’t kosher sunshine.”

  “I’m going to ask you one more time. Where?”

  “At the back. Right hand side last row. But I’ve got a fella coming for that lot at seven so I want compensating,” fat bloke said reluctantly.

  “You’ve been very co-operative,” Nick replied.

  Nick took my arm and led me to the back of the warehouse.

  “I want receipts!” he yelled after us.

  “I don’t like him,” I said to Nick. “He had an ill-favoured look.”

  “Let’s just get your stuff and get out of here,” said Nick.

  “We won’t fit it all in the car,” I replied.

  “We’ll get your clothes and anything sentimental. We’ll have to come back for the rest.”

  We headed to the back of the warehouse and searched for my belongings, eventually we found a number of large packing crates with the reference code for my address on alongside where all my furniture had been stacked up. I helped Nick pull them out and opened them. I was quite annoyed that they had just shoved everything into boxes regardless. My expensive designer wardrobe was a crumpled heap.

  “Go and get the car,” Nick said handing me the keys.

  I left my machine gun with him and walked back to the car. As I got in and was about to start the engine fat bloke tapped on the glass with the sawn-off barrel of a large pump action shotgun.

  “Alright sweetheart.
Out the car.”

  “Bugger,” I said.

  I reluctantly got out. Three scruffy cohorts dressed in blue boiler suits armed with shotguns had now joined fat bloke.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” fat bloke asked. I declined to answer.

  “Give him a shout or you won’t be so pretty by the time he comes back.”

  Reluctantly I leaned into the car and honked the horn three times.

  “Nicky!” I yelled. “He’s got a gun!” I added.

  “Drop your gun and come out with your hands up or your bird here is going to get it!” yelled fat bloke.

  He put the shotgun in my back and led me to stand in front of the car. I was quite surprised they were taking the recovery of my belongings so badly. I can only presume it was a front for some criminal outfit that burgled stately homes and raped the housekeepers.

  Whatever they were up to things were not exactly going to plan. There was no sign of Nick. The armed thugs became uneasy.

  “I’m going to count to three. Then I’m going to decorate your missus all over your Chelsea tractor son. This is your last warning,” said fat bloke.

  “Maybe he’s got lost,” I suggested unhelpfully.

  “One…Two…”

  “Three…” said Nick from behind us.

  There was four gunshots followed by four thumps as bodies hit the ground then silence. I turned around to see all four of the thugs dead on the floor executed with single shots to the head and Nick pointing his still smoking MP5 at them.

  “That was your plan?” I asked him.

  “There was no plan,” he replied.

  “Well next time have a plan!”

  “Bring the car,” he told me. “And be quick.”

  I got back in the car and drove it to the top of the warehouse.

  “We don’t have a lot of time so be to selective.”

  “Why did you shoot them?”

  “They were going to shoot you.”

  “I know that but it seems excessive force given the situation.”

  “You wanted your shoes back didn’t you?”

  “You shot them so I could get my loubi’s back?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing!” I kissed and hugged him.

  “We don’t have time for all that.”

  “We always have time for all that,” I corrected him and helped load my stuff into the Range Rover.