Stiletto Dolls

by C. L. Black

  “What?” She did hear me? Is Granny on drugs? “Yeah, sure. What ya got, Gran?”

  “Be right back.” She trotted over to the guest room. It was just off the family room. She returned, holding two DVDs. “I have Point of No Return and Long Kiss Goodnight. Which do you prefer, my dear?”

  “No fucking way!” How’d she know? Catherine thumbed in a quick text and put her friend down. She was all smiles. “Let’s watch Nikita. She’s my kind of girl.”

  “Oh yes, me too.” Miss Christi giggled. “Terribly ruthless! But sensitive too.”

  They shared their evening watching young Nikita become a skilled assassin.

  “Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it, my dear?” Miss Christi got up to retrieve the DVD from the player. “Do you think you could do that?”

  Catherine didn’t respond. She picked up her best friend and resumed texting. She hadn’t gotten any reply since just before seven. “Stupid fuckin’ phone!” She sent another text before rising from the recliner. “Oh, hey, thanks for the movie. I’m going to bed now.” She headed up the stairs.

  “Goodnight, my dear. I hope you have a restful night. Our ride will be here at nine sharp. Please, be prompt, dear.”

  “Yeah, whatever. ’Night, Gran.” Sure-footed and light as a cat, she hurried up the stairs.

  Each retired to their own bedroom. Tonight’s game: a stalemate.

  Late Apologies

  The Town and Country, 18:38 local

  Jane sat at her usual table when the stone-faced, cute waitress approached. She had broken their date, planned for this morning. Nina had paid the penalty for KK’s stolen extra day. Late apologies never work. She had sent the text two hours ago, on the way over from the airport. She hoped the expensive gift bottle of Wet would better say, I’m-so-sorry-I-blew-you-off-love. She still expected she’d have Nina up to her room later, after she’d dealt with tonight’s subject. Sweet girls like Nina were a naughty little pleasure Miss Jane just couldn’t resist.

  “Good evening, Miss Smith,” said Nina, casting a chill. “How may I serve you this evening?”

  “A good evening? I do hope so, my sweet little Nina. Let’s start with my Old Pulteney. The twenty-one, please. We’ll just have to wait and see where and when your services will end.”

  Jane first met the lovely young lass a month earlier. She had stopped in for a nightcap. Nina was new in town, just off the plane from Holland.

  “Once again, Nina, please accept my sincere apologies for missing our date.” A real date. One without lies.

  Jane had it bad for the cute young blonde with the tiny waist and healthy breasts. Scheduled the evening before, she had planned to fit the personal time in before her meeting with Mum and the mucky-mucks at Langley.

  Promised her a breakfast in bed and a morning of sightseeing. The red double-decker tour bus stopped right outside, at the corner of Connecticut and Desales. That was before she was persuaded to stay. Just one more night, Miss Jane. I promise, Miss Jane. Papa will be here, later Miss Jane. Ja, on the Knotty Girl.

  KK lied.

  Back in DC, this time to pump a senator, a real up-and-comer, named Winter. With the changing of the guard, the blue team was back in charge of Washington. Mistress Sterling was usually in town two days a month to entertain the client’s chosen few. She always felt a little tension before first meetings. To take the edge off, she indulged in her other naughty little pleasure, a single glass of Old Pulteney. The twenty-one year.

  Tonight, it was a sorely needed diversion. The note had her on a hair trigger. Boris and those photos? Who were they?

  If only Jane knew about the surprise still waiting to be unleashed in her room. Had she pushed a little harder when she rubbed that glass clit, the two-hour delay would have started. Jane, Elsa, and Captain Schumacher would have all gone down for the last time and without a trace. She never would have had to face her disappointed Nina. No, she and the others would be spending an eternity at the bottom of the North Atlantic.

  Jane recalled the real reason she got on the pink jet. Those bloody boots…

  Nina Gets Wet

  18:50 local

  “Pleasure to have you with us again, Miss Jane.” She was still steamed. “Will you be staying with us long?”

  Nina claimed she was twenty-three. She looked about fifteen—a most dangerous weakness of Jane’s, come to DC six weeks ago from the Netherlands. Her name meant peace in Dutch.

  Jane had become intimate with the lovely young sweet on her last visit. The subject had canceled just after she arrived. Why let the room go to waste? That night and for much of the next day she practiced her art on Nina.

  She learned the girl’s mother was a prostitute. She was raised by her grandmother on the family farm. Nina’s mother gave birth eight weeks’ premature, at age thirteen. She’d been raped and never said by whom, then left home at sixteen. Nina hadn’t seen her since. She said her mom had dreamed of becoming a movie star.

  Instead, her mother found her way to Amsterdam’s red light district, where she worked as a window prostitute. Had she given up on her dream too soon? Maybe she was just gaining experience for a future role, offered Jane with reassurance. More likely, she was just another lost soul searching for something, or someone, to brighten a dark heart. That doesn’t make her a bad person, my sweet Nina. Now does it, dear?

  She had a way of giving the young ones just what they needed. Upon her return to Europe, the Cougar did some checking. She had located Nina’s mother, still working Amsterdam’s red light district. She’d been promoted to house madam, with seven girls of her own. They met. She planned to inform sweet Nina, when the time was right. Until then, the perfume would have to do.

  “Sadly no, just the one night, love.”

  “Oh.” Nina’s face dimmed as she handed Jane the menu.

  “Once again, my sincerest apologies for so rudely breaking our date today.”

  The Cougar made an unneeded review of the menu before scanning the dimly lit bar. Just blokes. She relaxed, settling back in her chair, and felt the stiff bulge between her legs. The ghost of Boris had her on edge. She hadn’t strapped on in some time. Under her skirt was her baby dragon. Always ready, the baby Glock model 26C was strapped on tight to her right inner thigh. She repositioned the menu. Just then, the distinct sound of woman’s footsteps could be heard from the hallway outside the bar. Stilettos…

  Jane didn’t look. She didn’t want to be seen first. Her face shielded behind the menu, the Cougar’s ears maintained the surveillance, attracted to the arousing sound. Her eyes drew them into focus. Black pumps, lovely. The clicking soon vanished, smothered by the, bloody carpet. A pair of yummy legs moved past. They were attached to the shiny black stilettos. They headed toward the bar. She glanced at her watch. Eighteen-fifty-seven.

  The mystery woman’s scent lingered. Soft, refined, familiar? Her nostrils flared, she raised her head. Too late. She hadn’t seen the face. That didn’t deter her from savoring the strangely familiar fading scent. Wet! Bloody hell, it’s…

  “KK?”

  No response.

  Too bloody tall. Steady, Cougar.

  Wet! Jane was sure of it. How? Wet hadn’t been released for sale. Only KK and Papa had access to samples. Suddenly, those sugary memories of the last week with KK weren’t so sweet.

  The mystery woman, Miss Wet, perched herself at the bar. Her round, yet trim and, that tightly skirted bottom, filled the only open seat. Smashing. She hadn’t yet seen the face of Wet. Before permitting her eyes to feast any further, she scanned the men seated to either side of the young woman.

  Was Miss Wet meeting someone else? Who? Was she a pro? Who’s the lucky bloke? Wait. Was it Elsa? Did she know Elsa? That thought caused her pleasant pain. Who else? Papa! Had Krump sent her? That thought caused a very unpleasant pain. She spied the still-unidentified bird. Miss Wet was easy to watch. A white swan came to mind. Where’s me bloody scotch?

  Said something to the bartender. What? Reached for he
r purse. Removed mobile. Checking screen.

  Jane’s excellent hearing was of no use. Bloody text. Miss Wet tapped in her response then returned, an iPhone, maybe, to her clutch. Prada. Nice. The bartender set a glass of White on the bar. Wet sipped the wine, barely dropping the level. Jane sat back and purred as the Cougar crunched the intel.

  Top down: Miss Wet appeared to be about mid twenties, five-seven—nein, eight, fair-skinned, a delicate yet healthy profile, blonde, pinned up in back, length undetermined. Professional, but not too, waist, very trim. Very nice. Well dressed. That cropped white PVC jacket…flirty, but not too out of sorts, given the rain. Fitted white leather pencil skirt…smart. Long slender legs wrapped in black, back-seamed stockings. Sex trap. Black stilettos, at least five inches. Deadly sex trap. Yes, most inspiring. Definitely a Pro.

  Jane felt a long tingle, more like a tremor. She whispered to her menu, “Marvelous, bloody jolly marvelous.” The image of beautiful was seated at the bar. Like a powerful stimulant, Miss Wet had revived her from the long sleepless journey. What’s this? The large bloke with the beard started hitting on my beautiful white swan. Wet looked ready to fly, but then glanced Jane’s way. Too brief for an ID.

  She wasn’t about to lose her, beautiful white swan, to some, bearded bastard. Adrenaline was an amazing thing. Jane straightened. Raising her left hand, she signaled for Nina. I should have a seat at the bar. The old cougar was on the prowl and it felt good.

  “There isn’t one.” Nina was a mind reader. She placed the glass of Old Pulteney on the table. “The twenty-one, as requested. Shall I invite her over for you, Miss Jane?” She obviously had a heart of forgiveness.

  Better yet, perhaps she would like to join me for some dinner and a little conversation. Jane regained herself to find Nina standing before her. “What’s that, love?”

  Someone was in serious danger.

  Nina asked again, “Miss Jane, shall I invite her over?”—this time pointing discretely.

  “Would you, sweetie?” She felt a tingle as Nina went to make the inquiry. She took a gentle bite on her Old Pulteney, watching as Nina propositioned—the gift. Jane pondered which was older… the white swan, perched at the bar, or the scotch, still tickling her throat. The Cougar always preferred her scotch old and her prey young.

  Wet swung herself around to see Jane Smith standing, offering an inviting smile. Wet returned the smile, and then rose from her perch at the bar. Smashing. Wet neared the table. It can’t be. She looked lower. Wet was in a cleavage-revealing white silk blouse. Same as Elsa’s. That tremor was now a steady rumble. Boris’s note. Jane’s better half kicked, Miss Smith in the bloody arse. Too late. Someone was on the prowl. Meow…

  Miss White I Presume

  19:06 local

  The lovely swan offered her wing.

  Miss Smith took it in a blur. She felt herself quiver. “Do be a dear and join me in something Wet, Miss?”

  “Oh.” Wet blushed. “I was informed you were in need of a dinner date?” She spoke with a vaguely familiar accent.

  “Why, yes, yes indeed, Miss?” Jane waited, her gaze fixed on the slender neck and what it hovered over.

  “White. Like this sweet wine.” She blushed again. “Miss Natasha White.” She could feel the eyes touching her neck, squeezing. The mouse inside struggled for breath. “Please, call me Natasha.” She placed her glass on the table.

  The English was perfect, but the accent?

  East German. Had Boris actually reached out from under the rubble? Jane put on the most British of accents she could reclaim from her silent childhood in England. “I would so enjoy your company, my dear Natasha.” Miss Jane had picked up the stiff upper lip, spending her formidable years in the all-girl orphanage in Oxfordshire. She knew it went over big with the younger ones.

  “Thank you, Miss Smith.” Natasha spoke in a gentle, attracting tone.

  She’s good. “Lovely, darling.” How delightful. Jane stood, waited for the prey to sit. She mentally rearranged the white swan’s outfit, removing the, too hot, PVC jacket, opening another button on her sleeveless white silk blouse, revealing a hint more of the white satin lingerie covering those, creamy breasts. She took a bite on her scotch. Still not quite right. She mentally released—that bloody hair clip. Natasha’s beautiful blonde mane fell. Those gorgeous slender shoulders—a style the old rogue found much more stimulating. She teased it up a little more.

  For the next ten minutes, they made small talk about the weather mostly. “Too cold” and “too rainy” they agreed. “Yes, much too wet!” said Jane, certain she was being played, as Nina returned to take their dinner order. Once on the ride, one may as well enjoy it. Right.

  “And for you, Miss Jane?”

  “Yes, for me. The New York strip, peppered thoroughly. Add the braised asparagus, dear.”

  “Very good. How do you like it prepared, Miss Jane?”

  “Oh, sweetie, please. You know how Miss Jane likes it. Hot, pink, and dripping bloody wet!”

  That made Nina giggle and Natasha blush. Nina already knew, but she loved hearing Jane say it. “Very good, Miss Jane.” Still giggly, Nina turned to Natasha. “And for you?”

  Natasha was quivery as she returned her wine glass to the table. “Just a chicken Caesar, dressing on the side, please, Miss.” She lifted her wine.

  Everything about her said, White, except for, that Prada, the belt, her hose, heels and, that bloody awful perfume.

  “Very good.” Nina wasn’t happy about someone crashing her party.

  “Nina, you shall address our dinner guest by her proper name. Allow Miss Jane to introduce Miss White.” She looked to Natasha for a reaction. Nothing.

  “Sorry, Miss Jane.” Nina’s attention shifted back to Natasha. “Please accept my apologies, Miss White. It’s so nice to serve you this evening. Would either of you misses desire another drink or some wine with your dinner?”

  “That’s okay, Nina.” Natasha raised her glass then emptied it with two gulps.

  “Yes, dear, a glass of your boldest Cabernet, served with the strip please.”

  “Well, I really shouldn’t.” Natasha had no tolerance for alcohol. “Oh, yes, another. Your house, please.” She tapped her empty wine glass. “The Chardonnay. It’s very dry.”

  “Very good, ladies, thank you.” Nina left them.

  Alone at last. Jane’s good senses were on high alert. Wicked thoughts of what the evening might hold danced around in her head. She shifted gingerly, afraid that stiff little weapon between her legs might go off. That would have ruined everything. She suspected her dinner date worthy of more than just dinner. Much more, she’d already decided. Pete’s up-and-comer would just have to wait until her next visit to DC. Tonight was all about her new interest, the beautiful and mysterious Miss Wet, aka Miss Natasha White. Jane pinched herself. Was Boris alive? She checked the room. Just blokes. She would play…someone’s game. “What brings you to the Mayflower, Miss White?”

  “I’m here to meet a client. To review a speech she plans to make in Berlin next month.”

  Right. “I see.” She reached for Natasha’s mobile. Bloody hell. She watched it fall into Wet’s clutch. “Is she running late?”

  “Yes, her aid just texted. He said she’d make it here by eight.” Natasha checked her watch.

  Jane thought it looked like, Wet—expensive.

  “She often runs late.” A frown. “Sometimes I think she does it intentionally to anger me.”

  Jane decided to change course. “Well then, Miss White, it would appear that you’re all mine, for the next hour.” She gently stroked Natasha’s hand, sending her a very sweet I’d-really-like-to-get-to-know-you-better-in-bed look.

  “Yes, it would appear so, Miss Smith. Consider me yours.” Her words flowed temptingly. “At least until my naughty senator arrives.” She giggled, nervously. “Please, call me Natasha, Miss Smith.” The wine had sweetened her.

  Miss Smith? “You’re such a little—” Senator? Senator who? Can’t
be? The Cougar needed to pause the game. She couldn’t. The gun in her head went off. Miss Wet, or White, or bloody whoever…was she the other woman? Pete’s intel…said the subject wanted a threesome. Was Natasha the Pro the subject’s been seeing? This is getting bloody interesting. “You shall address me as Miss Jane.” Her words were sharp and strict. “Am I understood?”

  “Yes. Thank you. I shall.” Fear gripped Natasha’s chest. “Miss Jane?”

  “You’re very welcome, my sweet Natasha.” Jane softened. “Well, my dear. If I was ever so privileged to have arranged a date with you, I would certainly not be late. I would be just devastated if ever I left my Natasha stranded, especially in a scary dark place like this. Not even for just one minute. It would be unacceptable! She should be sternly punished for leaving you all alone in this nasty, wicked, and dark place.” The Cougar surveyed the room, its image emphasizing her words. “God only knows what unpleasant evils might happen upon you, my sweet child.”

  “I see what you mean, Miss Jane. I did feel quite exposed, what with all these wicked men in here, especially, while I was seated, all alone, so exposed, at the bar.” Both took notice of the bearded man still at the bar. “He was so rude, Miss Jane.” Other than Nina, they were the only women in the room, growing more crowded with men of all shapes and sizes. “I’m so thankful to you Miss Jane, for rescuing me from that nasty old wolf.” Her voice was inviting, now with a hint of youthful trepidation. Her hand waited nervously on the table.

  “You’re so welcome, my sweet.” Jane took the delicate hand in hers, stroking it softly in an effort to chase away any remaining apprehensiveness. There they stayed, locked in the other’s gaze.

  It had been a long day with little to pacify Katrina’s appetite. Growing hungrier by the second, now positive the nervous young lady before this GoodKnight understood clearly the expected outcome of the game they were playing. The Cougar knew how to play this game too; she’d played it often. The tingle in her nipples beckoned. They stiffened, pressing with a hunger of their own against the new Hush-Hush bra. KK had picked it out in Monaco. Mistress Sterling always wore new lingerie, on an assignment. Wardrobe was always included in the price.