by C. L. Black
“Dubai?” Pete did more than hear. He had requested the UAE spooks float that little nugget. He thought for a minute, then tried again. The image of Catwoman held their attention. “Hey Janie, that’s some pretty fine rope work.” He whispered, “Looks like Boris. Na, she’s toast too. Right kid? This has to be—”
It is Boris? “Focus, Peter.”
“Na, can’t be because, you killed her too. This flight was three days after Dubai. Do the math, Miss Smith.” He tapped the date stamp.
She didn’t bat an eye.
“By the way, Happy B-day. Did you get our gift?”
“Our?”
He blinked. “Anyway, by the time I got up with you—her; they were at her summer place. Out on Winter Island? Pretty funny huh? Owns the whole rock. Coast Guard choppered us over. Weather was crap. Ice, snow, and wind.” He felt a chill. “Dropped in on her front lawn.” He chuckled. “She’s got a wicked piss-a cool place out there. Said she just had it rebuilt. Ever been there? Anyway, apparently her great-great-granddaddy owned half of Maine. Timber and potatoes. Yah, told her I was Santa and I wanted the present back.”
Three silvers and…
“Yah, the BP didn’t think it was very funny either. Anyway, Santa caught them with their panties down. Her protection too!” Yah, that’s right kid. “She was doing your booby pink vinyl doll and her protection.”
“Carol Daniels?”
“What? So, you do remember? Should have seen their faces, Janie!”
Janie—Bloody hell… “She still with Secret Service?”
“Figured you’d remember her. She was different, wasn’t she? Liked to eat her own puke, didn’t she?”
“Get on with it.”
“I will, now that I have your attention, Miss Smith. Anyway, she didn’t have it. Do you?”
“No.”
“Sure. Anyway, advised her that lunching in public with a lesbo-exhibitionist daughter of an ex-Stasi big shot and still loyal party member probably wasn’t the best thing for one’s public image. Right, Janie?”
Janie? Bloody hell.
“Christ, Janie, your little fetish doll’s fake tits and bony ass have been on the internet so many times, I’ve lost count. Listen up, Cougar. That kinky shit may go down with afternoon tea in Europe, but not here.” He took another big gulp of black courage. “Don’t you feed her?”
“They’re augmented! And it’s Dame Jane now.” She reached for the pot. “May I, Peter?”
“Sure. It is? Thanks, Dame. . . Saw the tearful good-bye performance.” Pete emptied his cup. “Hey Janie, does she ever wear a top?”
Just the same three silvers. It’s really him. Why the bloody fuck is he needling me? She knew the clandestine interrogation technique better than him. She could play that game too.
“Yes! You bloody Yanks. Always pretending to be so puritan.” Stabbing his headless sausage, she lifted it for a closer study. Her antics pulled him away from the kink-fest in his lap. She casually asked, “What about the young woman in your package?”
“Come on, Janie!” His brow went up. “The blonde chick? Last night? It’s Snow White. Here.” He lifted the photo and fingered the hooded one in white PVC. “Nice outfit. You think it comes with a matching jacket?”
Natasha’s jacket… “What’s the link?” asked Calamity Jane, calmly reloading his coffee.
“Thanks. I told you. She’s Snow White, Natasha—hey!” His cup overflowed.
Bloody hell. “Sorry.” She dropped the pot and reached for his napkin and the photos.
“Forget about it.” He pulled them clear. “Ever met her?” Pete took another slug of the now-very-black coffee, and waited. Dame Jane said nothing. He prodded her again. “Sounds sexy, don’t it? Maybe she’s a little too old for you though, huh?”
The Stiletto answered with another fork-load of eggs followed by a deep slice into his poor defenseless sausage.
“Sure. Said she met your Snow White here”—tap-tap—“last October? Some local clit-pit called Lace. Mostly rich old cougars on the prowl for fresh candy.” Pete smirked. “Sound familiar? Ever been there?”
“Can’t say.”
“Yah, sure, Dame Jane. Winter gave me the same bullshit. Said she’d hired Miss White here to translate some old papers she found last summer. German, nineteen-sixties, seventies. Found them in some secret room they unearthed during renovations. What is it with those old estate houses? They all have secret rooms. Rich fucks. Figures. Hey, sure ya haven’t seen her before?”
“Your senator?”
“No! Snow White, here!” Pete impatiently poked the photograph of Natasha several times.
She didn’t like him fingering, Katrina’s doll.
Tap-tap.
The bloody card. “I really must get off. Till next time, Peter.”
Dream’s Over
RM 869, 09:54 local
Knock, knock!
“Room service!”
Knock, knock!
Natasha’s eyes opened. Still in bed. What happened? Where’s the tray? My lips… They tasted like—strawberry? The lipstick. Only a dream. A lonely tear slipped from her cheek.
The deadbolt went click. She called out in the dark, “Katrina!”
“Room service!” The service cart pushed passed the door, propelled by a somewhat-tall man. On went the lights. He wasn’t wearing a hotel uniform. “Good morning, Miss White.”
She recognized the voice. This was the first time she’d seen the client’s face. “You…you’re Bullwinkle?” She pulled the sheets up, covering bare breasts, and shouted, “You!” Shocked, and ashamed, Natasha painfully reached up, clutching her forehead. It hurt something awful.
“Good morning, Miss White. I have your breakfast. Oh yah, Dame Jane asked that I deliver this.” He tossed the red envelope at her tits. “Nice catch. What the hell happened last night? Christ, I thought she killed you. You wore them vinyl underpants like I said, didn’t you?”
Natasha ignored, Bullwinkle, and opened, Katrina’s note:
Sorry about the lipstick sweetie.
Your senator is waiting / 1100 / her place.
Please inform your MK; MH lost her sweet tooth.
Tell her I’ve grown up since we last met.
Love: Dame Jane the GoodKnight of Sterling
P.S. Check the dresser. Top drawer love.
Frantic, she dropped Dame Jane’s note and pulled the bedsheets to her lips. She wiped the last traces of the evil lipstick from her swollen lips, tossed the sheets, and flew to the dresser. She pulled open the top drawer.
Just like my dream.
More confused, she picked up the beautiful diamond-studded white satin bra, bringing it to her bare breasts.
Yah, looks like you did. “Nice, aren’t they? Too bad she hasn’t earned them yet. So, will ya be having your breakfast in bed, Miss White?”
Still groggy, Natasha turned to see him still in the room. “I did as you said. She didn’t show.”
“No shit. Where’s the phone?”
That pretty head was spinning. Dame Jane Sterling, aka Miss Jane Smith, also known in certain sewing circles as Mistress Katrina GoodKnight, the freelance assassin, was long gone. So was Natasha’s dreamy state of euphoria. She turned back, throwing the handful of diamonds and satin into the drawer. The pictures… The ones the client had left in the case. She felt weak, gripping the drawer for support. Tears spilled from her cheeks, wetting the matching satin panties. She’d wet her panties, again. She slammed the drawer shut. “I have to tell her.”
“No! You can’t!” Pete calmed himself. “Not yet, Snow. She’s not herself. She thinks Katrina’s dead. For real this time. Understand? Hey, where’s that damn phone? Where is it, Snow?”
Snow White…Katrina once called me her beautiful snow-white princess. “The iPhone? I don’t know. Maybe she took it.”
“Bullshit!” He inspected the pile on the floor—“Nice outfit”—then, Katrina’s clutch. Empty. He set the Prada on the table and picked up the service tray. “Where d
o you want it?”
“What more do you want from me?”
“That depends. I’ll just leave it here then. Don’t forget to dial five-five.”
She shouted in German. “Get the fuck out! Can’t you just leave us alone?”
Stepping to the door, he replied in same, “She’s not to be trusted, Miss Teufelmaus. Understand?”
She nodded. Natasha understood, better than most. Katrina GoodKnight wasn’t really missing, she was hiding. Hiding deep inside a false psyche of her own invention, one Dame Jane the GoodKnight of Sterling. The last time this happened, it took nearly four years for her to come out. While Pete and Mum worked to bring their Katrina-Jane out, KK and her father were each doing their best to make sure that Jane never came out again. Each had their reasons.
“Nice shoes.” The five-inch pumps looked familiar. He picked up his wife’s old stilettos and removed the wads of tissue, leaving them for his lovesick operative to blot her tearful memories. So anxious for her reunion, Natasha had left her condo without any heels when Kate picked her up yesterday. “See ya around, doll.”
Alone. She raced to the door, bolted it, then lunged for the table and her purse. The phone? Where’s the phone? I have to warn her.
Weak with despair, Katrina’s snow-white princess fell face-down onto the bed and cried into the pillow, “No! Not again. I betrayed my mistress again.” She felt sick. Sick and dirty—so dirty, but, so in love. Her eyes closed. The Teufelmaus surrendered to her darkness. Please, Mistress, take me…
The Ghosts of Blachmann Past
Arlington, Virginia, 10:08 local
The armored black Mercedes traveled at a steady pace in the direction of Reagan National Airport. The traffic was uncommonly light for mid morning on a work day.
“Catherine, dear, there are three dear souls I wish to visit before we begin our journey to New Hampshire. You don’t mind, do you, my dear?”
With a condescending voice, Catherine replied, “Whatever makes you happy, Grandma!”
The sun shone brightly as the car pulled into Arlington National Cemetery. Danielle stopped at the visitor’s entry, opened her door, and handed the guard her pass. Checking it against that day’s list of authorized vehicles, he flipped the sheet on his clipboard. Halfway down, he spotted their names. Black, Christi London. Black, Catherine. He looked in the open door as she popped the trunk.
A second soldier went around the car. Using a mirror, he inspected under the chassis. Next he checked the opened trunk. He closed the lid and said, “All clear.”
“Very good, miss. Please be respectful, and observe all signs. Proceed.”
“Thank you, corporal.” Danielle waved as she pulled forward through the gate. She glanced in the driver’s side mirror. The corporal was recording the vehicle information on his day sheet.
10:14 MB-S65 AMG / BLK D WZ-692 3 F
Danielle drove slowly onto the hallowed grounds. There were long lines of visitors waiting to get in. She yielded the right of way several times to the many small tour buses. This time of year was a busy one at Arlington. She took notice of the endless rows of simple graves. Each was marked with a small symbol of the nation’s respect for their sacrifice. The small Stars and Stripes were placed there every year by volunteers.
They passed the Kennedy Memorial. A short distance farther, the Mercedes turned off the paved road. The heavy black sedan left an impression as it crawled up a gravel path and parked. Well off the main road, the path led to a sloped grassy area.
Danielle opened the door. “We’re here, Mum. May I help you out?”
Miss Christi reached out, taking her hand, ready to be escorted to the grave sites. “Oh, thank you, my dear. Would you be a dear and assist me by carrying the other bouquets?”
“Certainly, Mum.” After helping her from the car, Danielle reached in the open passenger door and removed the two smaller bouquets and a small towel from the right front seat. “Lovely day for a visit?”
“Yes, dear, splendid.” Miss Christi smiled. She knew this place well. They both took a moment to take in the serene parklike setting. The morning sun warmed their faces. “Miss Catherine,” asked Miss Christi through the still-open rear door, “will you be accompanying us today?”
“Seen one grave, seen ’em all,” said Catherine with a sigh, showing no respect. Her eyes still glued to her iPhone, she stayed seated. “I’ll wait here.”
Does this brat have a heart? Danielle swung the door, hard. “I’m honored to do so, Miss Christi.” Reverence cradled her words.
“How do I look, dear? I want to look my best for my love today.”
“Smashing! Shall we, Mum?”
With the greatest of care, Danielle assisted Miss Christi as they made their way from the car onto the rain-softened lawn. Miss Christi held a bouquet of twenty-one long-stemmed, ruby red roses. The thick moist grass tried its best to snare their heels. They climbed the gentle slope to a secluded area harboring three gravestones. Miss Christi began to tear up, as they neared. Danielle placed the towel just in front of the center stone. She assisted as her mum kneeled before the gravestone.
Miss Christi kissed the bouquet before placing it before the headstone. She leaned forward, kissing the polished black granite, and whispered, “How have you been, my love?” then reached forward, hugging the stone. Slowly, she let go her dead lover and settled back, closing her eyes. A pleasant breeze swept passed, caressing her face as she shared her soul. My true love, I pray you will make this journey with us. I am in desperate need of your strength. Please help me to accomplish my assignment. Please, Sir Katherine, be my guardian once more. Please protect us on this journey, my true love. My passion still burns hot for you, my brave GoodKnight.
She reached out as if embracing her lover, kissing the warm stone once more. Their kiss lasted a long minute. She could still feel her lover’s passion on her lips as she leaned back and looked up to Danielle. “Oh, thank you, dear.” Taking the tissue being offered, she dabbed away the tears. “Good thing I went easy on the makeup this morning,” she said with a lighthearted tone.
“You’ve rescued me again, Miss Danielle.”
“Anytime, anywhere, Mum. May I assist you in regaining your legs?”
“Oh, please do, my dear, I’m weakened by the events that await us this day.”
“Very good, Mum.” Offering her free arm, Danielle helped Miss Christi to her feet.
“May I place these for you?”
“Would you, dear? I’ll be only a few minutes with Stephen.” Miss Christi moved to stand before the grave to the right of her departed lover’s. “I think our visit must be a short one today. We do have a train to catch. I hope you are keeping yourself well, my dear friend.”
Miss Christi added a short prayer and then moved to the third. The grave was her lover’s father, Colonel James Jack Black. He was killed in a plane crash on his way out of Germany. It was shortly before the outbreak of World War Two. The cause was believed to be sabotage. The culprits were never identified.
“I think it’s time, dear.”
They walked down the slippery green slope toward the car. Once again, Danielle’s sure arm escorted Miss Christi, making sure she didn’t succumb to the grass. Catherine was outside sitting on the fender, her back to them, head down. She was still waiting for a response to the WTFRU text. Just as they reached the car, Miss Christi caught sight of her son. He was jogging up the path toward them. His face looked pained, and he was out of breath.
“It’s wonderful. You managed to make it in spite of your situation.”
He shook his head yeah, and worked on catching his breath.
Catherine’s head popped up from the darkness to see if her mom was there too. She let it fall. Suddenly, she heard the clunk of woman’s shoes on the gravel. Mom. She wouldn’t look.
“Oh dear, isn’t this wonderful, Miss Catherine? Your parents have come to see us off! I had feared we might miss each other.”
“I knew they’d find a way to say
good-bye to you, Miss Christi,” said Danielle before turning her attention to Catherine. “Hey princess, your parents are here. You want to say good-bye?”
“Whatever.” She didn’t acknowledge her parents. Appearing much older than her fifteen years and eleven months, she slid off the hot fender and straightened. She gave her mom her best shot: a smirk, followed by the stare-down.
“Hi, Mom. Sorry we’re late.” Pete greeted his mom with a warm hug. “Have a good visit today?”
“Yes, dear. They’re all well. My Katherine is as lovely as ever.” They both started to tear up.
“I miss her too, Mom. Very much.”
Their son never knew his real father. Sir Katherine was like a father. She wore the pants in the Black family. Miss Christi had always let Sir Katherine do the dad things with little Dicky, as they affectionately called him. His real name wasn’t Pete Long. It was Dick, short for Richard—Richard James Black, the second. When he was a young boy, Miss Christi would always say, I do the mothering and Sir Katherine does the fathering. After all, every boy needs a role model.
“Yes, dear, I think we all do. They’ll always be right here.” Miss Christi smiled gently, as she placed her hand against their son’s heart. “Won’t they?”
Catherine was staring her mom down with the best F-U she could muster. Inside, she was very sad, still in denial that her parents were shipping her off. She refused to let them know her true feelings. She continued to hide behind her bitchy brat Cat attitude, and that Little Nikita wannabe costume. She did look good though—a little too good for almost sixteen.
Who is this beautiful bitch! What have you done with my little girl? “I see you still couldn’t find anything else to wear.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Danielle thought, might be better not to smile.
Her mom stared her down. God help me. I want to beat your tight little ass raw, right here, right now! “Did you pack a bag for tonight like I told you?” Keep smiling, you little— You’re making this less painful than I feared.
