by C. L. Black
She snarled, “Right.” Prick…
“Sam mentioned bumping into you.” The ring’s gone. “Who was she? Have her termed too.”
Pete stared at the white strip on his ringless ring finger for too long, then muttered, “Don’t go there.”
Touchy… Always thought it was just a bloody cover.
Not that it mattered. Pete wasn’t this GoodKnight’s type. His wasn’t detachable. True, He could be a real prick at times. But mostly—he’d acted more like a big brother than my Cock-In-Arse case officer. That was fifteen years past. Who could stay in bloody love with one person that long? Miss Christi. . . Right. She was still in love with a dead woman? KK? Apparently she was in love too. Boris? Was Boris still in love with Jane? Ja. But Pete? He was never in bloody love. How could he? Boris once said something about him having a kid. Bloody hell. “Does she live with your ex?”
“Knock it off, Cougar! Listen up, Mistress Sterling. Right now I don’t trust you or your BFF! Ever since Dubai, you’ve been a total whack job. Mom ordered you to stay away from KK and the Brits; and what did you do? And I’ll bet you don’t even remember letting Miss Snow White fuck your brains out last week?”
She gave his crotch a glance to ensure honesty.
“Hey! Like you don’t know who she is, Miss Smith?”
“Know bloody what?” He’s lying. Nein. “What!”
“Drop the bullshit, Tiger!”
Natasha… She focused on, Jane’s boot. “Leave her the bloody hell out of it!”
“Come on, Janie. Do I look like a moron? Hey! Up here. Look at this me!”
Katrina GoodKnight sized him up—a bit longer than necessary. “Maybe a little. Your zipper’s down.”
“Huh?”
Someone more grownup had to take charge. Zip. It was over in a blink.
Pete cracked first—a smile. “Thanks. Glad to see you’re getting back to your old self.” He gave her knee a pat. “Mom said you just needed a break.”
“Smashing, thanks, mate.” She locked onto his pat hand, gripping it tight. Her claws extended.
“Hey! Knock it off.”
“Knock it off—I want to cut it off.”
Pete toned it down. “I’m just trying to tell you.” He paused. “Jane?”
Had that same suit on the other day. “In the flesh. Why?”
“Come on, you know why. She told you.”
“Told me what?”
“The girl in the photo; remember?”
Remember what? She searched the scruff for a clue. “You could do with a shave.”
“No shit—she has a daughter.”
“Rubbish!” Dame Jane turned away. “Past that.” Her words lacked conviction.
“Yah, sure. And I only grab my dick to pee!” His didn’t. He gave her a minute to collect herself then asked, “Why are you screwing with me?”
No response.
“Why?”
No response.
“Why should I trust either of you? You lied about the other night.”
Jane couldn’t remember the other night. Katrina didn’t respond. For the second time in their life, Katrina wanted her tiger to, grab his dick. Grab it, slice it off, along with those big bloody stones and shove the whole dripping lot of it right down his gagging throat. Nein! “Bloody hell!”
“Yah bloody whatever. And knock off the phony British bullshit.”
“Can’t.”
“She’s jailbait. We both know what always happens. And I won’t be able to get her, round, British ass out. Not this time kid. There isn’t going to be any al-Qaeda smokescreen to hide behind! Not this time kid. Katrina? It’s you, all grown up; isn’t it?
“Fuck you, Pete!” Her head shook. Affirm. “I’m not like that anymore.”
“Is that so?” He looked her dead in the eye. He kept looking. “Dame Jane?”
Fuck! The real Jane sat there, lucid but silent, unable to face up to the one man in this life that could help pull her two worlds back together. Uncle Pete had just confirmed her worst fear. Tiger69, Katrina the KAT, wasn’t dead. She was, K-I-D. Katrina-in-denial. Shut it! Dame Jane Sterling’s—entire existence was—a bloody lie. The GoodKnight of Sterling, Dame Jane couldn’t keep Katrina’s childish needs repressed forever. Someone needs her rubber doll. Uncle Pete has her. Make him—
“Yah, prove it. Look at me…Hey, Mata Hari!”
Katrina didn’t. Jane couldn’t.
“Sure. Listen up kid. I’m just saying—”
The rogue KAT reached for Jane’s left boot.
“Easy, Tiger. Christ Janie, can’t you see? They set you up.”
“Who!” The stiletto was in her kill hand. “What in the bloody hell is this really about?”
Pete thought Long, hard, and quick, before he answered, “Krump and, Boris, and the doll.”
“You bloody bastard!” Eight years of the KAT’s repressed anger exploded. Katrina pulled him down and lunged for his jugular. “You swore they were all dead!”
“Dead?” He thought he was a dead, Dickey. “Jane, don’t—”
“Well?” Her blade pressed into his. “I believed you! That’s why I went back in.”
“I lied.” He added that stupid little boy grin of his.
“Tell me, why…why I shouldn’t disgrace you right now?”
“Wow! That hurts. Come on, Janie? Do you really want to ruin Mom’s new interior?” He stroked the Roll’s pristine white leather. “Don’t you love the scent?”
She sniffed. She hadn’t seen that side of Uncle Pete since—bloody hell—he is telling the truth. The other day—Sir Goody’s. She couldn’t remember anything after seeing, “Jack! You piece of Cock-In-Arse shit! I trusted you.” Ja, once.
“First, I’m not CIA anymore. Second, I’d feel better without your BFF.” He flapped those puppy-dog blue eyes—“Please, Dame Jane”—and gave her some time to grow up.
The KGB chrome pressed. “Spill it, mate.”
He spewed, “I think your Sir Goody is also the Breeder.”
Bloody hell… Headmistress Jane Sterling ordered her stiletto doll back to the crib. “I’m bloody listening.” It was like someone had flipped a switch. Cougar73-S was solidly back, in charge, and this Jane was all business.
Pete sat back and recounted the events of their visit to the Churchill estate. He left out the part involving Lady Jack-Jacqueline. Why push his luck, he thought.
“Have you informed Mum or the Council?”
“Na, haven’t told anyone. Not yet. Except…Boris knows.”
“Continue, Peter.”
He took a much-needed breath. “She’s been covering your ass since Dubai.” A long pause ensued. Satisfied Jane’s Tiger was safely penned, he got back to facts. “Winter loved the audition.”
“Did she?”
“Yup. Oh yah, I meant to tell ya. She’s wicked impressed with your whip work. By the way, she loved the thing you made the stand-in do with the buckles.”
No response.
“Anyway, afterward, I hurried over to tell you she’s a go. But you already had Daniels on her knees. I didn’t send her. Honest. I waited next door and observed.”
“Right, that.”
“Don’t you ever get tired?”
I’m bloody spent. Could do with a real holiday. Maybe Nina—
“Anyway, I couldn’t wait forever. Promised the wife I’d meet her at Brooks Brothers.”
“The one on Connecticut?”
“Yah. Says the old tux is looking a little too snug.” Pete looked to his mid section and made a sad face. “Ended up getting a new one. Wait till you see it. Cost me twenty-five-hundred bucks! But that’s with the shoes, two shirts and, I even got one of those cool white dinner jackets.”
Wife… “Bloody hell!” You’re in bloody love too. How long have—
“Yah, I know; wicked James Bond.” He laughed. “That is what they wear to them royal things, right? The party? Sir Goody invited us; remember? …Na. Hey, do ya think this suit is too tight?”
“What?” You do have a bloody wife. All these years…“What the bloody else don’t I know, Peter?”
“Never mind. So, did ya crack the butch last night? I turned in early. Bunked in the Red Room with Sam. She said I snored.” He shrugged. “Sorry I missed round three. I was really beat. Hey, the new beds are wicked comfy. I think Sam misses you—her. How long’s it been?”
“You bloody well know, and we didn’t have enough time. She’s dirty. I’m bloody certain.”
Pete paused to reflect on, Nurse Nasty’s, relentless probing of the suspected agent, Daniels… He glanced at the new upholstery. “Look Jane, I really gut-a get back to town before this blows up. You sure, you’re sure about Daniels?”
Married? Who would bloody marry you?
“Listen up, Cougar. We can’t risk tipping our hand until we know their end game. So Mum’s the word. Mum. Understand?” He gripped the door handle. “Hey, I almost forgot. How was that steak?”
“What steak?”
“Served the way you like it? Cooked it myself ya know.”
“I don’t remember any bloody steak?” Flunitrazepam causes anterograde amnesia.
“Too bad. Do you remember anything? The flight back; or after I dropped you?”
“I remember, you snoring and—”must have stopped in the T and C. Nina… Natasha… “Just one drink mate. I swear! Took a warm shower and went to bed. Didn’t I?”
“Didn’t you?” Pete wiped the grin then popped the door. “Hey, I really got to go. Not you. Doctor’s orders. Don’t worry. Winter’s not expecting you two until tomorrow. Oh yah. She requested I tell, Mistress Sterling; make the motherfucker really beg for it this time. Her exact words—not mine. And show your BFF’s blade more too.” Pete got a chill.
Katrina stayed silent.
“And don’t be late! Stay out of that damn bar, will ya. No more playing with that Nina doll. And, no drinking! Anything! Understand?”
Jane nodded, affirm. Tell him. Katrina grabbed his jacket. “Wait!” Natasha. “What about Boris? She’s still alive? You’re sure, I mean, I didn’t—”
“You didn’t kill her or anyone else that night. Boris still has her claws out too. And she’s really pissed. So watch your backside, Mata Hari. Tuesday. Breakfast? Might have a new assignment for you two. Copy?”
“Check. O-nine hundred, sharp. Thanks, mate.”
Pete was out the door. His head popped back in. “Hey, Janie, give your selves a little holiday. You’re batteries need charging. Understand? Oh yah, one more thing. Do us both a really big favor, will ya? Ease up on the kid a little. That perfumed shit fucked her up enough, don’t you think, MH?”
Slam!
Uncle Pete, hugged Dani, goodbye, gave MH, one last look. He boarded the jet.
“Yeah, sure Pete.” MH… Her eyes slammed shut. What did you do? MH wasn’t talking.
Wet… Katrina reached for the door. Mata Hari—Jane stopped her KAT from splitting. She needed MH to remember, the assignment…
Tailspin!
2,000 meters over East Berlin, summer of love, 1990
Jane was strapped into the front of the two-place Russian stunt plane. Boris was teaching Mata Hari to fly. I was flying blind in a storm. “Tailspin!” Wasn’t sure which way was up. Looked over my shoulder. Katrina! Her hands were up, away from the controls. Panic overwhelmed. Katrina split. She always split when things looked bleak. “Katrina! Wait!” Jane found herself alone again. “Help Boris! Please.”
MH’s lover was blowing in her ear, “Calm down, kitten. Trust only the eyes. First verify your instruments. Trust only the instruments. Your instincts and other senses are easily fooled. Crosscheck your instruments, baby.”
She did. Inverted, nose low. In a left bank. Death-spiral.
“Good girl.”
What’s next?
Power back. Now roll out. A little more right rudder. Jane regained straight and level just above the tree tops. Boris growled in my ear, “That’s my girl.” Panic and emotions are for passengers and pussies. You’re Pilot-In-Command. Don’t ever forget it baby! Now act like it, and take us back home, “Mistress Sterling—
12:06 local
The roar was deafening as the jet started its takeoff roll. Danielle touched Jane’s arm.
“Say again?” Jane’s eyes flicked. “Boris.” I was—drugged.
“Mistress Sterling. Do you wish to drive or, shall I.”
“What? Yes, Miss Wright; that would be lovely.” Jane was a different woman. Softer. “Thanks. Please, sit with me.” She slid over, encouraging a timid, “Miss Wright,” into the backseat.
“Miss Jane owes—Correction; I owe you an apology, my dear.” She took Danielle in her arms and hugged her and whispered, “You may kiss Miss—kiss me, Dani; if you wish it so.”
She wished it, so, so badly. Their kiss was filled with unrestrained passion. Danielle knew that Mistress Sterling was indeed sorry. Her heart jumped then raced. She let loose her tongue. It drove deep into Jane’s wanted mouth. The kitten pulled her first love closer. She wished her Miss Jane had never left. She loved the way Miss Jane kissed her kitten—that night. She had always thought it was her fault when Miss Jane left for good the next day.
Their lips parted.
The GoodKnight tasted her Dani’s lips once more. “Still the best kitten I’ve ever had, Miss Wright.”
Danielle was blushing. “Bet you say that to all your dolls.” She sat back and crossed her arms, then huffed. “Miss Jane, why won’t she kiss me?” Your little princess, “She won’t. I don’t—”
“You’re not a doll. Why won’t you take her?”
“Because—I can’t! It’s not appropriate. She’s my kitten.”
“And were you not my kitten, once?”
“But that was, different.”
“No, love, it wasn’t. I took advantage of my position, and, I’ll do it again. Come here, Kitten First Class Wright.” The Cougar smiled slyly and pulled, the kitten, back in to taste the hot cherry and, strawberries, once more. “Ja, I was correct. Sweetest lips I ever tasted.” KK…
“But what if I…wet myself?”
Wet… “You must take that risk. In love, and war, one must take any risk. If it is true love; or, perhaps, is it you that desires to be taken?” Meow.
Both kittens surrendered to the rogue’s talented tongue and roaming paws.
“Yes, me thinks our sweet little Dani would like that; would she not?”
Lips burrowed deep under Mistress Sterling’s dark locks and breathed out Kitten First Class Wright’s secret love plan so that only her bad ear could hear.
“Right.” Katrina mauled the cuddly kitten then pulled Jane’s safety belt tight.
Mata Hari’s Holiday
Sunday afternoon
A somewhat more reconnected Jane Sterling had driven back with a more at-ease Miss Wright. After a light brunch of mostly fruit they showed off a few of Mata Hari’s old competition dives from the ten meter platform. Only Boris called me Mata Hari. Both KATs had competed in the 88 games in Seoul. She had missed qualifying for the 92 Summer Games in Barcelona by a bloody tenth. Boris wasn’t there. Why? Boris always took Katrina’s tiger away with the doll. The doll took Jane’s pain away that night too. Ja, I was there for an assignment. Katrina hadn’t stood with Jane on a ten meter platform in five years. Not since leaving for—the Jane Smith assignment. Going down was easy. Climbing back up those bloody-never-ending-stairs wasn’t.
Danielle outpaced them back up every time. Each did her best to get the kitten to try it too.
Catherine looked up, shook her head and shouted, “No Fucking Way!” then locked arms.
No bloody use. The pretender wouldn’t budge. They needed to devise another strategy. Tonight.
Each time they stood atop the concrete platform, Katrina looked down to find, the new kid, staring up at her in awe. Those bloody eyes. She saw someone long ago repressed. First, Sir Katherine, Then, Boris, and finally—their last night in Paris. Can�
�t be! Unsteadied, she reached out for the railing and, the sea. KK… Jane slammed Katrina’s eyes shut. You have to remember. Berlin. Tell me what happened in Berlin. The ice-cold fog shrouding their memories dissolved.
East Berlin… Ja.
That night: It was to be the Stiletto’s first assignment without training-wheels. Sir Katherine had been the architect. But she had been killed. The Breeder… He was the Primary. Krump’s Berlin candy shop was the means. Pete was the in. “Cougar-Seven-Three.” We were the bait. Thought we’d made it in okay. Ja. Wrong! We’d been drugged. Pete too. The Breeder-he was there. He sat in the shadows. Ja, with his two dolls—the little ones. They were just little girls—six and nine. Katrina spotted, the Secondary. There, on the bed. The boots—Sir Katherine’s boots, and—the blade… How did he get Papa’s boots and blade?
My wrists—bound and stretched high above my head. My ankles too, cuffed wide—a spreader bar. Could hear them, whispering. Two henchmen in black leather hoods. They handed each doll something. It was the drugs. The heels! The sick fuck is going to make me kill the dolls with Papa’s boots.
Katrina shouted, “Bullwinkle!” She wanted to run. Jane held her tight to the railing and helped her remember.
The Breeder laughed at you. The Black Hoods held you. His dolls uncuffed each ankle, fitted the boots. The Black Hoods moved you to the bed, bare but for the vinyl sheet. They bound you spread eagle with rope. He ordered the Black Hoods out. For some time, you—I watched as he played the game… Simon Says, with her—my dolls. He gave one, the taller doll, the KGB dagger. His words… What were his bloody words? Tell me!
“Simon says, be Papa’s good little Hushgirl. Go slice that nasty Black Kat’s skin off.”
Thanks, baby. I remember; the doll refused. He promised her more unspeakable harm. She wouldn’t. The boney one came near. She would. She was crying… She took hold of the blade and crawled atop my shiny black skin. I shouted “Bullwinkle!” This time louder, but Pete still didn’t come. The mother fucker laughed. Said little Dicky was busy coming in a different room.
