by C. L. Black
The GoodKnight soon smelled the signs of death—bowels and bladder… Have to be certain. Subject’s neck—cool. Pulse—none. Eyes—black. The bitch is dead Jane. Wasting no additional time, Katrina placed the lover’s dish in Jacqueline’s lap. How lovely. Now the vile and syringe, in the dish. They departed immediately for the Jet Ranger waiting on the roof. The pawn had claimed her queen. It was now time to kill the evil monster.
Operation Kickoff
The Churchill estate, 9 June, 21:12 GMT
The Jet Ranger dropped in and set down on the front lawn. The sale to Krump Industries GmbH was completed earlier that day. Kate’s instructions were brief and crystal clear. Sir Goodwin was protected. The assignment was Karla. “Only Karla. Is that understood, Six and Nine?” First Jane, then Katrina nodded, Affirm.
Lucy opened the front door. “Welcome back Mistress Sterling.”
“Thanks love. Is Karla in?”
“Yes, Mum. She’s entertaining Sir Goody with the new doll.” Lucy gave a giggle.
“In the doll room, are they?”
“Yes, Mum, they’re expecting you.”
“Anyone else?”
“Yes, that naughty American and her security escort.”
“Agent Daniels?” asked Jane.
“Yes, Mum. I believe that’s her name.”
The blonde tiger removed her silk. Before Lucy could squeal, the Black KAT struck. Lucy’s right tit felt the full force of Sir Katherine’s left stiletto. Lucy lay stunned on the dirty rug, jiggling like a ten-stone, four-pound lump of spilled jelly. Katrina stepped close then lifted her boot. A twist of the heel’s cap freed its prick. The boot lowered, its exposed tip coming perilously close. Starting at her ankle, the pointed heel dragged a run in Lucy’s stocking, up the calf, then past the knee. A flick had the skirt up—over the waist. The stiletto advanced—to the stocking top, stripped the garters with a swift slice. Her treasure was covered in white Hush-Hush silk. Natasha—KK! She teased with, Lucy’s treasure. “Meow.”
Lucy came too with a coo. Then came the gasp. She realized it was “the boot.”
“Just in time, love.” The inner thigh should do.
“Please don’t. I—” Lucy felt the Black KATs prick. The jelly was stilled.
“Happy dreams.” Katrina capped the left heel.
Kate checked Lucy’s vitals. “She’s out. Let’s get your doll.” She led the way to the study. “Fuck!” The doll case was empty.
“I’m telling,” said Janie. Katrina’s time was running out.
“Sorry sweetie. Can you show Papa where the monster lives?”
No response.
Kate removed her Captain Schumacher mask. Her cover blown, she shed the rest of her padded pilot outfit. A second Black KAT emerged in skintight black latex.
“Boris?” Big Katrina was back—but for how long?
“Hey, baby. Where to? Where’d he use to take Janie?”
“This way, Papa.” Janie took Kate by the hand and led her over to the secret panel and felt for its catch.
Click… The panel squeaked.
Needs some lube, too. Violins… Music beckoned. Behind the stairwell was black. Far below was a dim glow. Katrina knew the way. Sir Goodwin had shown Janie once thinking she was drugged. She wasn’t. Kate followed with the large case. Down they went. At the foot of the stairs was a corridor. It went on and on.
The old metal door. Janie froze. Katrina didn’t. Sir Goody’s secret playroom… During WWII and for much of the Cold War, the soundproofed underground chamber had served as an off book MI6 secret interrogation center. The door had been left cracked. She peered through and purred, “Daniels is hooded and secured to the rack.”
“Good they bought it.” Kate reached into Katrina’s left boot. “Mind if I have the first dance?” The shaft of light illuminated the chrome stiletto.
Janie needed to see—the monster’s face. “He’s there, Papa.” The monster was the Primary. Karla’s head was masked in the same inflated black and red latex horn spiked hood. Karla and Sir Goodwin were well engaged in the debauchery of—bloody fuck. Katrina recognized the young doll’s body. Like Daniels, Petra’s head was encased in a well worn leather sensory deprivation hood. The same one Janie had been made to wear as a child. Petra and Daniels had no idea anyone else had joined the party. They entered just as the violins paused.
Kate said, “Come at a bad time, did we?” Sir Katherine’s KGB stiletto was shown prominent.
Katrina turned to Sir Goodwin and added, “Mum sends her warmest, as did Jack.”
Karla caught sight of the boots. The uppers were laced all the way up Katrina’s thighs. The twin gold shields and swords were on display. Their significance registered. This was a KGB revenge kill—and long overdue to boot.
Karla shouted something unintelligible in Russian then withdrew, wiping her greasy fist against Petra’s sore ass as she searched for a weapon—any weapon. Spotting a spreader bar, she grabbed it and swung. The silver heel filled her line of sight. The residual anal lube made her hand too slippery and numb to maintain a secure grip. Kate’s right boot easily deflected the bar before puncturing the inflated hood. Karla wretched in pain as her left eyeball exploded like a grape against the inside of the hood. A split second later, the monster’s latex horns had deflated—not a pretty sight. The monster went down, but not for the last time.
“Ouch!” said Katrina the GoodKnight, advancing to find Petra still astride, “Uncle Simon.” Her kill hand lifted, taking Petra by the wrist. Hot and clammy. Pulse—rapid. Nipples—stimulated—L699. “You bloody bastard!”
Petra appeared heavily drugged. She kept riding Sir Goodwin, who was still tickling her flat stomach. Katrina’s kill hand quickly found its mark and choked. Sir Goodwin gagged as more drool dripped past his ball gag. Payback’s a bitch. Katrina closed her eyes and listened. The London philharmonic was playing, Elgar's Violin Concerto in B minor. Eyes open—past the old hi-fi and the stack of old records—
Jane Sterling returned and saw her first love. Her one-armed rubber doll was alive and seated on the old leather sofa. Thirty years of repression fled. She recognized her long lost childhood playmate from the orphanage. Sarah… She let go of Sir Goodwin’s neck.
“I’ve waited two lifetimes for this.” Senator Winter got up and stepped into the light.
Katrina responded. “Us too. Sorry we kept missing each other.” She went to pacify Daniels, still bound to the rack and oblivious. “Not very sporting, is it love?” She gave the deaf, dumb and blind double agent a quick prick and got back to, the Game…
Sarah was already moving toward the case. “Did you bring it?”
“We did; and the extra batteries, as you requested.” Kate opened the Big-boy’s case.
“Good. Get the motherfucker ready.” Sarah wasn’t bitchy, just assertive.
Katrina and Kate pulled the Petra doll off, “Sir Wimpy.” Kate checked that his good hand was cuffed solidly to the chair. They lugged Petra, legs kicking, to the sofa and left her with a little prick of her own.
“Nighty-nights baby doll.” Katrina removed Petra’s isolation hood and gave her a GoodKnight kiss.
Kate turned back to— “Fuck!”
Katrina released from Petra’s soft lips to see—Sir Goodwin had sprouted a new leg and arm. He was standing, pants down, drawn and cocked; his old PPK—the muzzle flashed. He had fired, striking Kate in the chest. Katrina shouted, “Papa!”
“Katrina!” Kate went numb. She couldn’t believe it. She’d been shot by, “The Breed—”
Papa-Six was down.
Katrina charged. The dragon shot fire. A second round sizzled by so close it melted the rubber at her neck. The Black KAT kept coming. He pulled the trigger. Nothing… His old weapon wasn’t up to the task. The old relic of the Cold War had jammed. Stay calm girl. Katrina closed the short distance in a blur. Her left leg flew and so did the PPK. Papa’s GoodKnight had disarmed the Breeder with a single blow to the groin. After securing Sir Goodwin ove
r the spanking horse, she went to check on Kate. “Papa.”
Papa’s Return
Arlington National Cemetery Arlington, VA, Thursday, 11 June, 20:22 local
Dame Jane stood before Sir Katherine’s grave. Waiting for last light, she displayed the bottle of Old Pulteney. “I liberated this from the bastard’s study.” From her bag she produced two tumblers and poured to each a healthy measure. “Neat. I remembered; you like yours neat.” One glass of the ninety-two proof single malt sat atop Sir Katherine’s marker. “For you, Papa.” Dame Jane raised her own and began the toast. “To those who have fallen.” She drank it down then poured each another. “May their souls always hover above us, ever watchful—you’ve returned.”
Sir Katherine’s wounded soul stepped from her side and towards the setting sun to take her whisky in hand. They raised their glasses and together as one, continued, “Let the GoodKnights of Blachmann protect the innocent from all that is evil on this good earth.” They empted the bottle and laid it with themselves beside their parent’s graves. The darkness came and reclaimed its GoodKnight’s souls.
Miss Jane Sterling woke late the next morning, still alive. More surprising was where she woke up—room 869. Last night was another black hole. She sniffed the air. Rubber and vinyl. Both dolls are gone. She remembered nothing after, the grave… Katrina had laid herself to rest beside Sir Katherine. The GoodKnights of Blachmann had kept the promise each made to Papa a lifetime ago. The senator’s family secret was again protected and Jane Sterling had her life back. For how long was anyone’s guess. She glanced at the clock. I’m bloody late.
Too Bloody Late
The Town and Country, Friday 12 June, 13:05 local
Jane looked and felt like a million pounds sterling as she checked her watch. Too bloody late. She marched in. “Hey mate, what’s wrong? You look . . .” like shit.
Pete stayed focused on his newspaper. “You’re late, again.” He sounded gruff. He hadn’t slept or shaved in days and was still in search of that haircut. “Winter couldn’t wait. Healthcare reform.”
“You’re welcome. Something amiss?”
“Yah, you too.” He looked up from the Times and removed his readers, clearly taken aback by the new Jane. He regrouped. “Nice hair. Just sat down. Glad you’re back. So… how’d it go? What happened last night?”
“Flight back was a little bumpy. The rest is in the report. Let’s eat, I’m starved.” She dropped, Jane’s bag, and was on the move.
“Yeah, me too. Let’s…go!” Something wasn’t right. Katrina GoodKnight wasn’t as laid to rest as Jane Sterling thought and Pete had hoped. Following closely, he checked her out all the way to the rest room. They returned to find their server, Mary, pouring coffee. Pete kept a bead on Katrina’s kill hand—just in case. He was staring.
“What?”
“How long’s it been?” He couldn’t get the grin off.
“You know exactly.”
“Oh yah, I remember. Your girlfriend’s blade was stuck in my knee.”
“Said she was sorry.” Jane shrugged. “I’ll miss her.”
Pete’s face drained. “Yeah, me too. Shit happens.” He lifted his coffee and said, “Mom always told me, never startle a sleeping KAT.” He thought better and let it drop. “Want some toast with jam or something?”
KK… “No.”
“Want some cream for that?”
“No!” She lifted the very hot black coffee and gazed deep under its steamy ripples. “She got me fat, you know.”
“Look, Jane! We never meant for it to last this long.”
“You said two years, tops. Remember?”
“Yah I know. A little thing called Nine-eleven got in the way. I’m sorry—”
“Ten bloody years!” She tuned Uncle Pete out and dove into the naked reflection in the waves. She found herself some ten years back—The Paris apartment—a KGB safehouse. I was so bloody young. Waist was a good bit thinner. Hair longer. Blonder too—Ja, Boris’ favorite. My tits were firmer, my bloody arse tighter. Jane laughed. She couldn’t shake the Brit out. Hell, my bloody legs even seemed longer. It was still dark. Was it that night? She stepped out on to the balcony. It was nearly midnight. The city… just coming alive. The Eiffel… Boris stepped from the bedroom closed the door and let her robe fall. Only a nightmare baby. Naked but for Papa’s boots and… There’s still time. She shouted, “Don’t let them take my princess—”
“Jane?” Pete grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Our daughter is safe.”
Boris took my hand. Come back my “Mata Hari.” This must be our last time. “You promised Papa—”
“Hey Jane! You alright?” Pete squeezed harder.
“Wait my love—What?” She was back and dripping in—Papa… “Shit!” She pulled the sloppy cup of Papa—Boris touched her lips. She tasted bitter. She’d been burned by, “Boris.” She put the hot cup of Boris down for fear MH might burn herself. She looked at “Pete.” A storm was brewing. Something was very wrong. The man-eater wasn’t back in her repose.
Pete pretended not to notice Jane’s brief departure. “So, did you leave the rubber slut’s butch gagging for more last night?”
“More? Will you ever grow up?” Jane couldn’t remember last night or anything else since boarding the Blachmann Citation on Monday.
“Yeah, I’ll grow up, Cougar.” In a blink, Pete flipped, “When you come clean, Tiger!”
“Thought I did.” She placed the little brown bottle on the table. “Sam said every six and nine. She said it was for my doll. I assume since we’re both here, all went as planned?”
“That’s’ right.” He grabbed the bottle and choked down a mouthful. “Just testing.” He went on in a more pleasing tone. “That gas explosion?” He reloaded his coffee. “Your little bargirl’s place, last week?”
“Yeah?” She kept an eye on the bottle.
He shook his head. Na. “Your please-lick-me gift was a bomb.”
Long perfect nails clawed at the table. “Fuck you say?” Her colored words quickly drew the attention of several patrons—four of which were on Pete’s DSS payroll. What was her name? She could taste the vile coming up.
“Easy, Cougar.” Hands raised, Pete hoped she could keep it and her Tiger down. He continued in a lowered tone. “It wasn’t your fault. Lady Jack’s makeup gift was rigged to blow you all out of the sky. Hey, you took your meds, right?”
She choked the vile taste back down, nodded affirm. “I killed her?”
“Na. No one croaked, this time. Lucky for you Pretty Patty works for me. I put her on your naughty bargirl. The Nina doll was feeding you two the KAT-nip. Anyway, I had to play her; and you until I was sure you two weren’t faking the disassociation. Sorry. . . Jane?”
“Yeah, it’s me. How long was she loose?”
“Your BFF? About six months, give or take.”
“Due much damage, did she?”
Pete glanced at the newspaper. “Nothing the Council and old Uncle Pete can’t fix.” He tapped the photo. “You two made the front page.” Above it the headline read, Sir Goody Dead in Secret Sex Chamber. Details Too Shocking for Print. The story that followed gave several details including a lengthy description of the enormous powered dildo found lodged in his rectum, “still running.” Scotland Yard rules deaths accidental. The on-scene investigator was quoted, “Appears to have been a sadomasochistic sex orgy gone bollocks.” See related story on page six. “Hey Janie, what’s bollocks mean?” He flipped to page six.
Bollocks… Jane’s eyes closed.
Pete reviewed the related story.
Katrina was back in the secret underground chamber. Sir Katherine was at her side, standing before the real monster. Sir Katherine was bleeding from her chest. Take my blade, kitten. Fear gave way to anger as the chrome blade plunged deeper into the monster’s groin. Warm… The GoodKnight of Blachmann lifted its evil seed pod. I swung the blade. Blood… So much blood. I licked my lips. “Tastes sweet…” The blood of evil tasted sweet. The mon
ster’s lips moved. Please. “It said please.” The evil bastard wasn’t dead. “You didn’t say Simon says.” The blade slipped deep between its evil lips. Such a long tongue. “Sarah was powerless without my voice.”
“Was it as sweet as you two dreamed?”
Her eyes flickered. “Sweet?” She licked her lips. “Yes.” Especially sweet to slay the monster that helped breed Papa’s sweet kittens for such evil.
“Says here you marked him.”
“Yes, the traitor.” Yes Papa, I shall mark it. Blood—I need more blood. Sir Goody has blood. I went to him and stuck the blade deep. Once removed, I checked to see—Papa’s blade ran red. Now press it to the traitor’s forehead. All done—Karla’s like would know: To all that dare cross the KGB, beware for the GoodKnights of Blachmann will hunt you down.
I heard Sarah call out. We’re leaving. We found my Sir Katherine doll. We found your Natasha too. Right where you said she would be.
Katrina, let’s go. Shit baby! What did you do to him? I looked up to see Sir Katherine’s displeased eyes. “Uncle Simon wouldn’t shut up.” But, you promised Papa—
“Hey Jane, what’s bollocks mean?”
“What… Bollocks?” She looked Pete in the eye. “To mess up, spoil, ball up, to muck up. You know, like fucked up beyond all repair.”
His pocket buzzed. Pete finished his coffee and pulled out his trusty old Blackberry. “Council finished reviewing the After-Action. We still need to take care of something. Sorry, Jane, it’s protocol.”
