PLAYING FOR KEEPS
By
FLEXMAN
This story was
inspired by Blacknite13
excellent story “Turning The Tables.” In my humble option, it’s the best story he’s
ever written. It’s very creative because he thought outside the box and
redesigned Mr. X’s characters. I also
liked his main character detective Mick Stone.
My story is not as good as his, but I hope it entertains.
These characters, with the exception of Nick Powell,
belong to Nightwing 316. Brenda Wade belongs to Mr. X. This is a not for profit story. No one under the age of 18 should read
it. Send all comments to
Flexman3@hotmail.com.
My name is Nick Powell, I’m a private detective. I left the police force because there were
rumors I was on the take and keeping stolen items I recovered. All true, but I was never actually caught,
just suspected.
Now I work for crooks and mobsters, been involved in insider trading
and industrial spying, blackmail, as well as some major thefts and the fencing
of stolen merchandise.
I’m really a crook playing detective.
I’m in it for myself, but it has always paid off for me. On the surface, all I have to my name is this
three year old Ford Mustang and a bank account with a couple of thousand
dollars. I live in a rented apartment
and work out of a rented office. All
outward appearances say I’m just a two bit detective barely making a living but
that’s just window dressing. In reality
I’ve been very successful. I have two
million in an overseas numbered bank account, another four million in real
estate around the city, all under dummy corporations, and I also have a piece
of several successful businesses, mostly clubs, bars, motels and a used car
dealership. I’m doing very well, but no
one, including the IRS or the SEC, can trace it back to me. I figure in a few more years I’ll be able to
retire and live well overseas somewhere.
I’m only thirty-eight, still too young to retire, especially when I have
so much more money to make. You got to
admit, it’s a lot better then some honest cop retiring on a cheap pension.
I weigh two hundred and five pounds and I have been lifting weights
all my life. My bench maxes out at four
hundred and twenty pounds, my squat at
One year ago:
It was around ten at night and I was hanging out at the Regency Hotel
over on
Anyway, I was at the bar, nursing a Jack on the rocks, and waiting
for the college student to leave Ellen’s room. The bar was quiet, not too many
people hanging around. I noticed a couple at the other end of the bar. They
didn’t look legal, but the bartender carded them, which means they’re older
then they looked or they had some pretty good fake IDs. The guy was a stocky football player type
with broad shoulders and a thick neck.
He had blond hair, blue eyes and was dressed in a sports jacket,
matching slacks and a white shirt. The
girl was model thin with very generous breast.
She was also a blond with perfectly cut, shoulder length hair. Her skin was clear and she was very good
looking. You might say she was stunning. She was wearing a black cocktail dress that
accentuates her breasts nicely and showed off her great legs. It’s amazing what you can tell about people
just by watching their body language.
Take these two for example. He’s
been drinking and was horny. He had his
hands all over her. You can tell he’s
asking her to check in to a room for some fun and games. She was a different story. She only drank a little and she wasn’t
interested in going anywhere with him.
She kept repulsing his advances and everything about her body language
said NO! I’m not sure what line she was
using on him; the ‘I’m not that kind of girl’ or ‘I just want us to be friends’
routine. Either way, after several
minutes of wrestling, she had enough and walked out. He sat there for a minute. At first the look on his face was
disappointment, and then it quickly transitions to anger. He pulled his wallet out, threw a couple of
bucks on the bar and walked out. I’ve
seen this act before; he was going after her and it was going to turn
ugly. I paid my tab and walked out. I went outside to the parking lot and looked
around. They were at the far end and it
had started. He was all over her, his
body pinning her against a car, with his hands on her tits and between her
legs. She’s trying to push him away and
reason with him and wasn’t having any luck with either. She was trying to get away from him but she
was securely trapped between him and the car and now he’s trying to take her
dress off. I got closer to get a better
look.
OK, you’re probably wondering why I was just standing there watching
the whole thing and not doing anything about it. Let me tell you something, if you were to
take a survey among cops, asking them what kind of call they hate the most, I
bet the overwhelming choice would be domestic disturbance. Why? Because you never know how the victim is
going to react. You can arrive at the
address; witness the husband beating the living crap out of his wife, pull him
off and go to arrest him and end up getting hit in the back with a frying pan
by the wife. The hubby may be kicking
the shit out of her, but he’s still her man and she will not tolerate anyone
hurting him. A lot times the wife won’t
even press charges. It’s stupid, I know.
This is a similar situation, if I’d move in and rescued her; there is a
good chance she might sided with him.
She’ll tell the cops she and her boyfriend were just talking and I
happen along and beat him up for no reason.
That’s what happen to an off duty patrolman who got in to a similar
situation while I was on the job. He
almost got kicked off the force. If that
happens to me here I could lose my license.
So, I waited. What was I waiting
for? For a look of
fear in her eyes. I’m waiting for
the exact moment when she realizes she is not in control of the situation and
something very bad was going to happen to her.
At the moment, all she was doing was trying to push him away and reason
with him. She was acting like this was all some big misunderstanding and all
she had to do is convince him she’s not interested and he’d back off, apologize
and go away. You might say she was in a
sort of denial. It took another three
minutes before I saw it, but there it was.
It went fast from just plain garden variety fear to the beginnings of stark
terror. Then, I went in. I walked up to him from behind and nailed him
with a perfect shot to the kidneys. His
head goes back, bad look of pain on his face.
I grabbed his hair with my left hand, pulled him off of her and hit him
hard in the solar plexus, knocking the air out of him. I then slammed him face
down across the hood of a car and lock his arms behind him. I cuff him and while still holding him face
down on the car hood, I pull out my cell phone and flipped it open. Before I call it in I looked at her. She was shaking, breathing fast, skin is
flushed. She was also sobbing. Her eyes were wet and red.
“I’m calling the cops,” I told her.
“They’ll be here in about two minutes.
Are you going to be able to make a statement?”
She looked at me for a second and then started shaking her head. “No cops,” she said. “Please let him go. No cops,” she repeated.
“Why not?
He tried to rape you and I’m a witness.
If you don’t report him, he might do it to someone else.”
She began sobbing louder.
“Please, my mother doesn’t know I’m here. If she finds out, she’ll lock me in and I’ll
never be able to go out again. Please no cops.”
There was no point in arguing, like I said, I’ve seen this act
before. She was too worried about what
mommy will think and she was also anxious to get this over with and put it
behind her. If I had let the twept rape her she might be more incline to do it or I
would have forensic evidence to use, but the fact was he didn’t rape her so all
she wanted was for it to end. I put away
my cell phone, took out my Glock and flipped him
around, so I was facing him. He was
still in pain and disoriented. I shoved
the business end of my Glock in his mouth. Now the look of stark terror was on his
face. Having a gun shoved in your mouth
will do that.
“Listen up Loverboy,” I said. “Today is your lucky day. If the lady had decided to press charges,
you’d be going away to a bad place where bad men with massive muscles and lots
of tattoos would flip cards to see who will be the first one to shove their
cock in your mouth and which one will be the first to stick up your ass. They
would be also deciding who gets to call you his bitch, but I guess you caught
the lady in a good mood. Here’s what’s
going to happen, you are going to run, not walk, but run home. You are never going to talk about this and
you are never going to go near this nice lady again. If you do, you will see me again and they
will never find your body. Do you
understand?”
That’s the moment I smelled it; the unmistakable aroma of urine. I looked down and saw a puddle forming by his
right leg and a wetness stain running along the inside of his pants leg.
“Do you understand?” He just
looked at me with that fear on his face.
“Nod your head stupid.”
He did. I again turned him over hard, uncuffed him and threw him to
on the ground. He laid there for a
minute, then looked back up at me, not sure what to do. I smiled at him. “You still here?”
That did it. He got up fast
and took off sprinting. The man was
fast. I put away my cuffs and holstered
my gun. The girl was still shaking and
sobbing. I walked over to her, picked up
her purse and handed it to her.
“You should go home. I’ll call
you a cab.”
“No, not yet,” she whispered.
“I don’t feel well.”
She was right; she looked like she needed to calm down.
“So what’s your name?” I asked
her.
“Tiffany,” she answered.
“Tiffany what?”
“Tiffany Chaste.”
“So how old are you, really?”
“Eighteen,” she answered. I took her back in to the hotel and she
disappeared in to the lady’s room for almost fifteen minutes. When she came out she looked better. She had fixed herself up. I took her back in to the bar and ordered her
coffee. Ten minutes later I saw Ellen
Stanton’s college boyfriend walk out of the lobby. Ten minutes after that my buddy showed up
with my copy of the hotel surveillance tape.
He gave me the tape and I gave him two one hundred dollar bills. We shook hands. I went back to the girl. “OK, I’ll drive you home.”
We went out to the parking lot and got in to my Mustang.
“Where to?” I asked her. She gave me the address. I started the car and drove out of the
parking lot. We rode in silence for a few minutes and then she started talking
again. “I forgot; I didn’t thank you for
saving me. You’re not a cop. If you were you would have arrested
Pete. So what are you?”
“Private,” I said.
“Like on TV?”
I laughed. “Yeah, something
like that.”
“Well, thank you.”
We continued to ride in silence until I noticed something.
“Tiffany, what kind of car does Pete drive?”
“A Miata,
why?”
“Anyone else interested in you?”
“No, why?”
“Don’t look. We’re being followed.”
She almost looked, but caught herself. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
It was a brown four door Toyota Camry.
“All right listen, there’s a Chinese restaurant up ahead. I’m going to park in the lot and go
inside. You stay in the car and wait for
me. OK?”
“Should I be worried?”
“No, don’t worry about it. I
just want to see who it is. Keep the
windows up and the doors locked.”
I turned in to the parking lot and parked near the entrance. I again assured Tiffany not to worry and made
sure the car was locked up. I went in
and straight to the back of the store.
This restaurant has two entrances, one in front that I came in and one
in the back. I went out the back and
went around the building. I edged a look
around the corner and saw the Camry. It
had also entered the parking lot and was now waiting. The driver was staring at my car. He was so focused I was able to get closer,
close enough to see who it was.
Ok, I know him. His name is
Stan Donner, he use to be a cop. I never worked with him but we were both out
of the One Nine precinct a few years ago.
He was working plain clothes vice and he was not very good; too lazy,
always trying to get by. His arrest record was garbage. Eventually, it was
suggested to him that maybe he should consider another line of work. He resigned.
I heard he got his license and now works private for some agency.
I walked up to the passenger side and knocked on the window. He turned and looked at me. He looked surprised.
“Let me in,” I said. He
hesitated for a second and then released the door lock. I sat next to him and
shut the door.
“I thought that was you, Powell.”
Donner was in his mid-forties, soft in the
middle, thinning brown hair, brown eyes and a protruding forehead.
“So, why you following me Stan?”
“I can’t tell you, you know that, client confidentiality.”
“Someone is paying you to follow me?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.
It’s not you.”
“The girl?”
“There’s no one else in your car, is there? By the way, that was a very nice thing you
did, helping the girl out like that.
That guy looked awful big.”
“Oh yeah? And where were you while the girl was
getting molested?”
“I was there; you just got to him first. So, why didn’t you call it in?”
“Girl didn’t want me to.”
“Yeah, I know how that is. The
feminist always scream about the cops not doing enough and when we do, they
never want to testify. You took a chance. Not reporting a crime can get your license
pulled.”
I looked at him and smiled. He
was not too bright. “So, I take it you
reported it?”
He froze for a second, not saying anything. “Well no.
I didn’t think that would have been a good idea.”
“Why’s that?”
He shrugged. “It’s just that
the guy’s name is Pete Kendrick. He’s
father is a big wheel in the financial district. He’s rich, real rich.”
“I see. So if you report him
you’d have to testify at his trial. The old
man hires a big time criminal lawyer to defend his kid and your illustrious
record on the job will come out. Things
you don’t want the agency you work for to find out about.”
He didn’t say anything. “You
know your out on a limb, don’t you?” I continued. “You have to write up a report about your
surveillance tonight. How are you going
to explain you not reporting an attempted rape incident?”
“I was going to leave the incident out of my report. It hasn’t been reported, so who’s to know.”
“Yeah, you might be right, but if the girl changes her mind and
decides to start talking you’re going to have a big problem.”
“Shit! I didn’t think of that. You think she’ll talk?”
“She’s eighteen; you never know what they’ll do at that age. I could talk to her, at the moment I’m her
hero, so I do have some influence, but before I put myself out there I want to
know what I’m getting in to. I need to
know who your client is.”
He hesitated, going over it in his mind. Finally, “It’s the girl’s mother.”
“The girl’s mother hired you to follow her? What is it, she doesn’t trust her daughter?”
“Don’t you know who the girl is?”
“She said her name is Tiffany Chaste.”
“That’s right and her mother’s name is
“The lawyer?
I didn’t make the connection.
What’s she worried about? Someone
will kidnap her daughter?”
“I doubt it. My instructions
has never been to look out for that, just to report what the girl does; who she
hangs out with, if she’s getting in to any trouble, things like that. I get the impression she’s the overprotective
type.”
“Why, does the girl have a history of getting in to trouble?”
“No, just the opposite; she never gets in to any trouble. Tonight’s the most interesting thing that
ever happened to her. The mother always keeps
her on a tight leash. Like I said, she’s
the overprotective type. Sometimes I feel sorry for the girl, she never has any
fun.”
“Do you believe this shit!” Tiffany
screamed. Donner
and I agreed that he would leave the attempted rape out of his report. I got back to my car and told Tiffany that
her mom was having her followed. She was
not happy. “That bitch is having me
followed. Do you believe this shit!” She repeated.
“I live like a fucking prisoner.
She never let’s me do anything, I might as well be in prison. I’m fucking eighteen years old and I’ve never
done anything. It’s pathetic.”
“I don’t get it. You’re
eighteen, if it bothers you so much, why don’t you move out?”
That stopped her cold. She
went silent for a minute and then she quietly said, “It’s not that
simple…..It’s complicated.”
I smiled. “In other words,
mommy controls the money and you don’t feel like getting a job. What’s the matter, waiting on tables or
stacking shelves not your thing?”
“I start college in the fall. If she doesn’t pay I don’t go. No unskilled labor job paying minimum wage is
going to cover that.”
“So stop bitching and put up with it.
If you want to go to college putting up with mommy is the price
tag.” That shut her up. We rode in silence for while. She looked like she was deep in thought. Then she turns and looks at me; like she’s
looking me over; sizing me up. We get to
her block and I stop.
“Not yet,” she says. “Drive
around awhile.”
“Why?”
“I need to talk to you. I have
a proposition to make to you.” I stare
at her. She smiles. “A business proposition.” I didn’t move. “Trust me; you’re going to want to hear what
I have to say. Just drive around the
neighborhood, if you’re not interest you can come back and drop me off.”
It was probably a waste of time, but what the hell, you never
know. I stepped on the gas and we drove
past her house. I got a mile away before
she started talking again.
“I’ve been thinking; you’re right about what you said. If I want my mother to pay for college I have
to put up with her, but that doesn’t mean the situation can’t be improved. I call my allowance gum money because that’s
about all I can afford to buy with it.
If I can get more money from her my situation would improve
dramatically. Problem is she’s not
willing to give me more. She’s says I’m
not mature enough to handle more money.”
“So what’s that have to do with me?”
“What if I told you my mother has a secret?”
“Everybody has a secret, Tiffany.
That’s how I maintain the high standard of living I’ve grown accustom
to. Being a lawyer, your mother probably
has more then most.”
“This is a big secret, that she’ll pay big time to keep it quiet and
it has nothing to do with her law practice.
You handle the blackmail, charge her a monthly fee for your silence and
we split it fifty, fifty. Deal?”
I was dubious. She didn’t
strike me as the devious type. “It all
depends on what you have.”
She hesitated for a minute.
“My mother is one of those costume heroines. The one they call Puritan.”
I almost hit the breaks. I
stared at her. Is she serious? “How do you know this?”
“A couple of months ago I was looking in her closet and I found her
costume. I recognized it, yellow cape,
purple body suit, boots, mask and a wig. The costume disappeared the next day
and I didn’t say anything, but two weeks ago I saw it again, only this time, it
was a different costume, a body suit, no cape, but still the same wig. I looked it up on the web, Puritan changed
her look. The new costume again
disappeared the next day.”
“Not to ask a stupid question, but how do you know your mother wasn’t
going to a costume party or likes to pay dress up with her boyfriend?”
“My mother doesn’t have a boyfriend.
I don’t think she even dates, least I never seen her. I’ve never even met my father; she always
told me he died after I was born. I
always got the feeling she was bullshitting me. Besides, my mother has always
had a strange schedule. Two or sometimes
three times a week she comes home to check on me and then she leaves and
doesn’t come back until late in the morning.
I think that’s when she plays heroine.”
It sounded to me like she was looking for something that wasn’t
there.
“There are a lot of possible explanations for that having nothing to
do with your mother getting dressed up in a mask and going off to fight crime.”
“Does that mean you’re not interested?” she asked.
“Have you told anyone else about this?”
“No, only you.”
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
“I think I should explain something to you. There’s this guy who calls himself Master
Blaster.”
“Stupid name.”
“I agree, but he’s a big man in this town; controls all the rackets
and has about a hundred guns working for him, so he can call himself anything
he wants. He has it in for these masked
vigilantes; he’s offered a million dollars to anyone who gives him Solar
Woman’s secret identity. For some of the
other heroines, like Ebony Avenger or Puritan, it’s only half a million. That’s still a lot of money.”
“Hey, I don’t want to get my mother killed, I just want to get some
more money from her.”
“He wouldn’t kill her; he’d turn her in to one of his hookers. After he and all his men fucked the hell out
of her, he’d turn her over to one of his pimps and put her out on the street or
in to one of his many whorehouses.”
“I don’t think I’d like that either.”
“I know you wouldn’t because you’d be right there next to her turning
tricks. To control her, Master would
have to use the person your mother cares most about, you. I figure he would have you kidnapped
too. So you’d lose your house, all your
mother’s assets, she wouldn’t be a lawyer anymore and you won’t be going to college. You’d both be sucking stranger’s cocks all
night for the rest of you’re lives. All the money you make goes to the pimp and
you’d be virtual slaves.”
She looked scared again. “Why
are you telling me this?”
“So that you understand when I tell you not to repeat this to anyone.
Not you’re best friend, not your boyfriend, no one. I’m not going to turn her in but anyone else
might have a tough time resisting half a million dollars. You might think your best friend could be
trusted, but maybe her father is having business problems and needs money or
maybe her father took off and left her and mommy with nothing, or maybe there’s
no money for her to go to college. A
person in that situation might find a shot at half a million bucks too tempting
to pass up. So unless you are anxious to
join the world’s oldest profession, don’t ever repeat what you just told me to
anyone. I don’t care how well or how long you’ve known them. Understand?”
She slowly nodded. “When’s the
next day your mother usually takes off for the night?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“All right,” I continued. “I’ll
look in to it. Give me a couple of weeks
to check it out. If you’re right, then
you have a deal. We’ll split the take
half and half.”
She smiled at me and looked real happy. If she was right, I’d have a bigger reason to
be happy then she would, because I had bigger plans then just tapping her
mother for money.
The next day I worked the Ellen Stanton case. I presented Ellen with the evidence against
her. She was scared, her whole world was
tumbling down, she’d play ball. No
matter how she tried to refuse, she had no choice and she knew it. She agreed to get me the specs for the new
MP3 player.
The following day I set about tailing Victoria Chaste. I hope I wasn’t just wasting my time. There are only two right ways to follow a
vehicle. The first requires a team. Multiple cars constantly changing position to
make sure she never saw the same car behind her more then once. You could also have cars paralleling her on
the streets to either side ready to pick her up in case she turns. All cars are in constant radio communications
with one another, coordinating the whole show.
This was not an option for me because I usually work alone. I didn’t want to bring in help because it
would cost me and I wasn’t sure this wasn’t a waste of time. That left method numbers two; plant a
tracking bug on her car. This was a
little tricky, because you have to keep the right distance from her. The bug told you where she was and which
direction she was driving, so you didn’t have to keep her in sight. The problem is if you get too far behind her
and she decides to park the car and walk, by the time to close the distance she
could be out of sight and you lost her.
In this case keeping the right distance is as much an art as it is a
science.
I got the make, model and license plate of Chaste’s
car from a friend at the DMV. Partners
at Chaste’s law firm have designated parking space,
so I had no trouble finding her car.
According to Tiffany, mommy would leave work today at five. I planted and activated the bug about fifteen
minutes before five. It had a battery
life of about thirty hours. Promptly at
five, Chaste left work and drove home. She
got there at five-thirty. An hour later
she got back in her car and pulled out of her parking lot, I followed. The game is on, or in the immortal word of
the patron saint of all private dicks, Sherlock Holmes, “The game is afoot,
Watson.”
I tailed her for almost thirty minutes. We were heading for the docks area. She pulled in to a parking structure on
She walked for about a block and I saw her go in to this nondescript
brick building that took up half the block.
I took down the address and looked over the building; two entrances on
opposite streets, a garage door in the middle, very few windows and they were all
painted over. There were no signs or
anything to indicate what this building was used for or who occupied it. It would be so much easier if there was a
great big sign that said Heroine Secret Headquarters. This was going to be the worst part of the
detective business, the stake out. In
other words, I was going to have to wait, but wait for what? I had to admit, this was an odd situation. What was she doing here? I couldn’t come up
with a reasonable explanation. There was
an alley direct across the street, opposite the garage door. I made sure it had no residents, like
homeless winos or junkies and decided to wait it out in there. It was dark and it gave me excellent cover. I
was lucky: I didn’t have to wait very long, only about twenty five minutes
before I hit it big. The garage door
opened and out she came, Puritan. I
studied pictures of her on the web last night and there she was in her new
costume, the one without the cape, tearing out of the garage in a sleek,
tricked up motorcycle. I had my infrared
camera and snapped some pictures of her and she rode down the street. That was not all. Right behind her, in a sleek, blue sports
convertible car, two masked women came out and turned in the opposite direction
then the one Puritan went. I snapped
pictures of them as well. The driver had
blond, shoulder length hair; the passenger had shorter brown hair and looked
younger. They both wore capes which
flapped in the wind. I didn’t just study Puritan last night; I also looked up
the rest of the Dusk To Dawn Group. I
knew Solar Woman and her partner Comet Girl do not wear capes. The only other costumed heroines that operate
as a pair in
I couldn’t believe it, Tiffany was right. I hit the big casino. Deep down I always felt this was some
teenager’s wishful thinking to get back at her mother for being too strict. Well, she got her back big time. I waited for another hour, no more heroines
came out. So what now? How do I play it? I staked out the place for
the rest of the night. Puritan came back
a little after four in the morning. The
other two returned about fifteen minutes later.
I, of course snapped pictures. After about twenty minutes, they came
out. Victoria Chaste and the other two
came out in civilian clothes, with no masks or wig and headed for the parking
structure. I snapped close up shots of
their faces. I then followed them from a
good distance. I wanted to get the
license plate of the car the two other women were using. No such luck, the other two women had a cab
waiting for them by the entrance to the parking structure. They made their goodbyes with Chaste, even
kissed affectionately, got in to the cab and drove off. No way to get to my car and out on the street
to follow before they were out of sight.
The next morning I popped the disk in the computer and printed up
pictures of Chaste and the two other women.
I didn’t recognize the other two women, no idea who they were other then
they are Ms. Confederate and Southern Girl.
Maybe I’ll have better luck tonight.
Yes, I did; big time. I got
there about seven and set up my stake out. They arrived together at around
seven-thirty; four women; three white, one black. Two of the women looked to be in their early
thirties and the other two in their late teens, early twenties. Naturally, I zoomed
my camera in close and snapped shots of their faces. Twenty minutes later the garage door opened
and a blue sports car came out. Solar
Woman was driving and Comet Girl was right next to her. A motorcycle came out right behind them,
Ebony Avenger was on it. I waited for
the forth woman to come out. The garage
door closed and no one else came out.
Fortunately, from where I was I had a good view of the building. I spotted her standing on the roof wearing a
cape and holding something in her hand that glowed. For a second it looked like she was jumping
off, but she flew instead. Now there’s
something you don’t see everyday. I had
two observations, aside that I had seen Solar Woman and Ebony Avenger without
their masks. First; both of the older
women looked familiar; I definitely seen them somewhere before. At the moment I
couldn’t remember where but I only looked for about a minute while I took their
pictures. Second; Comet Girl is blond,
none of the four women I photographed were, of the two younger women, one had
long red hair and the other had short dark brown, so that means at least one of
them is wearing a wig. Next morning I
processed the photo and had a better look.
I was shocked. Jessica Armstrong,
the mayor, is Solar Woman and Moira Jones, the newsgirl on TV, is the Ebony
Avenger. This was getting better and
better.
The third night of the stake out yielded more goodies. Jessica Armstrong and the younger girls with
the short brown hair were back. Two
different women were with them. One was
an oriental woman in her early twenties; the other was a blond woman in her
early thirties. The blond also looked
familiar as I snapped my pictures. From
there the routine was the same. The
garage door opened and out comes Solar Woman and Comet Girl in their blue
sports car convertible. Behind in a
slick green cycle is the Green Hornette and from the roof a figure flies’s
off. The only thing out of the ordinary
is the woman on the roof looked very different than the woman who went in, more
full bodied and much more gigantic tits. Next morning I remembered who she
is. Her name is Samantha Smart, one of
the richest women in
“That’s my aunt, Lyn, she’s my mother sister,” Tiffany
explained. “Her full name is Ashlyn Hamilton.”
I showed her the next picture.
“That’s my cousin,
“I’ve been following your mother and photographing the people she
meets,” I answered.
“Oh well, they’re just family.”
“Yeah, so I guess it’s nothing.
How about this one, recognize her?”
She smiled. “It’s still
nothing, that’s my other cousin Chloe.”
Is she Lyn’s daughter too?”
Her smile grew larger. “No, and I’m surprise you don’t know who she
is, you being an ex-cop.”
“Why?”
“Her full name is Chloe Hamilton, she’s the
police commissioner’s daughter.”
“No shit.” That was
unexpected. The way Commissioner
Hamilton always railed against these vigilantes, he’d probably have kittens if
he found out his baby girl was one of them.
Of course, I wonder what he’d think if he found out the mayor and the
top news girl were both heroines too. I
had to wonder about Tiffany. Her mother,
aunt and both cousins were heroines and she didn’t have a clue, least not until
finding her mother’s costume. I showed Tiffany the pictures of the red head and
the oriental woman, but she had no idea who they were.
“So, is my mother Puritan?”
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Cool, so when does the blackmailing start?”
“I’ll approach her next week.”
“Great,” she beamed. “Let’s
see how she likes being put under a microscope all the time.”
I identified the two remaining heroines by the end of the week. I manage to get the license plate of the
Green Hornette’s civilian car and run it with my
contact in the DMV. Turns out she’s a
cop named Midori Lee. The red head
didn’t own a car. One night Jessica
Armstrong gave her and Chloe Hamilton a lift home. She dropped the red head off at some low rent
apartment building. The next day I
showed the fat little toad of a super of her building her picture and for
twenty buck he told me her name is Isabelle Casta. I
then found out she just a waitress at some cheap dinner; not very impressive.
So the plan is set. I had no intention of screwing Tiffany out of
what we agreed on. I plan to give her
half of any money Victoria Chaste pays me.
What she didn’t know was her mother wasn’t the only one I was going to
hit on and it wasn’t only money that I wanted.
I selected four of them; Jessica Armstrong, Moira Jones, Samantha Smart,
and of course, Victoria Chaste. I picked
them because they had the most money.
Armstrong inherited a ton of it from her father, Chaste and Jones had
very high paying careers and, as I said, Smart was head of Smart Industries,
making her one of the richest women in city.
The others were not worth the effort. Chloe was still in high school,
Lee had only been a cop for a little over a year and was at the bottom of the
pay scale, besides, I’d never blackmail a cop, I use to be one and the loyalty
is still there. Any money Ashlyn Hamilton paid would eventually involve her husband
finding out and that’s a headache I didn’t need. Casta
didn’t have any money; she was just a wage slave who lived paycheck to
paycheck. She’d be better off being a
bad guy. As the Mystique Maiden, with
her power, she could get rich and there wasn’t a thing anyone could do to stop
her. What a loser.
The rest of the week went well.
Ellen Stanton came through with a copy of the specs for Wade Industries’
new MP3 player. The agent for the
European company examined them and pronounced them the real thing. Two hundred thousand was transferred in to my
account in the Caymans and I turned the plans over to them. Everyone’s happy.
I prepared three sealed packets of the photographs and all other
material I gathered on the Dusk To Dawn Group.
I turned them over to three different lawyers that I knew were reputable
and that I never did business with before. There would be no way to trace them
to me. Their instructions were if I
didn’t contact them in twenty day they were to mail the packets unopened to a
certain address. The address belonged to
Master Blaster. I kept another set of
photographs for myself. I needed it for
demonstration purposes. I then made
appointments to see Mayor Jessica Armstrong, Moira Jones, Samantha Smart and
Victoria Chaste at their private offices.
One Year Later:
The two dealers moved from the
corner where they operated in to the alley.
They were counting the cash before they split it and called it a
night. The smoke bombs exploded around
them. In quick time they were enveloped
in smoke, choking and coughing their guts out.
The smoke cleared but their throats didn’t as the coughing
continued. She chose that moment to
attack. Neither man, gagging, was able
to defend themselves. Ebony Avenger took
out the first one with a series of hard kicks, one to the gut, the second to
his face. He went down quickly. The second man tried to turn away, but she
nailed him with a series of combination to his head and a kick to the side of
his knee, sending him to the ground next to his partner. Ebony Avenger quickly searched them; no drugs
on them. Dam! They all ready sold off
their stash for the night, so they had nothing on them. That meant she couldn’t bust them. She did take all their money, no way these
two bastards should be allowed to profit from the selling of their poison. She kicked them both in the balls. That bought them around. She stomped her foot on the face of one of
dealers.
“Listen up scumbags,” she
announced. “I’m watching this
corner. If I see either of you two
selling your poison again I’ll bust you and tell Master Blaster that tonight’s
take is mine now. See how he likes
getting that bit of news when he asks you where his cut is.”
She disappeared as quickly as she
appeared, like smoke. She made it back
to her cycle. Speaking of bastards, she
thought, as she checked her time piece, it was almost that time. She felt excited and hated herself for
it. She mounted her cycle and took off
at high speed.
The motel was across town on the
outskirts. Despite its location, it did
good business, mostly from hookers and their johns. It galled her to have to come to a place like
this. It made her feel like a hooker,
but in a sense that’s exactly what she was to him, a free hooker, or better
yet, a hooker that paid him. The room
was in the back. She parked her cycle in the dark corner and activated the
security system. She opened the
compartment and took the large white envelope.
For a minute she thought about putting the money she took from those
pushers in there, but it was pointless, he frequently came out after it was
over and searched her cycle, just to show her he could and there was nothing
she could do about it. It was the same
when he came around to her condo. He
went through her draws and closets and looked over her things. He made her have sex with him on her bed and
made her take showers and baths with him in her bathroom. He would sit at her dinning room table and
make her crawl naked underneath and suck his cock. It was all about power. He wanted her to know he was in control of
her life and she could deny him nothing.
She walked up to the door of the
corner room, it was unlocked. She walked
in and locked the door behind her. The
room was dark, but the small light on the side table came on, providing only small
illumination to the room. He stood in
the corner leaning against the wall. He
wore a gray tee shirt that showed off his powerful upper body, jeans and
sneakers. His gun was holstered to his
belt. For a minute she felt angry enough
to kick him in the face, but knew that would be foolish, not just because of
the photos and information he had to blackmail her, but because it wouldn’t
work. He wasn’t like the assholes she
usually fought on the street, he knew how to fight. She had once seen him take out a couple of
thugs and frankly, she wasn’t sure she could beat him in a fight. Instead she mumbled that word bastard again,
which only amused him. She showed him
the envelope, which contained her monthly payment, and dropped it on the
dresser. She then showed him the money
she took from the dealers and dropped it on top of the envelope.
“You had a good night,” Powell
commented.
“Its drug money,” she answered. “I wouldn’t want to soil myself by using
it. I imagine you have no such problem.”
He smiled again and shrugged. “Money is money. It’s only a tool; in itself it has no moral
significance.”
“Not to you perhaps.”
“You’re wasting time, strip bitch.”
It was so strange. She hated when he disrespected her like that,
but at the same time it got her so excited.
She could not help herself. She
took her wrist bands off first, then her gloves. Her top came off next, letting her massive
tits tumble free. They impressed him,
she could tell the way he looked at her.
For reasons she could not understand that pleased her a lot. She sat on
the bed and removed her boots, stood up and unzipped her shorts and removed
them and her thong. She removed her mask
last, just the way he liked it.
She stood there, his eyes going up
and down taking in her naked body. He
looked like he really appreciated her.
It was funny, they’ve been meeting once a week for a year, sometimes
more, when he insisted she go away with him for the weekend, and he still
looked at her like it was the first time.
She hated him, but strangely, found him gazing at her so sweet. It made her feel so beautiful. Then came the part she’d been thinking about
all day; he took his clothes off. First
he removed the holster from his belt and put it down on the bedside table. Then
the tee shirt came off, showing off that delicious upper body. He’s big, but not big like some over ripe
bodybuilder on steroid and oh so hard, like steel and, of course, those abs; those
flat, ridged, hard abs, which gave her all those wet dreams. She wanted to put her hands on them so
desperately. He removed his sneakers,
socks, jeans and underwear. Now she
couldn’t take her eyes off his massive cock, all ready beginning to inflate. He
walked around the bed and up to her.
They stood close, facing each other.
He put his hands on her waist; she instinctively wrapped her arms around
his wide back. Her breast squeezed
against his deep chest, his cock teasing her wet pussy. They kissed, dueling tongues, alternately
dancing in each others mouths. Moira Jones
felt warmth engulfed her body; a feeling of contentment she had rarely ever
known. After several minutes of standing
there kissing, he swept her off her feet without breaking his kiss, walked her
to the bed and laid her on it. He got on
top of her and skillfully massaged and manipulated her fat tits while
continuing to kiss her.
“Mmmpphhh!” Moira moaned while she kissed Powell full
tongue and enjoyed his expert handling of her sensitive tits. She could feel them throb and swell as her
nipples grew hard as stones now. He
moved from kissing her mouth to running his tongue down her neck and on her
ears. Moira let out a gasp when she suddenly felt his other hand on her
crotch. He knew how to manipulate that
even better then he knew how to handle her tits; his finger always touched the
magic places that sent waves of pleasure pulsing through out her body. This time was no exception. His fingers were all ready inside her wet pussy
expertly manipulating her, making her hotter and wetter. In no time she was squealing with complete
abandonment. Her first orgasm hit her
suddenly. “AAAAAHHHHHH!”
He didn’t let up; continuing his
assault on her body. He began sucking
and squeezing her swollen tits. Her clit was also very swollen and his fingers
found their way around to it too and it drove her crazy with lust and pleasure.
She couldn’t stop cooing. “Oh, yes,
yes!” she kept repeating. Her hands were buried in his hair.
“Fuck me all ready,” she
pleaded. “Please, fuck the hell out of
me!”
“How bad do you want it, bitch?”
She knew what he wanted and, as
terrible as it sounded, she actually enjoyed giving it to him. She couldn’t understand why begging for it
got her so hot. “I want it so bad. I’m
your cock slut, your private fuck toy. I need your cock meat in me so bad,
please, I’m begging you, please fuck me.”
Powell withdrew his fingers from her
pussy and lifted her legs straight up; she liked this position with her feet up
in the air. Powell placed the head of
his thick cock on her pussy and slowly inserted it until it was all the way in
to the hilt.
“Oh yes, yes, yes! It so thick,
yes!” she cried with delight. She bought
his face down to hers and they kissed long and hard. Powell began to pump away hard with the long
strokes he knew she loved, going as deep as he could. When they finally broke the kiss he moved
down to her tits. He sucked, chew and
gently bite her tits. It drove her even
crazier with lust as she arched her back pushing her tits in his face.
“AAAAAHHHHH!” she screamed. She began to grunt as Powell rode her hard,
just the way she needed.
“What are you?” He asked her.
“I’m a fucking whore,” she
answered. “A cock
loving slut. Ah, harder, harder!
I need to be fucked, I need it!”
“OH! OH! OH! AAAAAAWWWWW!” she
screamed louder as the second orgasm of the night hit her.
“You all done?” Powell asked as he
kept pumping away. “No!” she
yelled. “I need more, please. I’m a cheap worthless fucking whore. I’m only
good for fucking, so fuck me!”
Powell continued at a frenetic
pace. Her next orgasm hit a couple of
minutes later and it was earth shattering.
She almost went out of her mind, as this time Powell shot his load of
hot cum in her. Then she passed out.
She woke up a few minutes later. He was lying on his back; she was lying next
to him, her head resting on his chest, her leg over his leg. Again she experienced that feeling of warmth
and complete contentment. She held him in
utter contempt. He was an unscrupulous
blackmailer and who knows what else, but he bought her such pleasure and made
her feel so good. She found herself
thinking about him constantly throughout her day. She constantly longed for his touch. He was
strong, so powerful. She hated when she debasing herself, calling herself a
whore and slut to give him a thrill, but found it turned her on and made the
sex so much more intense, she couldn’t stop if she tried. She knew she wasn’t done for the night,
without being ordered to; Moira gently kissed his face and moved down to his
crotch. He cock had to be cleaned, so
she proceeded to give his a blowjob the way she knew he liked it.
She had another orgasm when they
showered together. They got dress. As she looked in the mirror, adjusting her
mask, she wanted to know if they’d be together this weekend but didn’t dare
ask, anymore then she could ask him when would be their next time. He didn’t mention it. He put her envelope in his jacket pocket and
stuffed the pushers’ cash in his jeans pocket.
He smiled at her.
“So long Bimbo,” he said.
“Fuck off,” she answered. That made him laugh. She left the room first and head for her
cycle. He walked to his mustang. She
drove out of the parking lot first; he was right behind her, turning in the
opposite direction.
She didn’t know what she could do
about him. If he gave his stuff to the
press or to Master Blaster, her life as she knew it, was over. What was worse, she wasn’t sure if she really
wanted to do anything about him. She was
disappointed he hadn’t ordered her to go away with him this weekend.
TO BE CONTINUED