CHAPTER 1

 

Bryony Stone cast a cautious glance around the cafe as she placed a cigarette between her pink painted lips. Though there was no reason why anybody should be watching her, she could not relax. She was always nervous at the outset of a new mission.

A few moments later, a tall and well-built brunette slid into the seat beside her. Several buttons of her loose fitting denim shirt were undone, ensuring the eyes of practically every man in the cafe were drawn to her exceptionally large breasts.

"You never will learn the meaning of discretion, will you?" Bryony sighed, taking the cup of coffee she placed before her.

"I enjoy teasing the fuckers," Justine replied.

The contrast between the two women was striking. At fifty-two, Bryony presented a picture of haughty and well-studied elegance. Slender and naturally blonde, in a dark blue suit, white blouse and silk neck scarf, she could have easily passed as the mother of the twenty-six year old prickteaser sitting next to her.

At exactly three o'clock, the junior member of the team arrived. The twenty year old was small, but perfectly formed. Dressed in an ankle length black skirt and baggy white sweater, with her red hair tied up in a bun and a pair of gold rimmed spectacles framing her freckled face, Lydia appeared intent on looking as dowdy as possible.

"Carrie's late," grumbled Bryony, glancing at her watch. "I'd love it if just for once......."

"Here she comes now," interrupted Lydia.

The latecomer was a tall and slightly plump twenty-seven year old, with pageboy styled jet black hair and androgynously attractive features that were slightly marred by a white scar just below her right eye. She was dressed in her customary death black uniform of tee-shirt, leather jacket and denim Levis so tight they could have been sprayed to her athletically sculpted rear and strong, muscular thighs.

"Sorry I'm late," she panted, sliding into the seat opposite Justine. "Had some shopping to do and......."

Bryony held up her hand impatiently as she lit a fresh cigarette. "Never mind. You're here now, so let's get on with it. Without mentioning any names, we all know the reason for this meeting. The time has come to lance a particularly ugly boil on the backside of humanity."

"And I get to perform the surgery," grinned Carrie, cocking two fingers of her right hand like a gun.

"Not quite," Bryony replied. "We're taking this one to the house of pain, for the full VIP treatment. She looked at Justine. "I trust you have no objections to being the bait in our trap."

"For that piece of shit, it will be a pleasure," she replied. "When do we go for it?"

"Tonight. He has a nine o'clock appointment with a business acquaintance, in the Gregorian hotel. They're planning some kind of dodgy sounding operation. The acquaintance has to be at the airport for ten-thirty, so it won't be a long meeting. Scumbag probably plans on finishing the night in the casino, as usual."

"You've certainly been doing your homework, boss," said Carrie.

"I used to be a cop, remember," Bryony replied. "I've been eavesdropping on his mobile phone for the past few days. Ever since he walked from that courtroom, the bastard has been strutting like he's ten feet tall. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to cutting him down to size."

"Where do I come in?" asked Justine.

Leaning across the table, the older woman lowered her voice to a near whisper. "This is the plan."

 

Shortly after nine thirty that night, an eye-popping blonde exploded into the main bar of the hotel, shattering conversations in mid-flow and turning the heads of men and women alike. Justine permitted herself a tiny smile of self-satisfaction as she strutted towards the bar, balanced confidently on six inch stiletto heels. Eyes filled with either lust or envy followed her every step. For all that was concealed by her shiny pink rubber dress, she might as well have been naked. The fabric clung for dear life to the firm globes of her bottom and the throbbing nipples of her ample breasts seemed about to scorch holes through the scant front covering. On her way to the bar, she stole a sidelong glance at her quarry. He and his male companion were both ogling openly, but Justine pretended not to notice. If she looked as though she recognised him, it might arouse suspicion and scupper Bryony's carefully laid plans.

As she draped herself over a high chrome barstool, her rubber skin stretched over her ripe curves and protested accordingly. The bartender caught her eye, as though she were the only customer in the entire place.

Justine's disguise was near perfect. When the police started to search for Leonard, they would learn that he was last seen by dozens of witnesses, leaving the hotel bar in the company of a tall girl in a rubber dress, with huge tits and peroxide blonde hair reaching almost to her arse.

She ordered a drink and patiently bided her time. Whenever she stole an occasional glance at the grey suited figure of Leonard, in the mirror behind the bar, he was looking at her. Whatever business he was discussing with his companion, he obviously could not wait to get it completed, so that he could move in for the kill. The nakedness of his lust made her despise him even more. She could just imagine what he was thinking. How his palms must be sweating at the prospect of ripping off her dress. Justine knew that, in his eyes, she was begging for it. The whorish way she was dressed could lead a man such as him to no other possible conclusion.

It was all part of the plan, of course. She wanted him to think she was a slut in heat, ripe for the taking. Accustomed to having his way with women and considering himself an expert, he would naturally assume she found him irresistible.

Her glass was almost empty by the time the man with a plane to catch glanced at his watch and rose abruptly to his feet. Perfect timing! As they shook hands, he winked at Leonard and Justine distinctly heard him wish him luck. She hoped she looked relaxed, even though her insides were tense as wire. She wanted him to think he was taking her completely by surprise.

"Fancy another drink?"

She glanced up from her apparent reverie and studied the man who had appeared by her side, like a moth to a flame. Edwin Leonard looked more attractive in the flesh than he did on television and in the newspapers. He looked several years shy of his actual thirty-seven, with the clean shaven, chiselled good looks of a Hollywood idol. His neatly groomed hair was dark blonde, the slightly receding hairline merely adding character to his appearance. Had she not known who and what he was, Justine might well have been won over by him.

"Thanks, but I really ought to be going," she replied. "I've been stood up and it hasn't left me feeling very sociable."

"Stood up!" Leonard smiled, moving closer. "I find it hard to believe any man alive could be so stupid. Come on, one drink with me can't hurt. I might even be able to coax a smile back to that cover girl face."

Justine was not sure whether she wanted to laugh at him or hit him. She restrained herself from doing either. There would be time enough to make him suffer for his clichés. For the moment, she was on duty.

"Oh, why not?" she said, following a suitable pause. "I can feel sorry for myself later."

"That's the spirit," Leonard beamed, sliding onto an adjoining stool. "What would you like to drink?"

From that moment on, he was putty in her hands, though it appeared to be the other way around. One of the many tricks of her old trade was making a man feel special and in control, whilst he was actually little more than a pathetic, slavering slave. Before discovering her true vocation, Justine had spent five years fulfilling the fantasies of the male sex - a species she had considered inferior for as long as she could remember. At the age of twenty-four, she had retired from the whoring profession, financially secure, but painfully well versed in the psychology of men.

Even when he was talking to her, Leonard's eyes were rarely raised above the level of her cleavage. Justine did nothing to discourage him, appearing as though this was exactly the kind of attention she relished. He looked as if ten years worth of birthdays had come together. Another drink or two, and he would probably be unable to keep his hands to himself.

"So, Jennifer, what is it you do?" he demanded, once he had introduced himself and she had given her alias, making sure the bartender overheard.

"I'm in the movie business," she replied.

"An actress?"

She smiled. "In a manner of speaking. I'm what's known as an adult starlet."

"You're in blue movies!" he gasped, moving closer.

Justine almost laughed at the look that appeared on his face. He seemed in danger of coming in his pants. She had not been expecting much of a challenge, but this was almost too easy.

"Erotic entertainment is the term I prefer," she replied, beginning to enjoy herself. "The way I look at it, I've got what it takes, so why waste it? I hope you don't think that makes me some kind of tart."

"Christ, no!" he hastened to reassure her. "I admire you for what you're doing. It's an art form, isn't it?"

"That's exactly what it is," Justine said, sounding pleased. "You'd be surprised how ignorant a lot of men can be. They think that just because I take off my clothes and have sex in front of a camera for a living, I'm little better than a prostitute."

"Not all of us are sexist cavemen," Leonard grinned.

At that, she had to look momentarily away. Otherwise, she would have been unable to prevent herself from exploding with laughter.

"You look happier already," he observed. "Let's have another drink."

"Okay," she agreed. "But not here. My date might still put in an appearance and the last thing I want is a scene. Besides, this place is not exactly what you'd call lively."

"I know a few good places," he smiled, unable to resist squeezing her knee. "Let's go."

"I'm all yours," she purred.

As they walked across the car park at the rear of the hotel, Justine asked him to light her cigarette. He did not waste the opportunity to "accidentally" brush her right breast with the back of his hand as he held out his lighter. She caught his eye and smiled, filing away his uninvited touch as yet another act to be avenged. By any standards, he was hopelessly crude - a rapacious beast in the guise of an attentive gentleman.

He was so transfixed with her breasts and consumed by his own lust, he did not hear the figure in black approach from behind. The cigarette had been Justine's signal to her waiting companions. Leonard froze as cold steel touched the nape of his neck.

"Turn around and I'll blow your fucking brains out!" the woman in black hissed into his left ear.

"Better do as she says," Justine added. "That gun is real and she knows how to use it, believe me."

"What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

"What's going on is, you're going to walk slowly over to that van there and get in, like a good little boy," replied Justine. "That's all you need to know for now."

"What if I don't?"

"That's a very stupid question," the other woman responded, thrusting the pistol barrel against his neck.

Leonard had an impulse to make a run for it, but the determined tone of his assailant caused him to hastily reconsider. As he approached the waiting van, the headlights came on and the engine coughed into life. Justine pulled open the rear door and signalled for him to step inside.

"Tell me what this is all about," he pleaded. "If it's money you want.........."

The sentence ended in a strangled cry of pain as Justine slammed her right knee up into his crotch. As he doubled over, she pushed him into the darkened van. The woman in black leaped in after him, then she slammed the door shut. A moment later, the purple van was moving sedately out of the car park. There were no witnesses to the carefully orchestrated kidnapping. By the time the van reached the first set of traffic lights, Edwin Leonard had been knocked unconscious by a powerful sedative injection.