The crowd of sweating humanity seemed to part and the sexiest girl he had ever seen glided on through. It was girl who’d been on the balcony with ‘J-‘, her hips and shoulders swaying in time to the beat. Those denim thigh high hooker boots clad a pair of killer legs and the short and skimpy skirt the girl wore was a pixie affair of numerous short strips of lacy material that sat on her hips, only half covering her cheeks. The girl’s loose crop-top draped over barely covered breasts that moved wonderfully in time to her dance steps. The rich flowing mane of auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders and down to the visible cleft between her buttocks.
Heavy guys from the crews tried talking to her, and gang pussy snarled threats on recognising competition they could not match, but she ignored them as if they didn’t exist. In the strobing lights Jubi did not recognise the girl he had seen for only a few minutes in the car park two days before, even when she was stood just two feet away, apparently unaware he was staring up with lustful eyes. On the previous occasion she could have been striding along the catwalk of a Paris fashion house. Tonight her attire would be more suited to a porn star convention.
Svetlana had been up on the balcony, all which remained of the 1930’s cinemas upper circle before its conversion, in order to both blend in and identify Jubi before dangling herself as bait. She had to admit that the reaction she got from the guys and the less than hetero girls was a bit of a turn on for her. A big black guy draped in too much gold had offered her a week’s supply of crack to perform an act with him and the girl on his arm which was illegal in many countries. She had made out with them, kissed them both lingeringly on the mouth and allowed their hands free reign beneath her top and skirt for several moments before shaking her head and dancing clear of their clutches, laughing to herself and feeling quite good.
Earlier, as she had dressed with the Pussycat Dolls on MTV in the background her thoughts had been on her Controller. It had been a long time since anyone had made her ovaries twang the way they did when he looked at her. Several outfits had been tried and then discarded. She had decided that she still looked too elegant and on discarding a white leather micro mini she had next tried a tiny Highland kilt before settling on the pixie skirt. With one eye on the mirror she had danced out some moves in perfect step with the girls on the screen. Whilst still gyrating to the music she had undone the side strings securing the G-string she wore beneath the skirt and let it tumble down to her ankles. Kicking it into a corner of the room she had performed a pirouette that exposed her nakedness from the hips down, before nodding to herself critically. Perfect, the exact look she had been seeking, ‘Complete-and-utter-slut-with-a-dash-of-chic’! That should do the trick she’d decided, heading for the door and pulling on a full-length greatcoat. She had been honest enough with herself to realise it was the major with the grey eyes flecked with green who she wished to tempt, rather than the thief.
Dancing close to Jubi now, feeling his eyes on her she executed a little twirl that left nothing to his imagination before returning his stare. Jubi could not believe what he was seeing, the girl was naked except for hooker boots, top, a wispy excuse of a skirt and she was speaking to him.
“Hi.”
He swallowed, trying to think of a cool response but all that came out was.
“Er… hi.”
She smiled, looking him up and down and pausing when she reached his crotch with its fairly obvious bulge. She licked her lips, equally obviously.
“You want me to blow that, or ride it?”
“What?”
“For a rock… you want a blow job or do you want to do me against the wall?” she nodded her head back towards the fire exit door across the room behind her
“I’ve got a rubber.” When he did not immediately reply she rolled her eyes as if making a concession.
“Okay, okay… both then.” And with a glance over her shoulder at him to ensure he got the message Svetlana headed for the fire exit to the rear alley, posterior rolling suggestively. Teenage hormones propelled Jubi off the floor and into her wake. He lost sight of her in the crowd and was panicking until he saw the exit door ajar. Stepping out into the night he blinked and held out an outstretched arm in front as his eyes were not adjusted to the dark of the alley. Looking to his left he could see the lights from the street, but she wasn’t silhouetted in its light so he went right, cursing as he trod on broken glass from a recently smashed security light. After a moment or two his eyes began to adjust but two wheelie bins partly obscured his view down that end of the alley. Doubt filtered through to his brain, what if this was a trap to relieve him of his rocks, or another dealer thinning out the competition. Spying a broken beer bottle beside the nearer bin, Jubi picked it up by the neck. If it were a trap he would be ready and if the girl was just prick-teasing him for a free rock of crack, then it would serve as a persuader too. At that point Svetlana offered an audible incentive and Jubi heard soft sighs of female pleasure. Warily he moved further away from the safety of the door. Peering deeper into the gloom his eyes began to slowly adjust, and then he saw her beside a car and already on her knees, her eyes closed and lips parted with one hand under her top, the other tucked between the fine net strips of the skirt and apparently busy between her legs. In six strides Jubi was with her, trousers undone and erection pointing the way ahead. In four strides Constantine was with him, coming out of a crouch from behind the bin furthest from the fire door and pressing a stun gun into the side of the youth’s neck. Jubi dropped in his tracks.
“Would you please put your coat on,” Constantine asked her, and she smiled as she retrieved the long coat from through the cars open window. Constantine chuckled.
“You should join the Mounties”; Svetlana paused before replying “Why?” injecting a dose of Valium into Jubi.
Constantine knelt and lifted the unconscious body up and over in a fireman’s carry.
“You always get your man”. The girl opened the boot. All Constantine could see of her in the shadow of the boot lid was her outline against the lighter brick wall behind.
“No, not yet… but I’m working on him, sir”.
Alicia O’Connor entered her apartment with two FBI agents in tow. She had spent all morning and the best part of the afternoon in their offices at 9797 Aero Drive. Thoroughly puzzled as to what the hell was going on. She had repeated, several times, her job in Moscow. Named the people she had worked for, given the address of the building where she had been working, she had even had to point it out on a map of the city. No she hadn’t seen any Chinese. No, no names had been mentioned as to who the backers were.
After four hours’ of getting very bored with the sound of her own voice repeating itself they had sat her in front of a computer screen. All she was shown were pictures of men and women, no names for any of them. Some of the pictures were obviously scanned from newspapers and magazines; the remainder were passport or identity photos and some obviously covert in origin. She tried to read the characters of the people on the screen, to fathom some clue as to why she was being grilled, if nothing else. After an hour this palled and the faces started to take on a uniformly bland appearance. Then a group shot of what appeared to be Chinese and Russian diplomats, stood beside Red Square for a cheesy publicity snap. Behind this group, glancing out in an idly curious sort of way from the back seat of a Zil limo was one of the two ‘silent partners’ of the enterprise who had hired her. One of the agents asked her why she was so certain,