The International Assassin: A Sexy Times Crime Thriller

by Asher, Adele

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Johnny AKA Roy told me to do it.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He was setting me up to steal my money. You were just his convenient sidekick. I’m sorry.”

  “Who is he? Johnny?”

  “His name is Roy. He’s an electrician from Luton. He’s either a very clever conman or he’s someone we have all underestimated.”

  “Why would he do this?”

  “Greed? I don’t know…anyway I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about it when I killed him but you cared about him. God knows why but that is love for you. I know better now what it’s like to lose something you love. What I did wasn’t right.”

  “Okay,” nodded Charlotte.

  “Go home Charlotte. Marry someone dull, live in Surrey and have children.”

  I got out the car and followed Nick down to the main arrivals terminal car rental desks.

  “Do you think she’ll talk?” Nick asked me.

  I shook my head.

  “No. Nobody would believe her anyway. If you told me this story I wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Truth is stranger than fiction.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Truth is stranger than fiction.”

  “I didn’t mean literally say it again.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “Which part of training did sarcastic comedy come under?”

  “Interpersonal skills.”

  “Were they expecting you to do a lot of undercover work at a Blackpool panto theatre?”

  “You’d be surprised the amount of treason that goes on between pantomime horses.”

  We arrived at the car rental desk. Nick handed over a reference.

  “I have a special collection,” he told the clerk.

  “One moment Sir,” the clerk responded. He returned with an envelope marked with a diplomatic seal. “Here you go Sir. It’s parked for you in our preferred gold card holder enclosure directly in front of the terminal building.”

  “Thanks,” replied Nick as he took the package before leading me away.

  “You might want to take out a collision damage waiver the way this trip is going,” I said.

  As we walked across the arrivals hall Nick stopped in his tracks.

  “Well would you believe it…”

  Nick gestured to the centre of the arrivals hall where Roy was scurrying across the foyer.

  “That’s a stroke of luck. Let’s grab him,” I suggested.

  “It’s a little public,” replied Nick.

  Before we had a chance to react I noticed Charlotte running across from the car park exit in the direction of the flight desks. Roy spotted her, intercepted her and grabbed her arm.

  “Oh you dumb bitch! She clearly didn’t understand the concept of wait in the car,” I said to Nick shaking my head at Charlotte’s stupidity.

  We watched as Roy and Charlotte had a disagreement. Charlotte was crying as Roy grabbed her arm to prevent her walking away, they noticed us and I gave a wave. Roy looked around suspicious he was in a trap then he noticed the large group of smartly dressed Russians arriving. Nick shook his head.

  “Here we go…” he said nodding at the Russians approaching Roy. “Anatoly is here.”

  “Which one?” I asked.

  “Large fat guy in the middle with the dark glasses and camel coat.”

  “Of course. How could I not spot the family resemblance with Vladimir. Fat and ugly.”

  Anatoly and the Russians walked across to meet Roy and Charlotte. Roy immediately pointed in our direction.

  “I think that’s our cue to leave,” I told Nick.

  “I think so too,” replied Nick as Anatoly sent four of the Russian goons in our direction.

  “Shame. I was hoping to pick up some duty free.”

  “Let’s get to the car.”

  Nick grabbed my arm and we hurried across to the VIP gold card rental car park outside the front. Nick ripped open the package and took out the keys to a Mercedes, which didn’t narrow it down much since there was an entire line of C and E classes parked in the rental lot. As we approached the line Nick pressed the alarm button and a grey E63 AMG’s indicators chirped. We dashed over to it. Nick pressed the remote boot release but as we approached the car he realised the boot was already full of containers probably loaded with replacement tools of destruction. He opened the back door and dropped the bags on the back seat.

  “You better drive,” he told me throwing me the keys. I got in pressed the red starter button and fired up the raucous AMG tuned V8.

  Nick went round to the boot and broke open the cachet container and took out a short-barrel M4 carbine fitted with a suppressor. He turned around and fired a warning line of bullets at the feet of the Russians. They stopped on their heels put their hands up and started backing away. Nick closed the boot as he passed it and jumped in the passenger seat. I slammed the box into reverse pulled out and drove away as Nick sat admiring his new toy.

  “Hmm upgrades,” I told him admiring his fully special forces kitted M4.

  “They must be serious about this shit. We usually don’t get these,” he replied stroking his new killer pet.

  I made my way to the airport exit and headed north out the city while Nick fiddled with the sat-nav to program it for Luxembourg.

  “What about Roy and Anatoly?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. They’ll follow us I can assure you of that.”

  “I didn’t even get to go shopping,” I said sulking.

  “We can stop in Munich en-route. They have enough boutiques to keep even you happy,” Nick replied.

  “Sounds like a plan. At least we can afford to stay in a decent hotel now.”

  The Mercedes provided by Nick’s employers had diplomatic plates that meant we could utilise the outrageous five hundred horsepower V8 to its full advantage with impunity. Cruising at one hundred and twenty miles per hour made light work of the journey north to the German border. Once we crossed into Bavaria and got onto the de-restricted autobahn I gave it the full beans - averaging one hundred and eighty between the trucks was entertaining although devastating on the fuel economy with the needle dropping faster than the miles racked up.

  Our lightning speed even with the delay of two fuel stops was enough to give us a sizeable distance lead over the much slower Russian - who would be pursuing us with dogged determination since we now had all the money.

  We reached Munich in the early evening. The shops stayed open late during weeknights so I drove straight to the prestigious boutique lined Maximillianstrasse and parked the car in a space right outside Gucci.

  “Come on. It’s time we bought you a decent wardrobe as well,” I told Nick as he woke up from his cat-nap.

  I extracted enough cash from our four million stashed in the boot to buy out the entire store then set forth on some long overdue and much needed retail therapy. Nick was much less enthusiastic about our shopping trip but suffered it in silence.

  After days being shot at, blown up and chased by Russian hoodlums sometimes a girl needs some me time.

  “What do you think?” I asked him as I modelled a lovely black cocktail dress from the autumn/winter collection paired with matching four-inch heels.

  “It’s nice,” replied Nick.

  “What do you mean ‘It’s nice’?”

  “I mean it’s not shit.”

  “I know it’s nice. It’s Gucci. Gucci is nice. What I am asking is how does it look on me?”

  “You look lovely.”

  “I don’t want to look lovely.”

  “What do you want to look like then?”

  “Sexy. Feminine. Appealing.”

  “You always look that.”

  “So how does it look?”

  “You look sexy, feminine and appealing.”

  “You are just saying that because I told you to say that. I want your opinion.”

  “Ok. It makes me want to take
you to an expensive hotel and rip it off, pull your thong and bra off with my teeth then fuck you hard doggy style until my dick hurts and come all over your tits,” replied Nick in a surprising and somewhat graphic admission of his personal sexual fantasies towards me which I duly noted in my mental diary for later action.

  “Hardly romantic. But close enough. Although I wouldn’t suggest a fashion editorial job at Vogue will figure highly in your future career plans,” I replied.

  I picked up three more dresses from the rail and held them up against myself.

  “So if this one is pick-up slutty which of these is marriage-material?” I asked him with an alluring smile.

  “The one you like the most so we can leave and go to the bar.” he replied unhelpfully.

  “That’s not the answer I was looking for.”

  I took the dresses and tried them all on. Sensing he was getting bored I summoned the personal shopper.

  “Can you go and get him measured up for a suit or something?”

  “Certainly madam.” she gestured at the menswear assistant to come over.

  “Would Sir like to come this way and we can take your measurements?”

  Nick got up reluctantly, he put his head around the changing room curtain and took out his Beretta and handed it to me.

  “You better put this in your bag. I don’t want to explain it.”

  “That’s why you always need a woman. We have handbags to hide your gun in.”

  I kissed him and discretely hid it in my handbag already bulging with Euro notes. If they searched it then they would think we had just robbed a bank. Which technically we had albeit indirectly using Roy and discounting the fact it was my money in the first place. I finished trying the dresses on and satisfied I had depleted Gucci of everything I could possibly buy in my size I ventured into the menswear department where a tailor was busy adjusting a very nice black two piece suit on Nick.

  “So how do I look?” he asked.

  “Sexy, masculine and appealing.”

  “How do I really look?”

  “It makes me want to take you to a hotel, rip it off, have you fuck me silly over a table then come all over my tits.”

  “Close enough,” replied Nick shrugging his shoulders at the embarrassed tailor.

  We finished up at Gucci and took a whirlwind trip through Dolce & Gabbana for some suitable party clothes. Sensing Nick was now thoroughly bored I dragged him into the underwear section where suddenly his interest in my retail trip perked up considerably.

  “I thought this might get your attention,” I said coyly as I held up a matching skimpy black lace push-up bra and thong for his approval.

  I have long since concluded mans fascination with lingerie stems from their earliest experiences of the female form masturbating over the underwear section of their mothers Grattan catalogue. I indulged Nick’s every lingerie fantasy and we left with enough bedroom wardrobe choices for me to carve out an exceptional career as a lap dancer or high-class hooker.

  With the car now fully loaded with expensive boutique bags we headed over to the nearby luxurious Mandarin Oriental and checked into the best suite they had. I ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon on arrival with the clear intention of getting absolutely smashed to mark the end of my abusive period of fiscal destitution.

  Lying soaking in the large luxury double bath with a glass of Champagne I gave Nick a shoulder massage since he was still suffering from the car accident.

  “You’re all tense and stiff. You need to relax,” I said as I plied him with champagne to make the point.

  “I’ll relax when Anatoly is in a body-bag.”

  “Shush. No talking about business. I want a night off.”

  “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

  “Well, we are in a beautiful five star hotel in romantic Munich. We’ve been shopping, we have Champagne and a nice evening of dinner and drinking ahead.”

  “So what do you want to talk about?”

  “Well I would say it was the perfect opportunity for you to romance me and show me what a terribly charming gentleman you can be when you aren’t killing people.”

  “You do have a tendency to kill people as well.”

  “Yes, but that’s just for fun.”

  “Okay. You want romance…” Nick looked thoughtful.

  “Close your eyes.” I told him. Nick closed his eyes. “Now take a deep breath and clear your mind of all that spy shit, lies and murder. Breathe slowly.”

  “Okay…”

  “Now imagine we are alone on a tropical island, all you can hear is the trade-winds in the palm trees and the sea crashing on the shore.” I felt Nick start to relax. “And we’re lying in a hammock together under the trees, swinging gently in the breeze…” I told him softly as I gently massaged his muscles feeling them loosen up kissing his ear seductively. “…I love you Nick.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Why do you love me?”

  “I love the way you bite your lip when you’re nervous. I love the way your eyes light up like diamonds when you are excited. I love your smile, the way your entire face glows and radiates with happiness. I love the smell of your hair and feeling you squeeze my hand when I’m falling asleep…” he said.

  “You see? It’s not difficult,” I said kissing him.

  “Most of all I like the fact you’ve got four million in cold hard cash and D cup tits,” he said and smiled.

  “Cheeky bastard,” I said and splashed water over him waking him from his dreamy state. Nick laughed. “Actually it’s more like three point nine after the shopping.”

  “I’m glad you are independently wealthy. I couldn’t afford you on my salary.”

  “I’m not that bad. Honestly speaking when we were broke with that pizza in Monte Carlo, that’s the happiest I have ever been.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I’m serious. I was with you. That’s all I wanted.”

  “Okay, so if you had to choose between me and your Loubi collection?”

  “I love you Nick but let’s not push it. Love and Louboutins is doable. Just Love? Meh.” I said.

  Nick laughed and pushed me under the water in retaliation before we kissed.

  We got out the bath and having emptied the bottle of Dom Perignon I called our personal room butler and order replenishments as Nick got dressed in the rather dapper Gucci dinner suit I had bought him.

  “Steady on darling. We’ll be drunk as skunks before dinner.”

  “That’s the idea. All work and no fun makes Nickypants a dull boy,” I said slightly slurring.

  “I’m hungry,” he protested.

  “Oh alright then,” I said making an attempt to get ready to go out.

  Dressed in my new Gucci cocktail dress that according to Nick would encourage him to take me home and have sex with me we headed down for dinner. Passing the room service chap with our champagne en-route. I grabbed the bottle out of the ice bucket.

  “We’ll have that to go,” I told him downing it like a bottle of cheap lemonade as we made our way to the lift.

  I was half pissed before we even got to the lobby. We had decided to go out for dinner rather than dine in the hotel. It was a nice evening in Munich so we walked down Maximillianstrasse towards the river and a very nice restaurant that Nick assured me would be up to par.

  After a short drunken stroll down to the riverside we arrived to the romantic terraced restaurant where I immediately ordered the third bottle of Champagne of the evening having downed most of the previous bottle en-route like Munich’s most expensive wino.

  The Restaurant was perfect. A pianist was playing, there were candles and the food was delightful. Sadly I have no recollection of the rest of the dinner beyond first course. According to Nick having demolished the best part of two more bottles of Champagne I insisted the German pianist play Roll Out The Barrel that I sang along to in a cockney accent before making several ill-advised references to the war.

  On the way back to t
he hotel I decorated most of the pavement with my dinner and demanded Nick let me perform oral sex on him in a lift full of hotel passengers before passing out and being carried to bed.

  I have concluded that he was lying and made all such allegations up for I would never do such a thing.

  I’m just not that sort of girl.

  Chapter 19

  I WOKE up the next morning with a head-splitting hangover. I tried my best to bury my head under the large pillows to block the evil rays of sunlight until the urge to be violently sick overtook me and I sprinted to the bathroom and spent the next ten minutes cuddling the toilet.

  Nick arrived to administer first aid with a glass of water, caressingly lifting my hair from my face to prevent it sinking into the toilet bowl.

  “I told you to take it easy,” he said.

  “Could you try and speak a little more quietly please and avoid making sudden movements.”

  I collapsed back into the comfort of his arms in a desperate hope the warfare being inflicted on my body would somehow dissipate.

  “Please just shoot me,” I told him croakily dragging myself back to bed.

  “I’ll order you some breakfast. If you eat something you’ll feel better.”

  “God no…”

  Nick departed to order room service. When it arrived the smell of bacon and coffee got the better of me and I wolfed down a full cooked breakfast trying not to think about what the carbs and fat would do to my cellulite.

  “Better?” he asked. I nodded reluctantly feeling bloated. “I booked us in for another night. I don’t want you throwing up in the car.”

  “How very caring of you,” I replied.

  The thought of enduring the normally sonorous AMG’s soundtrack was about has appealing as having my head wired to a road drill for the next two hours.

  “I’m going back to bed,” I told him nursing my orange juice. I took his hand. “You can cuddle me better. Just don’t squeeze my stomach or I’ll probably throw up on you.”

  “You know those things I said why I loved you last night?”

  “I have a vague memory of it yes.”