by C. L. Black
It was in the spring of 1936 when the watchers witnessed a young Miss Katherine Black first meet Mr. Hoover there, and many times afterward. By Hoover’s end, each would know the other’s secrets. When Hoover died, he chose to leave his vast collection of secret files at Blachmann for safekeeping. They’re still safe. Jane knew that, and where too. Long before the cold war, the T & C had become a favorite haunt of spooks—East and West. Deals and double-crosses. That was then. That war ended twenty bloody years ago. Pity…
Mistress Sterling had an assignment of her own to deal with, due later that evening at nine in the adjoining room. Still naked and safely on the bed, she was reading the Justification for Action report. It was on the client’s iPhone. Satisfied she thoroughly understood the subject’s special interests, the Cougar shredded the electronic report and tossed both sets of photos back in the diplomatic case, locking it.
This assignment wouldn’t be too hard. It was to include only light bondage and discipline, with a healthy dose of verbal humiliation. Of course, Mistress Sterling would be decked out in her finest dominatrix wear. It was one she’d completed many times before. Next door in room 871, she verified that all the tools of the trade were in position. Mistress Sterling would make certain the senator forgot her troubles.
Time Check: Eighteen-O-nine. Two and a half to kill. Right then; plenty time for a bit of supper and a little bird watching. And, maybe a sweet treat.
Her only lasting hobby was bird watching; actually, a bit more profiler than watcher. When in town, Jane enjoyed the pastime from, Katrina’s favorite corner table, a glass of Old Pulteney, the twenty-one-year, her trusted companion. She would sip and observe as they entered, intermingled, drank, and then went about their business or pleasure.
Were they good, or evil? Or, were they just average—somewhere in between? Mistress Sterling didn’t do average. Her focus was their soul; profiling the inner self, their secret lives, and their naughty needs and deeds. Those all-too-human traits most people dreaded would ever be revealed. Yes, Mistress Sterling was very good at getting the subject to reveal what they worked so hard to keep hidden. Everyone kept secrets.
Ja—
Ding-dong…
The doorbell… Guest Services with the rejuvenated leather skirt and blazer. She found, the robe, and opened the door. “Brilliant. Thanks, love.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Miss Smith, was back in the attractive thirty-five-hundred-dollar designer skirt and blazer, in the elevator and on her way down to the Tits and Clits. She thought about the kid in the boots. Was she the subject’s kid? There were always kids. That was tomorrow’s assignment. Collateral damage. Every action had some form of unintended damage. KK…
She tried not to think about it or KK. Dame Jane’s reflection in the mirror made that impossible. Why had KK insisted she buy—this outfit? White? When she tried it on in the shop, KK said she had finally met her knight in white armor. The GoodKnight exited the elevator, entering the Mayflower’s gilded lobby and headed direct to the Tits and Clits. Her thoughts focused on, the bloody note…
Wake Up
Mclean, Virginia, 18:20 local
The grisly wreck had traffic more delayed than usual for a Tuesday evening. They arrived at the Black residence twenty-five minutes behind plan. Miss Christi detested tardiness. She was awakened from her well-deserved snooze by the attractive twenty-year-old driver.
“Wake up, Miss Christi. We’re here.”
“Oh dear. Must have slipped off to heaven for a minute,” she said as the driver helped her from the Mercedes. “Thank you, dear. I’ll see myself to the door.”
“Very good, Mum. I delivered your luggage when I set the sensors. Nice place. We’ll have motion, audio, day, night, and IR video. All are hot and running normal.” She patted her blazer’s pocket. “Her mom seemed quite anxious. Told her there was no need to worry. I made the beef stew. Hope you like it.”
“Yes, dear, I’m sure I will. Thank you. It’s been thirteen years.” She sucked in deep, held it for a bit, then exhaled. “Well, my dear Danielle, it’s time this old girl got back in the game.”
“Yes, Mum, very good. I’ll be back to collect you and our new kitten at O-nine-hundred sharp.”
“And thank you for all your help today, dear. Oh dear. Please don’t forget my Katherine’s flowers, tomorrow.”
“I’ll have them waiting on the seat. And remember Mum, if you need us, just say the word. We’ll be all over that tight brat ass in less than two minutes.”
“Yes, dear, I remember, Bullwinkle. Good night, dear. I’ll sleep well this night, knowing you’re watching over us.”
“Yes, Mum, that’s it. Happy dreams tonight.” She gave Miss Christi a quick hug then waited by the Mercedes for her next passengers, Catherine’s mom and dad.
Miss Christi faced the house. The family had lived there since 1996. The same year they received their new identities. The place was nice but nothing like the castle they once lived in. All the homes in the upscale neighborhood looked the same—expensive. Typical upper-class DC suburbia: five toilets, four bedrooms, three cars, two kids (one dead), dueling incomes, too much work, and not enough family time to keep the one kid they still had out of trouble. Yes, it had been the perfect cover for all involved. But that was over.
Shouting greeted her from behind the front door. Before she could press the bell, it swung open. “Please come in, Miss Christi.” It was Catherine’s mom. Dressed in a black evening gown, Kate appeared slightly agitated.
Miss Christi had barely said, “Hello, what’s wrong, dear?” when the verbal blowup resumed. She entered, her attention immediately drawn to the top of the stairs.
“Fuck you! I’m not going! I hate you!” Catherine screamed at her mom. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Upstairs, her father tried hugging his wild daughter without success. She lashed out, hitting him in the arm, and then she shoved. His life on the brink, he reached out, trying to regain his balance.
“Daddy!” She reached for him. That was fucking close. She was shaking. “Please? Don’t.” She’d never hit her father before. “Don’t make me go. I’ll be good. I promise.” She hugged him lovingly, waiting for her reprieve. It didn’t come.
Miss Christi listened with sympathy to her son’s encouraging words.
“Come on, Cat, I promise she’ll make your summer fun. Believe me, you’ll have loads to do in New Hampshire. She promised to let Dani teach you to drive.” Her father thought they were prepared. He was so wrong.
“Fuck you!” The cornered Cat shoved him away and started firing, “Don’t you fucking get it? I don’t fucking want to fuckin’ go to fucking New Hampshire! I don’t fuck—” Fists shaking with rage, she spotted Miss Christi in the entry. Is that her? Oh. My fucking G! “I can’t go. With her? I have to stay. Here!” Catherine continued pleading her case as her father retreated down the stairs. “I have—” She froze.
“Why!” roared her mom, coming to his rescue. She roared again. The technique proved effective, freezing the wild Cat, including that mouth. “Well? Tell me, why?” She waited and watched.
Having no part in Cat’s latest tantrum, she was done waiting. “Well? What’s so damn important that you don’t want to spend the summer at a beautiful ocean-side estate in New England?”
The mouth didn’t answer. Instead, two boots pounded down the staircase. They were standing face to face.
Mom, please…
“Well? What do you need to tell us?” demanded her mother, their mouths only inches apart. “What’s so damn important here? You can’t leave it for three months?”
Catherine’s stormy silence continued. She attempted a stare-down.
Mom wasn’t fazed. “Well then! No reason to stay!” She leaned into Catherine’s right ear and whispered, “You’re going, you little—” She backed off and growled out her last order. “You, go to your room, young lady! And change out of that”—he pointed with disgust—“ridiculous outfit!”
/> Cat stood her ground, arms crossed.
We’re late. With no better option, Mom played the trump card. “Where’s my paddle?”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Try me, you little—”
“Bitch!” The beaten Cat swung around and stomped up the stairs, huffing and puffing. With each step, she again tested their construction. Seconds later, there came the unmistakable sound of a bedroom door slamming shut.
What followed was less than repeatable. At least the closed door muffled her mom’s salty words. “Sorry, Miss Christi. No doubt you guessed what her favorite word is.” Kate’s cooled voice gave little indication of what just transpired. She showed Miss Christi into the family room. She was calm, too calm. Her skin tone was as pleasant as the gown she wore. “I just set out a fresh pot of hot water.” She pointed to the teapot and service neatly arranged on the coffee table. “Danielle said you brought your own tea.” She turned to her husband and growled. “Come on, honey, we’re going to be late.”
“Yes, Tiger, almost ready. Just have to pee.” He stepped into the powder room just off the foyer.
“Good God, Mum. He always has to pee before he can go anywhere.” She wanted out the front door before her daughter finished reloading. “I almost forgot. There’s a beef stew simmering in the crockpot for you two.” She smiled. “Should be ready soon. We’ll be back by one at the latest. Good luck with the little princess.”
“Fuck you!” Slam! Catherine was retesting her door.
Miss Christi sat on the sofa. “Sounds scrumptious, dear. You two go on now. Go.” She looked through the window. “Miss Danielle is waiting. Have a nice time tonight. Don’t let this spoil your dinner.” She motioned for them to leave. “Please don’t worry about us girls.”
Her reassurances were received with guilt.
“Oh, I have a pot ready for your tea,” said Kate as she pulled the front door open.
“Yes, dear.” Miss Christi was pouring herself a cup.
“Shit!” A look up the stairs caused her head to shake with sadness. “Sorry, Mum, I’m not at my best today. I thought she’d never get her ass out of that damn car.” Welling up, Kate stepped out the door. She wouldn’t have her stepdaughter see her crying. For months she had wondered, where had it gone so wrong?
“Hey, wait for me.” He pulled the door closed and raced to catch up.
Catherine’s parents had a special dinner to attend in DC that evening, their belated fifteenth anniversary. Reluctant to leave her alone with their Cat, they felt some relief knowing two Blachmann Cougars would be posted nearby and ready to assist if necessary. Miss Christi stood to witness the Mercedes pull away. She sat back in the soft leather. Opening her laptop, she engaged herself in the next chapter of her latest work of fiction. Not long after, those boots started down the stairs. Their Cat was going much gentler on them this time.
Miss Christi looked on as, their Catherine, remade her entrance.
Clutching her cell phone and still dressed in black. All black. She wore a cutoff T-shirt with the letters F and U prominently displayed over each breast in a bold white font. It appeared Catherine was also in an ill-fitting push-up bra. Equally unpleasing, the well-worn cheap leather wraparound mini.
Panties… Miss Christi most certainly hoped they fit better.
Catherine stood before her in the pair of very fancy heeled well-over-the-knee boots. Made of real patent leather, the upper third was folded over, trimmed, and tied down with lipstick-red lacing. They had four-plus inch polished chrome metal stiletto heels. They looked to be one-of-a-kind and very-very expensive. But were they those boots? Or just a good reproduction?
“Well, dear, that certainly is an attention-getting outfit. Those boots are quite stunning. May I trouble you for a closer look, dear?”
“Aren’t they?” She pretended to ignore her new adversary as she fell into her father’s leather recliner, and gave a tug on the release. The footrest sprang out, lifting her long slender booted legs. She stretched out, almost horizontal, and made no effort to cross her legs. “Why?” She was having some fun. Screened only partially by the tea service her mom had set out on the coffee table, she gave her grandmother quite a look. “Seen enough?”
“Yes, dear. I see your panties are black too,” offered Miss Christi with a chuckle.
“Are they?” retorted Catherine, smirking as she flipped her long hair and continued texting, her eyes glued to the iPhone.
“To whom are you texting, dear?” asked Miss Christi in another attempt to make a connection of her own.
Ignoring her, legs still parted, she continued to interact with, whom. Her thumbs and eyes glued to her iPhone, not at all acknowledging her grandmother’s repeated attempts to make contact.
Miss Christi took note of the Harry Potter chess set on the bar. “Catherine dear, join me in a game of chess?” She sat forward, waiting with a saint’s patience as the minutes passed. “Your mother said you’re quite a match.” The silence grew louder. She tried again. “Would you like to hear a story, my dear?” No response. More minutes passed. Updating her tea, Miss Christi calculated her next move. She studied, their Catherine, lying back in the recliner, dressed and positioned so provocatively. “Catherine dear, do you like to fuck?”
Her thumbs froze. The device dropped onto her distressed leather. A head slowly rose. She flicked her long hair, revealing two blue eyes filled with dark caution. Had she succeeded in getting Miss Christi to play her game? Staring for a good minute as her face grew brighter, she exclaimed, “Grandma!” You just said fuck. Didn’t you? Fuck me! Nice opening move, Granny. Grinning with approval, she decided she would play. Making her move, she said, “What did you say?”
“I said, do you like to fuck, my dear?” The words left her lips without embarrassment. “It seemed an appropriate if not unpleasant topic to engage you.” Miss Christi continued, advancing the pawn another space forward. She set the trap. “The letters, on your top?”
Catherine picked up her iPhone and dropped her head back. Pleasant topic? Fucked if I know. Never been with a guy. No way! There was a long pause as she contemplated her next move. Slowly, she again lifted her now-somewhat-brighter blue eyes toward Miss Christi. “Fuck? Yeah, I like to fuck.” I guess. “Doesn’t everyone like a good fuck? How about you, Granma? Do you like a good fuck?” She claimed her first piece. Her queen was set loose to roam the board. She was ready to play a reckless game.
“Well, I don’t know about everyone, my dear. I would think most do at some point in their lives.”
Huh? Wait. Yeah, this must be some trick of my mom’s. She feared her next move might expose her queen. I’m not playing anymore. “I’m hungry!” The Cat sprang, kicking the recliner closed, and scattering the game pieces. “Let’s eat.”
Dinner waited in the kitchen. Miss Christi followed, mentally noting the surefooted mastery of those stiletto heels. Catherine prepared a bowl of stew for Miss Christi and one for herself. Was it an act? They sat at the kitchen table and ate. Neither offered a word as they consumed the meaty stew. “Thank you, dear. That was delicious,” said Miss Christi after her last taste. “Your mother said you were always a great help in the kitchen.”
My mother? “Whatever.” She got up from the table leaving her bowl. Returning to the recliner, she reentered her private world in the iPhone.
Miss Christi filled the teakettle, lit the burner, and placed it over the flame. While she waited for the boil, she tidied up after Catherine and loaded the dishwasher. She placed the remaining stew in the refrigerator, washed up the crockpot, and located its place in the storage cabinet. After checking that the kitchen was properly organized, she returned to the family room with a fresh pot of tea.
Back in their respective seats, each retook their previous postures. It was now time to resume their game. Miss Christi moved first. “Join me in a cup of tea, my dear?” She was hopeful the food had calmed the untamable beast.
“Not likely. I’ll have a double Jack on the roc
ks. You want one?”
“Like to hear a story?”
“No, not really, Grandma.” Back in iPhone world, every few minutes, Catherine’s thumbs tapped. Every so often, she mumbled something unintelligible or twitched in response to the display.
Grandma was the one word Miss Christi couldn’t stand. She let it slide. “I have many exciting stories from our past life. I would love to share one with you, my dear.”
“I said, no!” She never took her eyes off her little world.
“Have you decided what you wish to do in this life yet, dear?”
“What?” Confused by the question, she fired back. “My life? My fucking life ends tomorrow! Remember? Fuck!” Do you have fucking Alzheimer’s? Shit. Do you?
“Oh no, my dear.” Still calm, Miss Christi tilted forward to pour. “I don’t think it’s going to end because you’re spending one summer with me and the girls.”
“I do.” The two words ended with a pout. Girls?
“I fear you may find it most rewarding, my dear.”
“Yeah, sure. I want to be a heartless assassin.” Her words carried a sinister tone. Bet you’re peeing in your Depends! “So what do ya think? Can you teach me how to kill people this summer? Huh, Grandma? Can you?” Catherine held an evil face. Got you, didn’t I? She was sure that would end the game.
“Well, my dear, that does sound like an exciting profession.”
“Did you fucking hear me?” She pressed the device into her leather, placed her hands on each armrest, slowly pulled up, then shouted, “I want to fuckin’ kill people for a fucking living! Do you have a fuckin’ class in that this fuckin’ summer?”
“Perhaps.” Miss Christi smiled. “Would you like to watch a movie with me?”
“I don’t know. I guess.” Catherine fell back in the recliner. Did the old girl hear me right?
“I have a couple I think you might enjoy, considering your career goals.”