Big Beautiful Assassin

by Vivian Leigh

  Big Beautiful Assassin

  By

  Vivian Leigh

  Copyright 2012 Vivian Leigh

  All rights reserved.

  ***

  A bitter wind blew off the Hudson and cut through Kris where she crouched in the shadow of a dumpster. Her thin cotton pants and light jacket did little to stop the chill, but the ski mask kept her ears warm. The rusted door creaked open, and a women emerged, the glowing cherry of a cigarette visible in her hand.

  “Ugh,” the woman muttered. She sucked on the cigarette and stared off into the darkness behind the restaurant.

  Kris adjusted the chloroform soaked rag and crept forward. Her pants stretched and groaned. She couldn’t afford to hesitate. Her intended victim would be able to see her in moments. The target’s night vision would be completely ruined after just walking out of the lit interior of the restaurant, but it would adjust within a minute.

  Not that there was really much to worry about; the girl was a civilian and wouldn’t be watching for a ghost in the shadows, but Kris hadn’t reached the apex of her profession by being careless.

  Kris pressed the rag to the waitress’s face, and after a moment of panicked struggling, she crumpled into Kris’s waiting arms. Ideally, someone would find her in a quarter hour and think she’d just dozed off while on break. Kris dragged the body into the shadow of the dumpster, taking care to keep her out of the dirt. She made quick work out of stripping off the woman’s jacket.

  Kris’s voluptuous curves and broad shoulders no longer kept her awake at night, worrying over her size. At the moment, they had her worried over fitting into the borrowed jacket. It strained over her breasts when she buttoned it, but it held. She tied the apron around her waist and checked that the ID card was still in place.

  The unconscious waitress normally took ten minute smoke breaks. Her manager would be looking for her no more than fifteen minutes after she went outside. Kris wasn’t sure how long she dawdled in the restaurant, but if her routine were anything like it had been during the reconnaissance trips, probably no more than a minute. That left Kris ten minutes. She knew Corwin would be ready. It was up to her to be in position when he started his act.

  Corwin was always ready. Rumors at the Agency said that he was the best wet work man to ever take the field. She couldn’t verify them, not without a security clearance way above her pay grade. Rumors or not, it had been a joy to work with him for the last two months. She couldn’t admit it to herself, not on a job, but she was going to miss him when they parted ways in the morning.

  She ducked into the back of the restaurant and strode through the rear storage area. She felt calm, cool, professional. Other waiters passed her in the hallway, but no one gave her a second look. She gathered a tray full of glasses and dropped a water carafe in the middle, then headed out into the dining room. Guests sat at linen covered tables, enjoying their French-Asian fusion. Kris angled toward the back left of the restaurant, to her right, and scanned for the target.

  Abdul Al-Assak sat with his mistress and a bottle of wine, right where she expected him to be. Two tables over, Corwin met her eyes. His graying temples, thick framed glasses and dark suit made him look like a wealthy businessman or an ambassador, not the greatest assassin of his generation. He nodded once and reached for his throat.

  He gagged and shook and spluttered. “Help,” he croaked.

  The whole section stopped eating and stared. Corwin’s face turned purple. He clawed at his throat. It was so convincing, she had trouble believing it was an act and she’d seen him practicing.

  Kris sprang into action. “I know CPR,” she said. She rushed toward Corwin, her tray still held high on her shoulder. Before she reached him, she paused, searching for a place to set the tray. She cut toward Al-Assak’s table.

  “Excuse me.” She set the tray on his table.

  “Of course,” the mistress said. Al-Assak scowled at her, but didn’t protest.

  Kris rushed toward Corwin. Neither Al-Assak nor his mistress had seen her sprinkle the powder in his wine as she’d set the tray on the table and stopped the carafe from wobbling over in his lap. She stopped at Corwin and slid behind him. She circled her arms around him, her hands forming a fist in his belly.

  “Heave,” she said. She yanked her fists back into Corwin’s gut. He shuddered and choked. She planted her feet and pulled again. Corwin spat a half chewed glob of bread onto the fine cloth of his suit. He leaned forward, bracing himself on the table as he coughed. She smacked on the back a couple times, just for effect.

  “Thank you,” he said. His hands shook as he fumbled for his water glass.

  Kris saw the management heading their direction, a balding man in an ill-fitting suit. It was time for her to get scarce. The distraction would buy them a few more minutes before the waitress was missed, but she ran the risk of someone realizing that she didn’t actually work in the restaurant.

  “You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?”

  Corwin shook his head.

  “My manager will take care of you from here.” She patted him on the shoulder.

  “That was amazing,” Al-Assak’s mistress said, as Kris retrieved her tray of drinks.

  “Just doing my job,” Kris said. She smiled at the woman. Al-Assad stared at her, his face impassive. If the Agency’s psych profile was to be believed, he was probably more concerned about having his dinner interrupted.

  He finished his wine and rose as she left. She could hear his mistress asking why he wanted to leave so soon.

  The manager gave her a smile and a nod as she brushed past. Kris felt her guts unclench. Getting out was the most dangerous part, and getting past the first manager had worried her the most. There was no way to know how well he knew the individual waiters and waitresses. Not well enough, as it turned out.

  Kris weaved her way through the restaurant and returned to the storage area. She stopped, listening for any cries from outside. After a moment of silence, she slipped out the door and into the cold night air.

  The waitress shivered where Kris had left her behind the dumpster. Kris peeled off her borrowed jacket, then draped it over the unconscious woman. She dropped the apron in her lap.

  “You’ll wake up soon,” Kris said, as she pulled on her own jacket. She hustled into the darkness and to safety.

  ***

  Kris was already at the safe house when Corwin arrived. The handlers at the Agency had said she was the best of the new generation. He believed them. She had shown impressive dedication preparing for the job, taking the time to scout and going through every aspect of the mission. She had even walked like a waitress with the same unconscious balance and the same shimmy in her hips.

  “You get out okay?” Kris asked, as Corwin closed the door.

  “Of course. They even gave me a gift card on the way out.” He crossed the empty apartment to the living room and leaned against the wall across from Kris. He tossed her the card and watched as she fumbled the catch, then picked it up from the floor.

  She had an excellent body, and she didn’t even realize it. She worried about how her tights made her hips look big, or how her blouse exposed too much cleavage. Curves like those deserved worship, not scorn. He wasn’t sure when stick and bone models became the country’s ideal of attractiveness, but he didn’t agree with it. Not one bit.

  His mind wandered from the present to a woman that had looked too much like Kris. A woman of a different time and a different place. They had the same smile, even if Katerina had been a little older. They had walked arm in arm at midnight in Gorkiy Park, back when Moscow had been a place worth visiting. It had been so cold that night, the last night. Her nose had glowed red as a cherry. Her blood had steamed on his hands
as he tried to staunch the bleeding.

  The damn agency. He grit his teeth, just thinking about it. They hadn’t shot him; he still didn’t understand why he’d been left unharmed. No one had even mentioned Katerina, but he knew. The Russians hadn’t done it, he was sure of that. It was just Langley cleaning up loose ends.

  “Are you okay?” Kris asked.

  “Huh? Yeah.”

  “You tensed up. Did you hear something? Did anyone follow you?”

  “No. I…”

  Kris produced a silenced pistol and crept to the door, listening. Good for her. One could never have enough caution, not in this business. Even if it was just a cover for her jitters.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “I’ve done this once or twice, you know. No one followed me.”

  She trotted back over. “My nerves are just a little jangled. Sorry.” She flashed him a smile.

  It nearly took his breath away. The fact that she didn’t realize it only made it more attractive. His cock shifted in his trousers. He squirmed, trying to reposition his growing erection without being obvious.

  “I’m starving,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You ate at the restaurant. I haven’t had anything since this morning. Now that my adrenaline is coming down, I’m starving.”

  “Do you want to go out for something?”

  She chewed her lip, thinking about it. “Yes.”

  Corwin climbed to his feet, and took the opportunity to rearrange himself while making it look like he was adjusting his suit. “At least we’re not in some second rate European city where everything closes at 10:00.”

  “Do you work in Europe much?”

  “I can’t really say.”

  “Oh.” She deflated a little.

  He followed her out of the apartment and down the dank stairwell. The lighting couldn’t possibly be good enough to meet code, but it suited their purposes.

  “There’s a Chinese place on Second Avenue that looked good,” she said, as they reached the sidewalk.

  “Why didn’t you pick up something on the way back to the apartment?”

  “In my black kit?”

  “You’d have just looked like a waitress getting off work.”

  “You’re probably right. Maybe I just wanted a big, strong man to protect me.”

  She sounded like Katerina. The thrill the comment sent through him crashed against the sadness. He couldn’t play that game with her, not if he didn’t want to make another mistake he’d regret the rest of his life. “I think you can protect yourself just fine.”

  “You want to know a secret? Being alone in the dark on a city street makes me more nervous than any job I’ve done for the Agency. On a job I know my role. I know what the opposition is likely to do. On a street? Two muggers in an alley could take me down just for looking like a mark.”

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You don’t look like an easy mark at all.”

  She shot him a look, something between a glare and a question. “What’s that mean?”

  “You walk with a purpose. You project competence. Any simple mugger will take one glance and keep looking.”

  “There’s a ‘but’ in your voice.”

  “But any competent police force would see it, too. In the West you’re safe enough—there are plenty of confident women, but if you do much work in the East…”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Yes. You adapted well at the restaurant. You didn’t just look like a waitress, you moved like a waitress.”

  “I see. It’s hard to keep the edge in New York.” She patted the pistol tucked into the back of her waistband, as if to reassure herself that it was still there. “It never ends does it?”

  “What?”

  “The need to play a role. How long have you been doing this? Do you ever take a break?”

  Corwin stopped behind her, outside a hole-in-the-wall covered in Mandarin logograms. He inspected the reflection of the street in the glass. “Eighteen years. The Agency recruited me as an undergrad. And no, there’s never a break, not if you want to stay alive.”

  Kris glanced back, her eyes darting beyond him. “I see.” She pushed into the restaurant.

  It took a few minutes for her to order, pay and collect a plastic bag full of paper boxes of noodles and rice and vegetables.

  They strolled back to the apartment, a happy couple out for a midnight snack. A couple with three pistols and half a dozen knives. Corwin kept his eyes moving, assessing for threats. One hand stayed in his pocket, his fingers drumming the hilt of his pistol.

  When they were back in the apartment, Corwin sat in the corner of the living room, facing the door. He slid his pistol from his jacket and set it on the floor within easy reach. The flight out of La Guardia was at 11:00, and he didn’t figure on getting much sleep before then, not on the floor. The damn Agency could have at least provided them a furnished apartment. Old bones didn’t much like the floor.

  “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Kris asked.

  “I’m good.”

  She plucked a wide noodle from her open box. “There’s plenty if you change your mind.”

  “I’ll grab a bagel on the way to the airport.”

  She ate slowly, sensually. Obliviously. Corwin had to adjust himself again. He rose and went to the facilities. At least the plumbing in the building worked.

  As he came back around the corner, Kris stumbled into him.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, as he caught her.

  “Are you okay?” He held her up while she regained her footing.

  “I was just going to get a bottle of water. I didn’t hear you coming.”

  He intended to let her go, but his hands wouldn’t unclench. She didn’t make any effort to move, either. He looked into her eyes, into the deep pools of rich green. Katerina’s eyes. No, not quite. Kris’s eyes had flecks of gold where Katerina’s had been pure emerald.

  “Do you…”

  She cut him off with a kiss. Her lips were like warm velvet. So thick. So soft. All thought of Katerina faded away into the mists of time.

  Kris’s tongue sought his. Her hands wrapped around his waist. One slipped down to cup his ass. He pulled her to him, feeling her breasts with his chest.

  It felt like an eternity of holding her, kissing her, feeling her. She pulled her mouth away with a pop.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered.

  He held her still, unwilling to let her go, even though he knew he should. The only thing the Agency hated more than fraternization was fraternization with the enemy. At least he was safe on that count.

  “I won’t put it on my after action report,” he said, at last, smiling. The moment seemed loss. What a shame.

  She smiled back. It was something lonely, forlorn. A smile of sorrow and acceptance. A smile that hid something deeper and darker. It felt like looking in a mirror.

  “Good enough,” she said.

  Her lips were back on his before he could process her words. His hands swept over the black spandex of her pants, feeling the curve of her hips, the swell of her rump. She was more than a handful, and it was like coming home after an eternity away.

  She helped him out of his jacket, then her hands sought his tie. He unbuttoned her blouse as she worked on his shirt, and their clothes fell to the floor.

  “It’s too bad there’s not a bed,” Corwin said.

  “Or a couch.” She worked at his waist, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants.

  “I think we’ll manage.” He pulled her to him and felt the warm softness of her chest pressed against his.

  They sank to the floor, pants and panties lost along the way. Corwin kissed her neck, her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. His fingers ran through her long, blonde hair. He worked one leg between hers, and let her grind her hips against his thigh.

  He could feel her readiness in the hardness of her nipples and the wetness of folds. She gripped his manhood
and squeezed, testing his hardness. Her tongue flicked across her lips as she straddled him and guided him forward. Corwin held her close, enjoying every second of it.

  She moaned as he entered. She was so tight yet so slick. His body hummed with desire. Sex came and went, but not like that. Not ever like that.

  Kris stopped with a wince.

  “Are you alright?” Corwin asked. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.” She pulled his hips toward her. “Just take it slow. It’s been a while. The job makes it hard to get close to someone.”

  He worked himself deeper a quarter inch at a time. It didn’t take long for her wince to evaporate into a moan.

  “More,” she begged.

  He took his time, caressing her and kissing her. When he stopped, he was fully inside her with her luscious, beautiful body wrapped around him. They lay sideways in the living room, atop the pile of their discarded clothes. He thrust in and out, nice and slow. The languorous smile spreading across her face told him all he needed to know about her thoughts on the matter. They gyrations of her lips didn’t leave any room for doubt.

  “Why didn’t we do this weeks ago?” she asked.

  Corwin smothered the question with a kiss. Her skin beneath his fingers was like silk, so smooth and soft and cool. It contrasted sharply with the fire of her lips. It didn’t take long for him to build to a peak. His cock quivered; his balls tingled.

  She moaned and shuddered as he flexed within her. Her fingers clawed his back amid her gasps. Corwin groaned and thrust harder. He pulled her to him, savoring the feeling of being inside her. He came harder and longer than he could ever remember. It was a roaring inferno of lust and passion.

  He collapsed back, panting for breath. Kris ran her hand across his chest, her fingernails leaving red trails on his sweaty pecs.

  “You came, too?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  She cuddled closer. “Don’t leave me.”

  Corwin held her close and let her slip and arm under him. He worked his fingertips over her back. Down below, his erection dwindled and he slipped himself out.

  “I guess I should clean up,” Kris said. She planted a kiss on him and climbed to her feet. “I hate the walk of shame.”