by H E Johnson
Yet Novak had said that Epstein was getting suspicious. Hmm. Could be dear old Lane had omitted a few details. No surprise there. I didn’t trust Novak or her pet goon Wolseley further than I could flamethrower them. In fact, I found myself wishing I had Griffin to confide in. Griffin might be a conniving, cowardly asshole, but he didn’t fit in with the rest of these sociopaths.
I hoped that character flaw wouldn’t get him killed. Me either.
The car stopped. I opened the door to get out, but Epstein caught my wrist. I glared at him. He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. Epstein’s eyes locked into mine. Light brown pupils went a shade darker. Oh boy. I knew that look.
“You’re holding something that belongs to me,” I observed in my iciest. “Maybe you should let go before things get nasty.”
Epstein swallowed. The muscles in his arm bunched and swelled. I felt a powerful impulse to touch him so I did. Placed a fingertip on that pretty mouth of his and molded it to a smile.
“Better,” I whispered.
“Better?” Epstein snorted. His voice sounded raspy. “Crys, what the fuck are we doing, eh?”
We? Whatever was going on between Epstein and McCord wasn’t restricted to business. Doubtless Novak had known this all along—the bitch. I didn’t appreciate being kept in the dark like this. Especially when it was my sweet ass on the line.
But was it really mine?
One moment I’d been ready to rip Epstein’s arm out of its socket. And the next I’d wanted to wrap my legs around him and rock his cock off. That hadn’t come from me. That had been pure Crystal McCord.
The truth stared me in the face. I couldn’t deny it. McCord’s memories hadn’t been erased. Not fully anyway. Leaving me to wonder:
At what point did “I” stop being “me” and become her—or some weird hybrid thereof?
“Crys?”
I looked at Epstein. The urge was too strong to ignore. Besides, wasn’t I living on borrowed time? Hell, this wasn’t even my body. Nikita Chen was dead. Long live the new, improved Crystal McCord.
“You better come in,” I informed him.
◆◆◆
Novak didn’t approve. She told me I was behaving recklessly and warned me to reconsider . An “or else” was strongly implied. Naturally I tuned her out. Life is short, right? And being celibate at the safe house entitled me to some moral leeway here. So I glanced at Epstein who held my package as we walked inside. Should I try it on, give him a show? Hmm. Pretending to cough into my fist, I whispered:
“Duck to go.”
“What?” Novak hissed. “Say again.”
“Duck to go,” I repeated.
“You okay, babe?” asked Epstein.
“Yeah,” I deadpanned. “Just thinking about my luck running out some day.”
“I am NOT turning off the monitors,” Novak warned. “Someone’s getting murdered in that stupid game in less than a week. Remember, MADAM CRUNCH? You have a job to do, Detective. There’s no time for . . . aw, fuck, no!”
I traced the planes and angles of Epstein’s face. The skin felt warm. I pried the aviators off his nose and tried them on for size. The lustful glint in his eyes made my heart pound hard.
“You’re about to get an eyeful,” I teased. “Sure you’re up for it?”
Like playful puppies, we kissed and groped all the way from the street to the front door. Inside, we ripped off each other’s clothes. Somewhere along the way I shook off my shoes. The red dress ended in a puddle on the floor. Hopping up onto the kitchen counter, I pulled him close. But he shook his head.
“Not here,” panted Epstein. “Let’s move this party somewhere more comfortable.”
So much for spontaneous combustion. Oh well. When in Rome, you gotta fuck like the Romans. Don’t want anyone thinking a barbarian’s crashed the orgy. That’s a good way to get your ass introduced to a bunch of hungry lions.
Yikes.
So I did the girly thing and allowed Epstein to take my hand and lead me to the bedroom. There was no hesitation, no missteps. It was obvious he’d been to McCord’s place before. And knew his way around. Hopefully, he’d figured out the correct firing sequence to launch my lady satellite into orbit.
La-de-dah.
Given the occasion, I decided our lovemaking warranted a soundtrack. Turning to the bedside table I fiddled with the controls. I found some decent heavy metal and cranked the volume. If my watchers didn’t turn off the sound implants they’d be going deaf soon.
As promised I gave Epstein an eyeful and then some. He was up for it. And then some.
Gotta Run
After Epstein left, I went for a run. It was raining. Not much. Just a light drizzle really. But the mist sprayed sweet and cool against my face. As my stride lengthened, I pondered Sunday’s bout. Was I ready? Having McCord’s incredible physique and stamina should give me the upper hand. But would I be able to take advantage of her skill set? Or would my messed-up brain imprint slow McCord’s animal reflexes just enough to get me killed?
Novak broke into my musings. “Hope that was worth compromising the mission, Nikita.” Clearing her throat, she said, “I admit our intel on this gang’s a tad sketchy. But your average crime boss doesn’t share his pet cunt with the hired help. Agreed?”
You can call me a bitch. That’s cool. Girlfriends call each other “bitch” so much that the word has lost its shock value. Cunt? Not so much. Pet cunt? Wow. That smacked of pure nasty.
I resisted the urge to stop and exchange insults with Novak. Why give her the satisfaction?
But Novak wouldn’t let it go. “Can you hear me, Nikita? I can turn up the volume if it’s not LOUD enough.”
Trying not to move my lips, I replied, “She and Epstein have been lovers for some time.”
“How do you know?”
“Guess.”
Novak grunted. “Fine. But don’t let your guard down for a split nanosecond. These people are stone killers. Remember Nikita Chen? Spill your guts and they’ll end up decorating a dumpster. Copy?”
An image of spaghetti and meatballs flashed across my mind. I pictured this puddle of human pasta steaming in a dumpster behind a restaurant. Maybe a bum or a couple stray dogs would find it and chow down.
“Yeah. Copied and filed. Thanks for the positive reinforcement.”
“I’m not your life coach, detective.” Her tone was dismissive. “Keeping your head in the game and out of your ass is what I’m paid to do.” She paused. Then said, “Even if Epstein and McCord had a thing, I’d recommend keeping your hands off the merch. Madam Crunch is Santiago’s meal ticket. And Santiago Sweet has an insatiable appetite for cash.”
I didn’t answer. She was right. Screwing Epstein had been stupid and impulsive. Also a good way to get dead fast. Coz if Sweet didn’t kill me, SpecOps would. All they had to do was detonate the nanoplants in my brain. Splat!
I ran till my lungs burned. When the rain stopped, I slowed to a walk and cased the neighbourhood. Middle-class homes. Well-kept lawns. Two-car garages and two-point-five kids per house.
Things I’d never have.
That’s when it hit finally me. There was no way back to being Nikita Chen. And Crystal McCord’s future looked bleak. I was out on a limb and headed straight to a dead end.
“Heart and respiration looking good,” said Novak. “Congrats.”
“Thanks,” I told her.
I walked back to Crystal’s house. Drank a quart of water and showered. Then I sat naked on the living room couch and watched cars driving past. If anyone was watching the house, they were being discreet.
I knew then that I’d have to make a run for it. But first things first. I had to find a way to neutralize the hardware that Griffin had stuffed into my head. Maybe a tinfoil hat would jam the signal. But since I was being monitored 24/7, there was no way for me to research the subject without SpecOps or Sweet finding out. Either of which would result in termination by “good guys” or “bad guys”.
Hmm.
>
I ate a mango chicken salad for lunch. It tasted exactly like that. No chicken or mango would’ve liked the result. I had a mouthful of this shit when Sweet called.
I stopped chewing and answered. “Hey.”
“How’d it go at Jackie’s?”
“Fine,” I mumbled.
“You eating again?”
I held the phone away and swallowed fast. “Nope.”
Sweet laughed. “Yeah right. Well, get some rest. I’m tied up today. Logistical shit.” In the background, I heard Feliks shouting at someone. Sweet yawned. “Call if you need anything. Yeah?”
Before I could answer he disconnected. I stared at the phone. Sweet was tied up? That meant he’d gone with Feliks to meet the grab team. Two innocent civilians were being kept on ice and prepped to fight me to the death.
I lost my appetite. The rest of the mango chicken salad found its way into the garbage.
◆◆◆
Feeling restless, I decided to relax with some tunes. Seemed like a good time to test drive that sound system in McCord’s bedroom. Anything to take my mind off all this serious shit.
Having previously acquainted myself with the controls in the bedside table, I found a hiphop playlist and lay down on those cool sheets. Damn! Those subwoofers in the boxspring weren’t there for show. The low-end vibrations made my tits shake and shimmy all the way to the nipples.
Had to give the devil her due. McCord’s bod was smoking hot. Small wonder that Madam Crunch persona attracted such loyal viewership.
Just as my spine began melting through the mattress, Griffin’s voice broke into my head.
“Time for a little meditation,” he said. “Works best crosslegged. And upright. Okay Nikita?”
I turned off the music. My mood swung from sweet to sour. I sniped back, “Maybe I’m blissed out enough, huh?”
Griffin gave a throaty chuckle. “I’m looking at your brain right now Nikita. It’s totally beta. Those are brainwaves associated with everyday shit. Hormone levels show normal. Neurotransmitters: normal too.”
“Normal’s good, right?”
“Not for what you need. Current body chemistry and brain activity are incompatible with a state of mindfulness.” He paused. “And please lower your voice and stop moving your lips. Sweet and his playmates could be watching or listening.”
“Isn’t it a bit late for this shit?”
“You’ve been through a lot. Stress could negatively impact your mind’s interface with McCord’s brain structure.”
I smelled weasel shit and said so.
“Neural programming is mostly uncharted scientific territory.” Griffin cleared his throat. “We’ve learned enough to know how little we know.”
Geekspeak. “Here be monsters?”
“Focus,” he snapped. “You haven’t learned anything about Sweet’s operation that we didn’t already know. Nada. Which means Novak won’t extract you till you’re literally fighting for your life. So. Maybe you’d like to clear your mind and relax. Trust me. This will enhance your odds of survival. Improved focus could buy you that split-second between dodging a sword thrust and getting pincushioned.”
Put that way, I agreed to try meditating. So I sat up and went into a lotus pose. To my surprise McCord’s body had no problem pretzelling. In fact, her body molded easily into the posture.
“She’s done this before,” Griffin noted. “Brain’s gone alpha. Like turning on a tap.” He paused. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
I watched the hands come to rest face-up atop parted thighs. Tips of thumbs and index fingers formed circles. Breath slowed. I felt the planet spinning. Heard stars whisper and explode.
“Holy fuck.” Griffin gave a low whistle. “Seems I don’t have anything to teach you.”
Well duh.
Thursday's Her Day
Thursday. Woke with a fresh plan. Yesterday’s meditation had cast a deep shadow over my perception of McCord. And I found my inner voyage unsettling. It didn’t fit her stereotype as violent sociopath. I had to rethink my approach to impersonating the woman. She was a complex human being. Way more than a pile of case notes or a psych profile.
To get inside her head I’d have to stop judging her.
Working Cybercrime I’d seen evil. There were sexual predators so twisted only a bullet or lethal injection could cure them. Alongside those freaks, McCord had seemed a garden-variety type criminal. But I’d been wrong.
Dead wrong.
So. What would McCord do in my predicament? She liked fighting. Could be sadistic when the mood struck her. Even fucked Sweet’s driver right under Sweet’s nose. That spelled “adrenaline junkie”. Low impulse control coupled with attraction to danger.
So the path to success lay in doing more of the same. Take more chances. Bite like a rabid dog. Screw whoever I wanted. That was the woman Sweet wanted. And Sweet was the target.
◆◆◆
I started the day with solo weapon drills I’d practised with Wolseley. The living-room wasn’t huge but perfect for close-quarters work. Not wanting to bother with clothes I kept the drapes shut.
The sledgehammer felt light as a feather in my hands. As I moved it turned into an extension of my arm. Soon I began moving without thought. It was the closest I’d come to feeling like I belonged in McCord’s body.
There lay the solution to this job. Enlisting Epstein in Santiago’s takedown would require total immersion in Crystal’s mindset. The key was accessing more of McCord’s memories. Sex with Epstein proved—to me at least—that Griffin’s brainwipe program hadn’t been thorough. Otherwise Nikita Chen couldn’t have enjoyed fucking scum like Epstein and Sweet. Denying the obvious was counterproductive.
I had to think the way Crystal did and let my sweet pussy guide me.
When weapons practice was done my body swam in sweat. I hit the shower and let hot spray pour down tits to crotch. Closed my eyes. Imagined Epstein’s cock while soaping nipples. Washing soap off my hands I rinsed labial folds and clit. Paying extra attention to the latter.
Mm-mmm. Good.
Turning the water to cold sent violent shivers through my body. I took it as long as I could before switching back to hot. Then more cold. Letting the icy water sluice over my cunt. Mumbling then screaming obscenities.
I tried not to look down in case SpecOps had tuned in. Of course that didn’t account for nanoplants that monitored heart rate and hormone levels. I hoped Griffin was on duty. With my luck it would be Novak or Wolseley. But Crystal wouldn’t have given a shit, so why should I?
I stopped on the brink. After all, making noise is half the fun, right? Holding back would’ve ruined it. Towelling off I exited the shower and went looking for sustenance.
◆◆◆
In the kitchen, I decided to sample some of the music on McCord’s phone. She had a hiphop playlist that looked promising, so I gave it a try.
Not bad. Pretty decent in fact.
Breakfast came in a blender. Whey powder with water and frozen strawberries. Yuck. Much as I disliked this mixture, McCord had thrived on it. So I drank it down with a smile as I grooved to a bouncy hiphop rhythm.
Maybe I could get used to being her.
Next thing I knew two massive arms grabbed me from behind. Threw my head back but hit air instead of face. My assailant was short but extremely strong. I felt my ribs caving. Looking down I recognized the arms.
Fucking Helga had returned.
Bending forward quickly, I pulled her off balance and reached back for a heel stomp. Connecting, I elicited a grunt. But Helga hung on. Those gorilla arms squeezed tighter, making it hard to breathe. Either my spine would snap or I’d pass out, and neither option worked for me.
Mustering all my strength I heaved backward, shoving her against the kitchen island. Again. And again. Finally her grip loosened. Spinning free I delivered a series of elbows to that thick head.
Bam! Splat! Pow! Crunch!
Helga looked wobbly.
“Don’t k
ill her,” warned Wolseley. “If this gets to trial, we’ll have a hard time justifying murder.”
Ignoring his advice I slugged my assailant in the breadbasket. Helga dropped to her knees. Then I kicked her in the face. Twice. She bent over and vomited into a pool of blood spurting from her nose. Circling the bitch I delivered a low roundhouse punt to the pussy that launched her against the oven door. Whack!
Helga stopped moving. She managed a low groan.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Wolseley growled. “Stop already!”
I nodded. “Okay bitch. Get on your feet and clean this mess. When you’re done you can go. Nod if you understand. Otherwise I’m gonna keep kicking your stupid ass till you’re dead.”
Helga nodded. Wise move. It took her a moment to sit up. I stood there with crossed arms and watched her. When she asked where the cleaning supplies were, I showed her. Helga was quick and thorough. Cleaning and massage had to be her real jobs. Killing didn’t seem to be her thing.
When she was finished, I let her go with a not-so-friendly boot to the ass. Basically, I dropkicked Helga to the curb. She didn’t look back this time. Just ran to a van parked down the road. Same van, different plate.
Wolseley chuckled. “Got to work on that impulse control, Nikita.” He paused. “She’s gonna try for you again. Third time lucky, yeah?”
Yeah, I thought. You got to die, pig.
◆◆◆
Having survived a second assassination attempt, I decided to get dressed. Being discovered dead AND naked seemed like overkill.
I went in the bedroom to check the closet. Nothing screamed “me” all that much. Quel surprise eh? There were a couple pairs of distressed jeans, a few ripped T-shirts. Most everything was black. Not a huge surprise. Had I discovered a trove of pink jellies and unicorn panties, well . . . but no. McCord had dressed the way she’d lived.
Badly.