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Message-ID: <47386asstr$1081645803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Imagineer <imagin8r47@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cruel Summer 15 {Imagineer} (MF reluc viol ScFi)
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Date: Sat, 10 Apr 2004 21:10:03 -0400
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Cruel Summer

copyright 2001-2004 by Imagineer.

comments to 
imagineer 47: yahoo green eggs com ham
but without the green eggs or ham

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Imagineer/www/


// 15: Pictured


  "What a day." Valerie was beat. For more than a week she'd been
job-hunting. She'd been to every business in walking distance (and some
well past that, her sore feet reminded her) and nobody was hiring. Or
so they said. 

  That little bat-faced woman at her old job couldn't have blackballed
her, could she? It wasn't even Valerie's fault. It was that shit
Spence... 

  He and Bobby had shown up at work, promising a pair of backstage
passes to the No Doubt show. All she had to do was go to this guy's
house and do it with Bobby on the couch while the guy watched through a
peephole and jerked off in the other room. Spence even offered to cover
for her at work while she went to pick up the tickets -- lucky for her
the boss was out sick... 

  How could she have been so gullible? She was smarter than that. But
she'd been especially horny that day... Between the reality of a good
drilling by Bobby and the fantasy of kissing Gwen Stefani all over her
sweaty post-concert body, how could she resist? 

  By the end of the day, Spence had badly faked several entries in the
FedEx shipping log. He'd planned to file a claim against the fake
insurance for the fake packages the next day. It was only Spence's
extreme stupidity that kept him -- and her -- out of jail for
conspiracy to commit fraud. The FedEx manager didn't need such a
boneheaded fiasco in his district, so he quietly deleted the entries,
gave Spence a "this is your life / this is your life in prison" speech,
and left. Unfortunately, her boss at the ceramic lawn art mail order
shop wasn't so sweet, and by the next morning Valerie was out on her
ass.

  More than a week later, she'd finally exhausted all the local service
and retail establishments and small businesses without a single offer.
"Time to branch out." Valerie picked up a leftover newspaper at the bus
stop across from the apartment; she could scan the classifieds. Working
sucked, but it beat the alternative. The boys were dumbassing their way
to a career in the vehicular identification industry. Maybe they looked
forward to stamping out license plates, but Val wanted something with
better hours and a more relaxed dress code.

  On the bench next to the newspaper was a World News Weekly. She
picked it up... Valerie needed a good laugh, and the trailer trash in
bikinis they called the Page Three Girls never let her down.

  Valerie rifled through the mail as she passed the elevator -- the
spoiled-milk smell made her wretch -- and entered the stairwell. 

  Phone bill. Dammit, TJ was calling his old girlfriend long-distance
again. Bastard had his own place, why couldn't he use his own phone?

  Invoice for Penthouse magazine. Bobby and his "bill me later." It
should have read "bill girlfriend later." Soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend, she
fumed. Bobby might not be a total loser if he didn't tag along with
whatever Spence and TJ did. No, he'd still be a loser. If only he
weren't such a stud in bed. But Valerie was beginning to have other
thoughts about even that. No doubt, Bobby had to go. Actually he could
stay -- she'd be the one leaving as soon as she figured out a safe way
to convert those stones into an appropriately-sized roll of cash.

  The rest of the mail wound up tossed out the stairwell windows. 
  Coupons with a "have you seen me?" flyer, the printing so cheap every
child's photo looked the same. 
  Secured credit card scam. 
  Fingerhut catalog.

  By the fourth and final flight of stairs, Valerie had begun folding
through the World News Weekly looking for Page Three. Every page looked
the same and thanks to all the ads only one in eight pages had a page
number; the only way she could ever get to the good stuff was to find
the cover with the paper's big purple logo...

  Valerie rolled her eyes when she read the cover's headline, plastered
over a stock-photo collage of a masked burglar being stuffed into a
patrol car and a winged angel descending a column of light from above.

  GOD SENDS ANGEL TO SAVE QUICK MART
  Convenience Store Angel Stops Bullets, Beats Up Would-Be Thieves
  Witness stories and PHOTO PAGE FOUR!

  "How do they come up with this stuff?" Valerie unlocked the door and
put her things down, plopped onto the futon, and kicked off her shoes.
"ANYBODY HOME?" she called out; silence returned. If anyone was here
they were sleeping something off. Valerie briefly thought of changing
clothes; she only had the one good pair of work slacks left, and would
need them again tomorrow if she was to keep up the job-hunt. Her hands
briefly went to her belt, a series of brass lockets chained together.
Oh right, she'd worn the locket-belt. It looked good on her, and
dressed up the plain thin slacks, but it was a pain to unhook. Heck
with it. She was too tired to change now. She could wash the slacks
later. Let's check out page three...

  "Not bad this week," she said, appraising the Page Three Girl's
photo. Redhead with sickly-white freckled skin and sunken eyes but
otherwise a cute face. Her body had the heroin-addict skin-and-bones
look the rag seemed to favor. Apparently fat trailer trash just didn't
do it. 

  "'Donna, a 19-year-old college sophomore majoring in communications,
spends her time between classes doing modeling work. When she's not
working or studying this New Jersey resident enjoys going to dance
clubs with her friends. She likes a man with a winning smile. Donna's
profile... Measurements: 34B-22-32' -- if that's a B-cup I'm Morgan
Fairchild -- 'Weight: 98 lbs / Height: 4-feet-11 / Hair: Auburn / Eyes:
Green / Occupation: Model / Turn-Ons: Smile / Turn-Offs: Reading /
Dream: to work with Jerry Bruckheimer..."

  Valerie's giggles grew into all-out laughter. When she calmed down,
she reclined on the futon couch, letting the paper fall next to her.
She needed a nap.

  Something in the tabloid caught her eye. The photo looked familiar
somehow. The story's headline recalled the front page: "AVENGING ANGEL
CAUGHT IN THE ACT!" She picked up the paper and studied the grainy
image. This wasn't a staged or doctored photo -- it was too
out-of-focus and shitty-looking for that. A car was slammed into the
front of a QuickMart -- most of the chain's familiar sign visible above
the wreck -- with jagged blobs that must be the storefront window's
glass still tumbling down on the car's hood in a dramatic action shot.
But it wasn't the car or the window that caught Valerie's attention, it
was the fuzzy shape hovering several feet above it. It was clearly a
person. Probably jumped up in the air just before impact. But ten feet
in the air? Maybe jumped down on the car from the roof. Barefoot?
Cranked up on something, no doubt. But the shape still demanded her
attention, as if she was supposed to recognize who it was... it was a
girl. Bare-legged, with a flared skirt. Definitely not jumping down or
the skirt would be up around her waist, Valerie reasoned as she studied
the image more closely. Arms stretched out, and something hazy over her
head, like a shadowy cloud in the bright wash of the sign light.

  Valerie scanned the story for clues. Hey, right across town... a
couple of weeks ago... dressed in a thin tunic dress with glittering
jewels on her hands and feet... the 'angel' flew off into the night
after beating them senseless...

  No way!

  It was the same 'angel' that had dropped in on Bobby and them that
night. The barely-dressed 'angel' who'd "donated" the three big rocks
to Valerie's emancipation fund.

  Not that the World News Weekly was the most reliable source, but it
made Valerie feel less ridiculous about remembering the girl fly off
out of the alley... she read the story through again.

  ...witness said the robbers shot her with automatic weapons to no
effect... store front and getaway car littered with bullet holes and
shotgun pellets... no blood found on the scene...

  Suddenly Valerie flashed back to the previous week when she'd had the
stones checked out by that weasely jeweler. The accident in the
street... the car's front end looked wrecked, but she walked away
unscathed. Her clothes had been thoroughly road-rashed, but she hadn't
developed a single bruise or scrape. She wasn't even really sore the
next day like she had been in that other accident.

  Did the stones make you bullet-proof? Oh come on, Valerie, that's
just stupid. But what other explanation was there? Luck?

  If there was even a chance that those stones were more than just big
jewels, Valerie was determined not to let anyone get their hands on
them. If they were special, maybe this mystery angel girl would pay to
get them back. Or maybe Valerie could find some other way to benefit.
Good thing she'd resisted the temptation to pawn them for a quick buck.
She felt on the verge of something truly huge, and she wasn't about to
let it slip through her fingers. From now on she was keeping the stones
with her.

  Valerie rolled off the futon and hurried into the bedroom. She sat on
the mattress which lay on the floor and pulled out the special drawer.
Whew! The gems were still there under the false bottom, one-two-three,
all snug rolled up in her velvet 'date' underwear. And her last $20.
She stuffed the money and the ad-hoc jewelry bag in her pants pocket,
but the lump was too obvious, even to someone not looking. Hey, her
belt... some of the lockets actually worked. She leaned back on the
bed, opening one of the locket clasps and dropping a stone inside.
Damn, it wouldn't close. She tried another. No luck. A few of the
lockets had a wire mesh front; she tried one of these. The stone caused
the mesh to bulge a bit, but it closed. A second wire-mesh locket held
another stone. But the third one wouldn't close. She tried two more
wire-mesh lockets but they wouldn't close either. She reached around
back and found another wire-mesh locket, but it was hung up on a belt
loop and she couldn't open it. As she sat there trying to shift the
belt to work it loose, she head the apartment door slam.

  "Val!" It was TJ. Fuck! Valerie tugged frantically. "Valerie! Where
are you?" TJ sounded pissed. She didn't want him cornering her in the
bedroom. As she got up off the floor she clenched the third stone
tightly in her hand, as if a tight enough grip would keep it safe.

  Tim "TJ" James was not the leader of his clique. Spence had that
role, being the most gregarious of the trio of young men who grew up
together. Spence was the glad-hander, always charming someone out of
something. TJ was the strong, silent, and sullen type. When Spence was
around, TJ was passive, like a younger brother in deference, standing
and moving in a way that minimized his 6'5" and 230 pounds of natural
athletic form. But on his own TJ was a different person. Intense with a
barely-concealed hatred of everything, violence held in check only by
intellectual indifference in the outcome of action versus inaction.
Valerie had been attracted to him at first, probably because he didn't
hit on her. But after a few months of working with the boys she came to
realize he wasn't shy or moody, he was psycho. Their relationship was
non-existent, two objects moving around each other without
acknowledgement. Valerie could count on one hand the number of times
she and TJ had been in the same room without Spence or Bobby around,
and each time Valerie got the feeling that TJ was somehow one thought
away from willing her out of existence.

  It chilled her to the bone to hear him in her apartment looking for
her now.

  What did he want? Did he know about the stones? How could he?
  Valerie steeled herself and entered the living room. "Hey, TJ." She
tried to appear calm, like a visit from TJ was an everyday occurrence.
She leaned back casually against the door frame.

  TJ was standing in front of the couch, weight on the balls of his
feet, his face flushed with anger. Clearly he'd rushed over without a
plan. Her nonchalance deflected him; he visibly cooled, his posture
returning to its usual minimized lax state. He couldn't just beat her
up, not yet anyway. Get the product first. He took a moment to size her
up. Kinda tall for a girl, though still six inches shorter than he.
Dressed nicer than usual, tight black slacks and white peasant blouse
in place of the usual cargo pants and T-shirt. Date? Job?
Apartment-hunting? Suspicion gave way momentarily to appreciation of
her graceful form. Valerie could look pretty hot as the girl next door
when she tried. If she wasn't such a lying cheating bitch he might even
be interested...

  He sat down on the couch. His hand rested on the World News Weekly,
just covering the Angel story, Valerie noticed.

  "Bobby and Spence coming up?" she asked.
  "No. It's just me." 
  Dread washed over her. She swallowed hard.
  "Is this a social call? I don't mean to be rude, but I've got stuff I
gotta do." She squeezed her fist around the stone, feeling its edges
press into her skin.

  "A social call?" TJ smiled a nasty smile. He picked up the paper and
started thumbing through it. "Not that Bobby hasn't told me what a
great fuck you are --" obviously said for shock value, and effective in
its suddenness "-- but no. I'm here because you ripped us off."
  "Excuse me?"
  "I want the diamonds."
  "Diamonds?"
  "The stones you stole from us after we bagged that chick a couple
weeks ago." He flipped a page, pretending to read. "The blue diamonds."

  "Blue diamonds," Valerie repeated. They're sapphires, you idiot. What
TJ lacked in height he made up for in intelligence.

  "You're always after my Lucky Charms," she smirked. He didn't get the
joke. She took a step toward the kitchen -- and the front door beyond.
"You want the pink hearts, yellow moons, green clovers, and purple
horseshoes too?" Now he got the joke. He wasn't amused.

  "Is that supposed to be fucking funny?" Violent tension cracked
through his surface calm for an instant. He half-rose from the couch;
she slunk back against the wall.

  Valerie knew she was stupid for antagonizing him, but she always got
this way when she was nervous. Scathing humor was her defense
mechanism. She fought to suppress it.

  "Are you talking about the sapphires?"
  "You know what I'm talking about. That chick in the alley behind the
club that... we chased across the street to the park. The jewelry she
was wearing. Bobby told me you have it hidden. Get it."

  That prick Bobby, Valerie thought. He'd found her hiding place. He
wasn't as dumb as he looked.

  "Do you mean the sapphires I found by myself after you guys took off
to fuck her brains out and left me behind to find my own way home? That
jewelry?" Woah, check the attitude girl.
  "Look, you wouldn't have found it if she didn't tangle with us and we
didn't beat her down. That makes it part of the score. They're mine as
much as yours."

  TJ was bad news, but the three stooges had sponged off her long
enough. She'd gotten the stones on her own after those three let their
dicks take over and ran off. This wasn't their usual score. This was
out of bounds. She was tired of dealing with them, of letting their
small-time stupid shit almost land them and her in jail. She only had
to get out of the apartment and she was gone for good. She just
couldn't let TJ find the stones on her, or he'd take them... and
probably knock the shit out of her. She had to talk her way out.

  "I've been keeping them to myself because I knew Spence would take
'em the moment he saw 'em and sell 'em for shit to some tracked-up
buddy of his, and probably get busted in the process. Jewels this big
stay hot for a while." True as far as that went. "You know I'd give
everybody their cut when the deal was done." 

  "You already took the goods downtown. Just when was this cut going to
happen?" No eye contact. His question came with a surface detatchment
that emphasized the hatred underneath.

  How'd he know she'd been to the jewelry store? Had he been following
her? Had she slipped and said something to Bobby? No... so how? Never
mind that now... think...

  "I flashed 'em on purpose, and I'm still holdin' 'em on purpose. Not
everybody is as dumb as Spence. You don't just sell to the first
jerkoff you meet. Rocks this... unique, the owner's gonna be looking
for them, and he's gonna be willing to pay. More than some fence." That
sounded plausible. It might even be true, now that she thought about it.

  "Rocks that big, the owner's gonna be looking to slit the throat of
the bitch that stole 'em from him." Val knew he was referring to
himself as much as he was referring to the real owner. She also knew he
was right both ways. 
  He continued, "Street trash with no friends, no family, it's cheaper
to kill 'em than pay 'em." He stood, folding the paper and tapping it
in his open palm.

  Valerie feigned indifference to TJ's aggression. "For a minute I
thought that might be the owner at the door. But it was only you." The
last part was meant to be belittling. He recognized her intent.

  She knew their conversation was just stalling, a game TJ was willing
to play out only to come after her that much harder when it was done.
She watched him measure the distance between them with a quick dart of
his eyes. Val considered her options. He was between her and the front
door -- no dice. The bedroom window? She could probably reach it and
get out before he caught her... if it was already open. She couldn't
remember. If it was closed he'd probably get to her before she got it
open; then the best she could hope for was a lucky hit in the tussle
that would ensue. She regretted not changing out of her job-interview
clothes. The thin silk top and crepe slacks weren't as much protection
as her normal street clothes, even though she knew if it came to a
fight with TJ it wouldn't matter if she wore armor.

  He kept tapping the paper against his palm. The paper was folded over
to the Angel article. She could see a part of the subheadline.

  "Stops Bullets"

  Armor...

  Her mind recalled the image of the yellow Saab, its front end
crunched in as she rolled off the hood to the pavement...

  ...and the image of the Angel, kicking TJ in the face in the alley...

  Valerie pushed herself off the wall and turned to face him. Her fist
clenched around the sapphire in her hand. She raised it up to her chest.

  "I've got your jewels right here, TJ." She opened her hand, rolling
the gemstone back and forth between thumb and forefinger. TJ's eyes
went wide as they homed right in on the glittering rock.

  Valerie watched TJ's eyes follow the stone as she moved her hand away
from her in a flourish, then back to her chest to drop the stone
emphatically in the cleavage of her blouse.

  "Take it if you can, asshole."

  She saw his face flash bright red in shock and fury. In a flash he
was over the orange-crate coffee table, his shoulder driving into her
upper chest, his momentum meant to slam her up against the wall.
Valerie heard more than felt the back of her skull Crack! against the
wall. 

  Valerie thought: Well *that* was stupid.

  His speed took her completely by surprise. She found herself limp,
back against the wall, pinned there by TJ's shoulder, his body turned
to her right, still leaned in and thrusting with his legs to keep her
immobilized. His left hand was groping under his right armpit at her
stomach, fishing upward for the stone trapped in her bra.

  She'd been hit hard on the head before. She expected to become dizzy
and pass out, but to her surprise her disorientation faded quickly.

  TJ was straightening up, lifting her on his shoulder, her body still
pinned against the wall. She felt her feet leave the floor. Val flailed
her fists at his back, but the blows were mostly ineffective, landing
on his hard shoulders. He kept rocking forward and back, up and down,
slamming her into the wall repeatedly. Meanwhile, his hand continued
groping. Valerie felt like a rag doll. When TJ realized he couldn't
reach her bra or its prize in this position, he withdrew a step.
Valerie flopped back down to the floor.

  He reached for her chest, but she'd recovered from the initial shock
of the attack. She'd been in her share of street fights, against girls
and guys. Val juked down and to her right, TJ grabbing nothing but air,
outstretched hand gripping the wall. Val brought a quick knee up to the
groin, but because she was off-balance there wasn't much force in it --
just enough to slow him for a moment. She scrambled away to the right,
recovering her stance. TJ turned to face her.

  "To get out of here you've gotta get past me, bitch. Now give me the
*fucking* rocks and I promise I won't hurt you." His voice briefly rose
to a yell and fell back to a growl.

  Valerie looked at the wall where they'd first collided. The sheetrock
was collapsed in where her shoulders struck, but down the middle was a
wall stud. She could see the impression up against it up higher; the
back of her head smacked right into the stud. She should be out cold,
maybe bleeding. But she felt fine, the tingle on the back of her neck
faded to nothing.

  "You don't look so tough," she spat at him, even as he straightened
up and shook out his shoulders. He was built like a bear. TJ snarled. A
very angry bear. But she was shaking off his vicious slamming like it
was a love tap. "I think I can take you."

  "Oh suddenly the cunt thinks she's a bad-ass? Come on... come on..."
he motioned her forward with a hand gesture.

  Valerie's mind whirled. Now what? Unsure of just what benefit the
sapphires might provide, she realized she might have pressed her luck
too far. Best just to try to get past him and get the hell out of
there. Indeed, the stones struggled to provide her protection despite
the dampening effects of her clothing, and without anything to focus
their discharge, much of it fed back through the slim girl's sexual
nerve centers.

  Valerie juked to the right; he matched her movement. She stepped to
the left; he shifted back to block. Right, left, right... Valerie
finally dodged to the left, trying to duck under TJ's big arm. But he
caught her around the waist, winding up like a spring as her legs kept
pumping to get past him. His left arm came around, wrapping her in a
hug. Val felt herself lifted off the floor as the spring uncoiled, TJ
bellowing as he tossed her like a rag doll back into the corner of the
room. Val fell back, crashing into and collapsing an old sheet-metal
shelving unit in a cacophany of twisting metal and falling knicknacks.
She landed on her ass with a thud just as TJ closed the three steps
between them.

  Valerie felt something sharp under her hand. She lifted it and looked
down. The underside of one of the shelves was twisted up, exposing the
sheet metal's sharp edges. She was surprised it hadn't sliced her open.
Then she noticed her pant leg, a long rip up the calf and past the
knee. "Dammit, TJ, these were my good slacks!"

  She rose to her feet slowly, broken ceramic and glass raining down
from her head and shoulders.

  TJ stepped toward her, cocking one hand up and swinging it around.
Valerie heard the slap before she felt it, a sickening fleshy smack!
echoing around the spartan room. Next thing she knew she was picking
herself up off the floor again. Funny, it didn't hurt much. Just an
electric tingle, like touching your tongue on a nine-volt battery. The
shards of glass and tangle of bare metal shelves were doing a number on
her slacks and blouse but didn't seem to be breaking the skin. She
pushed herself back to her feet.

  TJ grabbed her by the front of her blouse and shook her violently.
"Get Me Those Jewels!" Her blouse ripped open as he shook her back and
forth, sending her back to the floor in a heap. TJ's eyes went wide
momentarily, then took on a hungry look in addition to boiling rage.
Valerie noticed the front of her blouse hung loosely, exposing her lacy
demi-cup bra. She felt the gemstone wedged uncomfortably under her left
breast. Her chest and pelvic area felt warm and tingly, some kind of
weird rush. Was she losing blood? No, there wasn't a drop anywhere...
It was like her skin was charged with an electric forcefield or
something. The gems really did work.

  "Fuck you, TJ." She didn't shout; there was a strange... disgust in
her voice. She looked up at him and sneered.

  TJ leaned down and grabbed for the bra but she slapped his hand away,
HARD. He looked stunned. He reached again; she slapped again, sending
his arm back like a projectile. Valerie's hands buzzed, but not in pain
like a normal slap. TJ just stood there with a dumb look on his face,
unable to comprehend why his hands weren't going where he expected and
why his arms hurt so much -- and marveling at the paradox of feminine
beauty and resiliant strength laying before him.

  Valerie rolled over to get up. TJ recovered, seeing an opportunity,
wrapping his elbow around her neck in a chokehold. He yanked her to her
feet, pulling her back onto him, her feet dangling in the air, her long
slender legs flailing uselessly. Valerie panicked for an instant, but
felt no pressure around her neck, just a sparkly-pinprick feeling. 

  "Give it up, bitch!" TJ yelled, shaking her about like a doll. Val
grabbed at his arm but couldn't pull it away. She saw the room shaking
about in front of her; it was making her dizzy. Unable to grab at him,
she threw her head back; he froze at the impact. She did it again, and
again. Repeated head-butts smashed TJ in the cheek and nose, each one
harder than the last.

  Suddenly Val found herself dropped to the floor.

  "Fuck!" she heard, slightly muffled. "You broke my fucking nose!" She
pushed herself to her feet and looked up at him; his nose was bleeding.
His hand nursed the misshapen bridge of the nose. When he saw her
standing before him with a... bemused look on her face, he reached out
and grabbed her by the hair. Valerie felt her head yanked down until
his knee hit her face; she staggered back but kept her feet.

  TJ watched in amazement as the girl straightened up. Her nose should
be broken -- bitch deserved it -- but her face was flawless, like it
hadn't happened. "Is that all you've got?" she growled. The girl didn't
wait for an answer, lunging forward and slamming a fist hard into his
gut. He brought his fists down together on her back but the blow was
glancing, his fists almost bouncing off. He hit her with blows to the
midsection, but she just stood there, toe to toe with him. TJ shook his
head -- his vision must be affected, some kind of blue sparks seemed to
be flying off when he hit her.

  "You hit like a girl!" she taunted. Valerie leaped up with an
uppercut, straightening both of them out. But TJ was no glass jaw. He
hit back, right in the face, an uppercut and a roundhouse. Valerie just
shook it off and smiled cruelly. TJ couldn't believe it; it was like
punching a brick wall. She lunged forward again, a fist to the gut,
with amazing power; he doubled over, only to feel her hands on his
head, yanking him down lower. His face met her knee; he saw stars as
she shoved him back upright, knocking him over the back of the couch. 

  TJ was on the defensive now. He'd misjudged her badly. Most bitches
got quiet after a few smacks, but she just kept taking it! And except
for her ragged clothes it looked like he hadn't touched her. Meanwhile
he felt like he'd been hit by a truck -- winded and stinging all over. 

  He began slowly coming to his knees as Val rounded the couch. She had
a clear path to the front door... but didn't take it. She felt
invincible. Energy surged through her body; this was no mere adrenaline
rush. This was better than any drug she'd ever tried or heard about. It
was like the gems made her a Godess.

  A brutal kick to the chin knocked TJ back against the wall. "See how
you like it!" She Lunged at him, sending them crashing up against the
wall, smashing the sheetrock between two studs. The sapphire forcefield
energy spit angrily at the collision. Val felt electric, powerful, in
charge. Dominant. 

  "Thought you could make me your bitch, did you?" One, two, three
wicked slaps echoed through the room. TJ's head lolled forward. He was
bleeding and bruised and wheezing... but he couldn't help staring at
her chest in the lacy bra. He should have been trying to run, but he
was frozen by some strange feeling. All he could think was how fucking
sexy she was as she stood there beating the crap out of him.

  Val saw his lewd and confused gaze. She knew what he was looking at!
She ground herself up against him; she hadn't felt this good, this
powerful, this controlling in a long time. "You like that, huh? Did you
come around here looking for a piece of ass?" While one arm pinned his
chest up against the wall, her other hand reached down and grabbed his
crotch. His dick was twitching, growing despite his wooziness. "Looking
to take charge of the situation and get what's yours, huh?" 

  She pulled her arm away long enough to rip his shirt open. Her open
palms shoved him in the chest, slamming him up against the wall again.
His hands reached weakly for her chest -- hadn't she put something he
wanted in there? Her tits looked so nice... trembling but experienced
fingers managed to pop open the front-hook bra; the gem spilled to the
floor.

  Val felt a sudden wave of sexual energy wash over her. Her hands
grabbed his wrists and planted his hands on her tits. Instinctively his
fingers began kneading. 

  "Or do you want someone else to take charge?" TJ felt her grab him by
the front of his pants; she wheeled him around and tossed him down on
the couch. He felt her crawl up on top of him. His torn shirt yanked up
off him; he felt it wrapped around his wrists and tied off. No one had
ever dominated him before. No one had ever roughed him up. Through his
punch-drunk haze he thought he liked it. He felt fingers brush his
rock-hard dick; no, he knew he liked it. 

  "You want a girl to make you her bitch?" Waitaminute; his brow
furrowed; this wasn't right, was it? TJ tried weakly to get up but she
slapped him down. Hands popped open his fly. 

  Val rutted up against TJ's sweaty, welted body; he was enjoying it,
all right. She gasped as his mouth found her nipple, pulling up into a
sitting position. She guided his hands to her ass, then reached around
to squeeze his thick shaft. "You came here to fuck *me*," she spat,
"now I'm gonna fuck *you.*" She started struggling with the tiny zipper
on her slacks. As she did so she felt his wiry leg hairs against her
bare inner thighs. Valerie regarded her shredded slacks in frustration,
reaching down to pull the split seam open more. TJ saw was she was
doing and his hands moved to help, pulling the pants open to the crotch
with a staccato Rip! Val felt the open air on her hot wet slit; it gave
her chills. She guided him inside her. "You're not hung like Bobby, but
you'll do." TJ was too far gone to register the slight. Valerie started
rocking back and forth, leaning forward, grinding down on him. Any hope
TJ had of surprising and overpowering her now were lost to the
intensity of feeling in his loins. His eyes rolled back in his head as
every fiber of his being focused on cumming... 

  Val sensed TJ's impending orgasm. "Not so fast, hotshot." This felt
better than she'd ever felt; she wanted it to last. Against the driving
energy of the gems glowing in her belt, she forced herself to slow her
pace, pausing on each upstroke, grinning with satisfaction at the looks
of tortured ecstacy she was extracting from her coerced lover. But her
orgasm was calling. The feeling built inside her as she picked up the
pace, until she was bobbing madly up and down, locks of hair spilling
and dancing in her face. Her vision short-circuited as she felt the
first splash of his cum. Valerie milked her attacker's cock for
everything it was worth, the gems grounding more and more energy
through the young woman's central nervous system, burning bright the
most intense mind-blowing rush. Her muscles spasmed out of control; she
thought for a moment she was going to die before it subsided. 

  TJ spurted his last and passed out, quickly going limp all over. Val
took minutes gasping for breath, her senses slowly returning to her,
first sound, then sight, finally touch as her nerves tried to calm
down. She felt as if she'd fucked the essense right out of the now-limp
body beneath her and somehow channeled it somewhere. Normally sex
awakened her senses; now she just felt drained, like her body had been
overloaded and was shutting down. Why did she fuck him? Why didn't she
just leave? She felt like she'd had to prove something, she had to
subdue him... it was like she'd been someone else, no, an angrier, more
powerful version of herself. It felt good to control him, dominate him,
drain him... her head swam in a sea of confusing emotions. It hurt to
think...

  Val pulled herself off the limp man beneath her and staggered into
the bathroom.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  His cell phone rang. "Yeah, this'z Dean." Pause. Andrew stroked his
chin; he needed a shave. "You're kidding. Tell me you're kidding."
Pause. "Why the hell did it take you a *week* to find this out? I've
been pulling shifts on this stakeout for six days while other leads go
stone cold, and you *just now* discover that the house was sold three
fucking months ago?" Pause. "Well, maybe if we hadn't pissed away a
week sitting in front of an abandoned fucking building we'd *have* some
other leads." Pause. "Well, of course I can see there's no one there
*now*, but the knowledge that nobody's been there for three months
still would have been useful." Pause. "Fine, I don't want to argue
about it. Do you have anything else, or can I chamber the bullet and
blow my fucking brains out now?" Pause. "That's what I thought." He
clicked the END button and tossed the phone on the couch.

  Andrew looked through the telescope; from this rotten third-story
apartment that smelled of curry and KFC he had a good view between the
poplars to the front of the house three blocks away. The house where
the package had been delivered. The house that had been uninhabited for
three months. Fuck. Once again, Eric and his partner were just fucking
with him.

  "Fuck!"

  Andrew thought about the suggestion from his team that he investigate
local pawn shops and jewelry stores. He knew it was pointless, but it
would kill some time. At least he'd have something to report. It would
give him a couple of days to come up with something else.

  "What the hell, it beats sitting here counting cockroaches." Andrew
grabbed his keys and the phonebook off the counter and headed out.

  The blaring stereo competed for attention with the growling exhaust
as the big sedan hustled away:

  The impression that you sell
  Passes in and out like a scent
  But the long face that you see comes from living close
  to your fears
  If this is up then I'm up but you're running out of sight
  You've seen your name on the walls
  And when one little bump leads to shock miss a beat
  You run for cover and there's heat, why don't they:

  Do what they say, say what they mean
  One thing leads to another
  You told me something wrong, I know I listen too long
  But then one thing leads to another.
  One thing leads to another


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Andrew put on his best detective grimace. "Excuse me, sir? I'd like
to ask you a few questions."
  The jeweler turned white. "You're here about the girl."
  Andrew hid his surprise. "Yes," he said straight.
  "How is she?"
  "She'll be fine," Andrew improvised.
  "So what do you want to know?"
  "Why don't you just tell me what happened?" Andrew prompted.
  "Well, she came in last week, Wednesday I think. Yeah, Wednesday. She
wanted a sapphire appraised, but when I offered to buy it she wasn't
interested."
  Andrew perked up. "A sapphire?" Son of a bitch...
  "Yeah."
  "Go on."


  "...and she hasn't contacted you since then."
  "Well, no."
  "And you don't have any more information on the driver."
  "Well, no. Honest, sir, I didn't think I was really involved, I mean,
I feel bad that I distracted her but she should not have been
jaywalking like that. Avondale is a busy street, you know."
  "Yes, well thank you for your time Mr. Lancaster. If she should
contact you, please page me immediately at this number." He handed the
jeweler a card. The jeweler turned it over in his fingers, puzzled.
"There's no name on it," he said.
  "It attracts less attention that way." The jeweler looked confused.
"Some of the people I deal with don't like carrying cards marked with
law enforcement offices on them."
  The jeweler shrugged his shoulders. "So you must be after her for
something, then."
  "I'm afraid I can't share that information with you. I don't want to
put you at risk unnecessarily." Andrew saw the jeweler swallow hard.
"Just call me if you hear from her and everything will be fine."
  "Okay."

  As soon as Andrew was out of the store he pulled out his phone and
hit speed dial.
  "Yeah, this'z Dean. I've got something. Check out any injury
accidents involving pedestrians that happened a week to two weeks ago.
Hospitals and police records. Our target got hit by a car. And dig deep
because at least one witness says she *walked away*."


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  The envelope sits patiently in the "in" basket, beneath a misdirected
Summons.
  The Summons is removed. "Dammit, I thought I told Johnson he was
gonna have to find some other department to play Lose The Summons with.
I've got enough shit to sort through."

  The envelope modestly informs the handler of its contents with a
hand-written note in Red Sharpie Fine Point: PHOTOS - DO NOT BEND. A
deadly blade nestles its tip gently in the corner of the flap,
hovering, anticipating the kill.

  A phone rings, staying the envelope's execution. "World News Weekly
Submissions Department. [ause] I'm sorry we do not pay mailing costs
for submissions. You'll need to buy your own stamps." 

  The letter-opener returns. This time there is no hesitation; the
throat is slit with ruthless efficiency. The envelope spills its guts. 

  Expert fingers rifle through the handful of photographic inkjet
prints; grainy, underexposed, overcorrected.  All with the same odd
constellation of smudged light or dark spots vaguely resembling a
winged human silhouette. Or a flying squirrel. All but the last print,
which sticks to its neighbor on the first rifling and is missed. "Crap.
Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap."

  A phone rings; the fingers pause on their way to the circular file.
"World News Weekly Submissions Department. [ause] I'm sorry we do not
pay mail-" [ause] "I don't care if it's so clear you can count Jesus's
nose hairs, we do not pay mailing-" [hort pause] "Ma'am, you-" [ause]
"Ma'am, I-" [ong pause] "Ma'am-" [hort pause] "Goodbye."

  The fingers, distracted by the phone call, forget their prior mission
and rifle through the prints again. And stop.

  "Hello."

  A face interrogates the print mercilessly. "This would be a lot
easier if they'd just put a link on the web site and let the geeks mail
them in; their printers are shit." An eyebrow raises, then scowls, then
raises with its partner.

  "Wow."

  The print lands on a clean desk; the envelope corpse is retrieved
from the circular file. Fingers perform a cavity search.

  No description. Just a phone number on a slip of paper.

  "Mickey, you remember the guardian angel story we ran last week?"
  A voice comes from the other side of the cubicle wall. "Yeah, what
about it?"
  "I've got another one."

  The inkjet print is dangled over the cubicle partition.
Stubby-nicotine-stained fingers tug it down and hold it under a desk
lamp. 

  The print's female subject is studied closely. Very closely. Even
from below and behind in a dark snapshot, it's clear she has a great
body. Left leg tucked up and back, right leg extended down and forward,
toes pointed, thin lines marking the tall stiletto heels on her feet.
Taut asscheeks visible below the flying halo of rags that pass for a
skirt, just enough of a triangular shadow to pass for a garment, skimpy
but enough to get past the censors with a little cajoling. Back arched,
emphasizing a slender waist. Dark hair flowing up and back. Arms
extended trailing shadowy wings from wrists to neck. The right foot
just covered the other subject's face, as if she were standing on his
bottom lip, or he were sucking her toes. He was leaned back at an
awkward angle, clearly off-balance, and clearly being driven back by
her foot. Her ass is examined again...

  "Too bad you can't see her tits." The comment is met with a groan.

  Eyes continue studying the print, focusing on the female subject's
attire. A hand reaches for a ratty-looking tabloid on the
otherwise-clean desk and lands in brown goo.

  "Hey, toss me your copy of last week; somebody parked a chocolate
donut on mine."

  A tabloid arcs over the wall.

  Eyes dart back and forth skimming the article and comparing the
tabloid image to the inkjet print. "Well, fuck me nekkid. This is the
same girl. Same costume, just a little ripped up in the new photo."

  "No shit? Lemme see that!" Tabloid and inkjet print get passed back
to the first cubicle. "Hot damn! We've got ourselves a legitimate
vigilante."
  "One who can fly."
  "Or at least has a vertical leap to shame Jordan."
  Fingers snap above the partition, asking for another look at the
print.

  The print lands on the desk. 
  "I'll agree she's got legs that won't quit." 
  The turning of elder mental gears is almost audible.

  "Jesus..."
  "No, an Angel." Wisecrack.
  "Do we have a name?"
  "Just a phone number."
  "Get somebody out there tomorrow. I want the story and the photo
release by the end of the day. We can still make next week's cover."

   


__________________________________
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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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