Posted by critmk and Shoot2Kill on December 20, 2000 at 07:58:05:
Leather and Fur, Beauty and Blood
Part 5: Death with an Edge
by critmk
The no-neck guard smiled and ushered Susan and Caprice through the backstage door without even asking for credentials. Susan knew that part would be easy, that fellow was there just to keep order among the jockeying Limos, see that the paparazzi were kept out and make sure that no jerks were loitering and harrassing the models.
But she also knew that a backstage manager from the trade association would greet the 18 models as they entered and direct them to their proper places. Kelly Pierce, a slender, 24-year-old black girl with a cafe-au-lait complexion, stood holding a clipboard at the end of the short hallway beyond the service alley door. A small office branched off the right of the hall. Beyond Kelly, in the vast room, was the bedlam of the run-up to a four-designer show: Racks of clothing were moved about, make-up people were at work, stagehands sauntered about ogling oblivious, half-clad models, seamstresses fussed, designers fumed and cajoled, all to a thumping techno-beat accompaniment.
Caprice flashed her credential and Kelly peered at her.
'Alexa, hi, you're moving up in the world,' she said. 'This is an important show, congratulations. Ummm... you look different. Do something with your hair?'
'Yes, my agency thought I'd have more success as a blonde, and they were right.'
'It looks good.' She shuffled through the papers on her clipboard and handed to Caprice. 'Here's your order for the show. You start with the Gaultier group. That's way over in the back corner. Hurry up, they're nervous wrecks over there.'
Susan had stood patiently in the background as Caprice practiced her deception. Now she stepped up.
'Hi, I'm Susan, Marucs Andrew's new assistant. He told me that my backstage credential would be held in your office.'
'Well, let's see.' She covered the few steps to the small office with Susan close behind. Kelly was lovely; slender, 5'7", with wonderfully, smooth, toned, bare legs set off by her high pumps and straight, black, two-inches-above-the-knee skirt. Her snug black-and-white checked blouse stretched prettily across her small, firm breasts, and two buttons at the top opened to view a nice expanse of perfect, coffee-colored skin. Her long, supple neck and bright brown eyes gave her face an alert, intelligent cast beneath a radiation of slightly wild, teased-out curly brown hair.
Susan switched her gun-heavy briefcase to her left hand and reached with her right for the 6" switchblade in her jacket pocket. She swung the office door shut with her right heel, eased the briefcase to the floor and drew the knife in a smooth, silent series of motions.
Kelly leaned far over the desk and leafed through the envelopes in a wooden box. Her skirt stretched across her ass, which was a little broader than you'd expect of a slender girl. It rode up a little, to show another four inches of her pretty legs. Kelly frowned.
'Susan, all of Mr. Andrew's credentials seemed to have been pic-'
The assassin interrupted her with a hard, overhead roundhouse stab that drove the switchblade deep into the center of Kelly's back. Susan stepped in between the girl's spread legs and pressed her crotch to her butt. She yanked the knife out of her back, grabbed a handful of dark, curly hair and pulled the dying girl upright as she pressed her against the desk. She brought the knife down over her victim's right shoulder on the diagonal into her left breast, then gave the knife a twist. The girl emitted high, oddly feminine grunts at both the stab and the twist, and one more when Susan plunged the knife into her belly. But there was no sound when the point pierced the bare skin above the top button of her blouse. Kelly Pierce was dead.
Susan had been careful to arch her victim's bloody back away from her white wool suit jacket. Aside from a few drops of blood on her right hand, she was clean. Susan eased the pressure of her body against Kelly's butt, but maintained the grip on her hair. With the grace of a matador working a cape, she stepped back, turned and eased her victim to the floor. Susan stared at the dead girl's stab wounds in tit and belly, knife still stuck in her upper chest, open eyes and parted lips, hiked-up skirt. An inch of snow-white panty showed at the crotch.
With some degree of shock, Susan realized that she was on the brink of an orgasm. She reached up her skirt, and the lightest touch outside her panties put her over the top and into a moment of violent trembling. As she quickly recovered, she thought: My God, what have I become?
But this was no time for existential questions. Business must be attended to. Susan dragged the dead girl a few feet to a tiny closet. To fit her in, she had to bend Kelly's back sharply and bring her feet high up the side wall. She left the ebony-handled switchblade in the girl's chest, just because she liked the way it looked there.
The whole murder took less than two minutes. Susan wiped the blood from her hand, checked her face in the mirror of her compact, picked up Kelly's clipboard and took up her post in the hallway. Two models were just coming through the door. Susan checked them in, then peeked outside and gave a quick wave to Kay, who was leaning against the Limo at the end of the alley, 30 feet away.
A few minutes later, Kay walked through the door, transformed from chauffeur to model. Susan checked in this late arrival, then went into the office and punched seven numbers into her digital phone. She heard David answer after one ring.
'We're in place backstage.'
'We're in place in the audience. It's showtime. Let's shock the world, shall we?'
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