Yoko Akira was nervous.Posted by critmk on January 10, 2002 at 20:14:34:
The Scamming Stewardess
A Story by critmk
Chapter 4: Akiko, Molly and Yoko
Yoko Akira was nervous.
The risks of this software venture – which began with thievery, continued with smuggling and ended god-knows-where – were too great. But Juli was determined to go through with it, though they might all end up in prison or worse. And arrest and trial involving the stolen encryption program they were supposed to receive tonight would surely uncover Asian Couture’s unsavory criminal sidelines, from prostitution to people smuggling.
But Juli was the boss. If she could pull this off, they’d all be rich. That stupid Suzuki girl would sell them the encryption discs for $10 million. They could turn them around for $2 billion, at least.
If, that is, the program worked as advertised. If it hadn’t been copied and thus reduced in value. If the girl, in fact, had the discs in her possession and wasn’t conning Juli. And if no one had killed her and taken them from her. Should any of those conditions hold, the firm would be in a world of trouble and out $5 million. Yoko, as a vice-president and investor, would personally lose a tenth of that.
She checked her watch: 8:40. Juli, her bodyguards, her software expert and Petra, their potential buyer for a European consortium, would arrive in an hour. Yoko had told that ditz Delia that she wanted her and those two models out of the building by 8:30. They were still up on the third floor screwing around with that fashion show stuff.
“Molly,” she barked at her secretary. “Get upstairs and tell those three airheads to pack up and get out of the building. Then you go home, too. We have a big meeting coming up, and we don’t want any of you around.”
Molly O’Hara was one of the few non-Asians at the company. At 41, she was also its oldest employee. She looked her age, but dressed young and sexy and got away with it on attitude. Her tits were full, round and entirely natural. She showed them off with tight tops that held the pendulous weight high. She was just 5’3” and small in frame; her breasts were out of proportion to her body.
Today, she was all in tan short-sleeve turtleneck, brown mini, sheer pantyhose with nothing underneath, and brown business pumps. Her hair was hennaed, wavy and thick, and fell to her shoulder blades. Her eyes were large and dark. Dark red lipstick always ringed her broad mouth. Molly’s reddish earthtone makeup flattered rather than concealed the spray of freckles across her cheekbones.
“Sometimes I wonder why I stay at this job,” she thought, as she stepped into the creaky old elevator and headed for the third floor. “She has something to yell about every day. First the bitch makes me stay late, then she yells at me for staying late. God, what else could go wrong today?”
The door opened. A bearded man, dressed all in black, leveled a gun at her left breast. Three bloody bodies lay behind him. He stepped forward and set his foot to keep the elevator door open.
Molly was not one to panic. She thought fast.
“Look – I know some strange things go on in this place. But I just work here. If you have to kill someone, kill Yoko. Kill Akiko. They’re executives, and they’re right downstairs. I’ll even help you do it. But don’t kill me. I’m just a secretary. Six months ago, I was a temp.”
Dominic pressed the barrel of the machine pistol hard into Molly’s soft left breast. She winced and turned back into the side wall of the elevator.
“Go down,” Dominic said.
Molly’s lower lip quivered. “OK,” she said, barely audible. She slid down to her knees and started to unzip his trousers.
“No – I mean, press 2. Make the elevator go down.”
He had a goofy smile on his face when she looked up and met his eyes. Maybe it was the tension of the moment, or maybe Molly just had a highly developed sense of humor. She started to laugh uncontrollably at the slight, comic misunderstanding. Dominic lost his game face, too. He helped her up. A strange tingling went through her when she touched his hand.
“Are you going to kill them both?” she asked, on the ride down.
“Yes. All you have to do is point to where they are, assuming that they’re both in their offices. But you’ll have to see it. I can’t turn you loose just now.”
“Good. I don’t care about Akiko. But I want to see Yoko die. When the cops get here, I’ll cry about how terrible it was. And I won’t tell them a thing.”
He wiped the track of the tear from her face with the back of his hand.
“No, I believe you won’t.”
The doors opened onto a classic example of spare Japanese office design, all clean lines and white surfaces and lean white carpet. The office floated like an ivory island amid the dark warehouse space around it. It was set on a mezzanine, open to a showroom on the ground floor accessible by a wide, straight stairway made of clear Lucite (upskirt heaven, Dominic thought).
A dozen deserted desks were in an open area up front. A row of private, executive offices was at the rear. Lights shone in two of them, three doors apart. The door to the rightmost was open.
“That’s Akiko’s office,” Molly whispered, pointing to the open door. “She’s in charge of finance. Yoko’s on the left. She runs the place day to day.” Dominic waved her toward Akiko’s office.
“Yes, Molly, what is it?” The impatient question came from a young woman whose delicate face and small chin, black bangs and ponytail made her look younger than her 33 years. She wore a trim, ecru one-button suit, mint green blouse and a preposterous black-and-yellow scarf tied in a large bow. Her very short skirt revealed a white triangle of panty and long, meaty legs in sheer tan pantyhose. She was shod in black pumps that were pointed and sexy, but still businesslike.
“Well, Akiko, there are a couple of things,” Molly answered. “First, this seems like a good time to get something off my chest: That scarf really looks stupid and you shouldn’t wear it, especially with a green blouse – this is an avant-garde fashion house, for Christ’s sake. Second, you’re going to die -- now.”
Dominic stepped in and immediately opened up with the silenced machine pistol. The heavy slugs made sounds like blows landing in a heavyweight fight. Her chair half-turned and rolled back under the force and weight of the bullets, which lifted and punched her about. Brown-burnt holes the size of silver dollars emitted sprays of red as they opened. Dominic shot Akiko in the lapel over her right breast, in the solar plexus, in her lower belly in the center of her skirt. He swept the line of fire through that wedge of panty and down the outside of her right leg. The last red hole opened where her instep met shoe leather.
It took less than two seconds to rip her nine times. Dead, bloody Akiko was still in the chair, her legs extended and spread wide, her left arm flung out across her desk, her half-closed eyes staring at the ceiling, her small mouth agape.
Molly’s mouth was agape, too. The ferocity and fatal brevity of the violence visited upon Akiko stunned her. She looked back at the body as Dominic guided her out of the room. He asked if she still wanted to help kill Yoko. She couldn’t speak to answer.
That sealed her fate. Dominic rather liked this woman, and in a moment of weakness considered letting her live. She was a cool customer, but not quite cool or evil enough to be reliable -- she was no Leona. Molly thought she might like killing these women, but when the time came, she couldn’t take it. He knew that the minute she got out of the building, she’d phone Juli and maybe the cops. He put his left arm around her and walked her toward Yoko’s office.
She grunted and then groaned when he plunged the stainless steel dagger into her left breast. Dominic swung the door open and she staggered back into the office. Blood traveled down the blade and dripped down the hilt guard to leave a trail on the light carpet. Yoko stood in alarm. Molly’s tit sagged under the weight of the knife. She brought both hands to her breast, to support it. Blood streamed over her fingers and dripped from the tip of the knife, which peeked out behind her shoulder blade. Molly somehow managed to smile at Yoko and get to her desk.
She spit blood through that smile, and these words: “You’re going to die, Yoko, and it will be worse than this. He liked me.”
Then Molly died. She fell forward, bent at the waist over the front edge of Yoko’s desk, arms extended. The brushed steel of the knife hit the cherry wood desktop hard. It left a long scratch in the finish as, ever so slowly, she slid backwards, pulling desk debris with her and leaving a smear of blood. She landed on her back, with her legs bent at the knees, near the desk. The cold steel in her bloody tit thrust toward the ceiling.
Dominic was on Yoko like a panther. He gripped her throat in his strong right hand and slammed her into the wall behind her desk, then pushed her out into the room and made her trip over Molly’s body. He pinned her to the floor by pressing the barrel of the machine pistol to her forehead, then took a moment to appraise her.
Yoko’s small features were set into a broad, oval face. Her jet-black hair was parted in the center and hung long and straight to the middle of her back. Her breasts were large and firm. She was tall and lanky, maybe 5’9”, long of arm and leg, and well-toned. Dominic guessed that she was a swimmer.
“When will Juli get here?” He eased the pressure on her throat just enough for her to answer.
“9:45!”
“How many with her?”
Yoko’s eyes darted desperately as she added them up. It was clear to Dominic that she was scared out of her mind.
“Five! No, six…”
“Well – which is it?” He tightened his grip sharply, then gave her some air.
“Six – seven including the seller.”
“It will be six, Yoko.” Dominic released her throat and sat back on the floor. She worked hard to regain her breath and composure. “Your seller is decomposing in a bathtub in Chicago.”
He stood and circled her. Her plain, black sleeveless shift had ridden up, showing off her long, tanned legs. She wore steep wedge ankle-strap sandals and no hose.
“Stand up.”
She did. She looked defeated, broken.
“Take off your dress.”
Yoko turned. In a dull voice, she said: “Unzip me.” He did. She shrugged off the dress, which fell to her feet, and stepped out of it.
Dominic turned her to face him. Her large breasts were supported by a plain black lycra bra, with cups cut at angles and low. Dominic drew and opened a switchblade and cut the matching string bikini briefs just inside Yoko’s left hip. The briefs partly fell away, to show pubic hair shaved to a line the length and width of his little finger. She didn’t flinch, though the blade left a two-inch cut. He cut the other side in the same way, then discarded the panties. Quite by accident, they landed on Molly’s face.
He pushed her to the desk and followed her there. Her feet and his were on either side of Molly’s body. He thrust the knife through Yoko’s long black hair and into the center of her back, just above her bra.
Yoko cried out and threw herself forward across the desk, into the same position Molly was in when she died. Indeed, Molly’s blood was smearing on Yoko’s breasts. The knife had snapped Yoko out of her shock; she was fighting and bucking now, much to Dominic’s delight. He reached around and fingered her clit, and to his surprise got a response from his victim. Her bucking changed its tone, from a desperate fight for life to a drive toward one last orgasm.
She had it, in a hip-writhing, moaning ecstasy that stopped abruptly when Dominic snapped Yoko’s neck. She went instantly limp, and in that instant her killer had his orgasm.
He withdrew from her and stepped aside. Yoko’s eyes were wide open. Her chin was on the desk. Her head was tilted unnaturally far to the left. Like Molly before her, she slid slowly off the front of the desk. But Yoko had another body to land on.
Dominic looked closely into her dead eyes, to make sure. He grasped her supple left arm at the bicep and rolled her onto her face and half off of Molly. Blood had matted the hair around the switchblade. He pulled the knife from her back, cleaned it on Molly’s skirt, closed it and slipped it back into his pocket.
9:25. Time to get ready for Juli and friends.
------------------------------------------------------------------------