Posted by critmk on January 15, 2002 at 06:22:44:
The Scamming Stewardess
A story by critmk
Chapter 9: Drivers
Dominic slipped a foot under Yuki’s right buttock and rolled her over. He grasped the bloody steel grip of the dagger with two gloved hands and yanked it roughly from her. He placed the knife in Becky’s dead hand and pressed her fingers tightly around it. Her prints, not his, would be on it.
He likewise put the machine pistol in Juli’s hand and the 9mm in Yuki’s. Dominic bounded up the steps to Yoko’s office and dug Molly’s right hand from the pile of three corpses. He pressed her fingerprints onto the handle of one of his switchblades, then slid the knife carefully into the original wound in Yoko’s back.
The cops and ballistics expert would burn out a few synapses trying to figure why and how all these girls killed each other. And how so many of them recently had sex – with the same guy, whose DNA was on record absolutely nowhere. Dominic laughed out loud at the thought of it.
Dominic was now without a gun. He didn’t think he’d need artillery any more this night, buth he did have another 9mm in the van. And he still had his a switchblade.
As it turned out, he needed it.
A black Lincoln Town Car and a gray Bentley were parked on the street, just down from the front door of the nondescript industrial building that housed Asian Couture. Juli and Petra’s drivers were next to the vehicles on the quiet, deserted street, leaning against their respective cars and chatting.
Susan, Juli’s driver, was 23, petite, tanned and slim, with brown eyes and classically proportioned features. Her hair was up in a loose French roll. Martine, 28, was a little fleshier and taller, and her coloring was lighter. Her eyes were blue, and her thick auburn hair parted in the middle and fell straight and simple to her shoulders.
They were dressed almost alike: sheer hose, snug black minis, tight white cotton blouses. Susan’s pumps were classic black business style, with 3-inch heels. Martine wore sexier, spikier, 4-inch slingbacks.
The evening was warm. Susan had loosened her necktie and tied her blouse at the bottom to show a slice of tanned belly. Martine had rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, worn over naked 36C breasts. Susan’s structured bra held her 34Bs high and perky.
Dominic smiled as he approached them.
“Hi ladies,” he said, amiably. “Petra and Juli want me to tell you they’ll be a while.”
Susan smiled back – she thought Dominic was cute, and he looked like money. Martine didn’t. Those black gloves raised suspicion; she made a move toward her car, where her gun was. Dominic, still smiling, blocked her path. Martine hesitated, then backed away. Alarm was in her face.
“Is something wrong?” Susan asked.
“I’m afraid the deal has gone bad,” he said, calmly. “Juli’s had to kill Petra and her associate.” He turned to Martine. “Juli wants you dead, too.” Martine’s alarm turned to panic.
Dominic, to Susan: “Who employs you, miss?”
Susan came out of her daze and grabbed Martine’s arms from behind. The larger woman’s back arched and her tits strained against her blouse as she struggled. The struggle stopped abruptly; Martine froze when Dominic plunged the switchblade into the center of her belly, just above the waist of her skirt.
He took her face in his left hand and firmly pushed her backwards. Susan, who maintained her grip on the other chauffeur’s arms, was sandwiched between Martine and the closed door of the Town Car.
He slipped the knife from Martine’s gut and stabbed her hard in the left breast, just above center. Dominic told Susan to let go of her. He took her by the biceps and flung her around him to the sidewalk. With effort, she braced on her hands and sat up, one beautiful leg extended, the other bent at the knee. Martine was breathing hard; her chest heaved, raising and lowering the black handle of the knife buried in her left tit.
Two patches of red were spreading across her white blouse. Her jaw trembled. Terror was in her saucer eyes.
Susan stood dumbly beside Dominic. “Finish her, miss.”
“Me?”
“That’s what Juli wants. Go figure.”
Susan approached Martine tentatively. The wounded woman had dropped to one supporting elbow and appeared to be losing consciousness. It was a ruse; when Susan got within range, Martine threw a vicious thrust kick with her left leg and drove her heel deep into Susan’s exposed stomach, just inside the left ribcage. Susan doubled over, then straightened and yanked the spike heel from her gut. Martine’s leg banged heavily on the sidewalk and splattered rays of blood on the paving stones.
Rage contorted Susan’s face and blood poured from her mouth. With an angry shriek she charged Martine, pulled the knife from her breast and drove it into her left side. Her victim groaned and writhed, exposing the rich triangle of auburn hair beneath her sheer pantyhose. Susan stabbed her four more times, in and around the left breast, until Martine had a final, body-wrenching spasm and went still, her glassy eyes wide open.
Susan left the knife stand just below the nipple that poked at the bloody cotton fabric. She swayed to her left and started to fall, then caught herself. She was on her hands and knees, bridged over Martine’s right leg. Her knees were on the sidewalk between the dead woman’s splayed legs. Dominic liked the view of Susan’s cute ass.
Susan’s back rose and fell with her labored breathing. Her left arm collapsed and she rolled onto her back. Martine’s right knee was under the small of Susan’s back. This raised her middle and arched her belly, further exposing the wound inflicted by the heel-kick. Susan’s skirt hiked up, revealing black garters and lace stocking tops, bare thigh flesh and a surprising strip of red satin thong.
“Please, tell Juli to help me,” she sputtered, through the blood.
Dominic was busy removing Martine’s bloody left slingback. He stepped over Susan and placed a foot beside each of her shoulders. He crouched and held the shoe in front of Susan’s face.
“Juli’s dead,” he said, intimately. “They’re all dead. Now I’m going to show you a trick my girlfriend taught me. And then you’ll be dead.”
He loosed the girl’s tie further and yanked open the top of her blouse, exposing the perfect curves above white bra cups. He pressed the spike heel of Martine’s shoe into the soft hollow of Susan’s throat with his left hand, raised his right high and drove the spike heel home.
The girl’s scream was choked off after a tenth of a second, but she bucked violently for a full 10 seconds. The heel made a sucking sound as Dominic withdrew it from the dead girl.
“Here you go, Cinderella,” he said, as he slipped the shoe back onto Martine’s foot.
He stood and surveyed the scene. Beautiful. Martine, knife her chest, staring at the sky. Susan sprawled dead. Four gorgeous intersecting legs.
“Goodnight, ladies,” he said, cheerfully.
He was in a good mood. He walked the 50 yards to his van with a spring in his step. Dominic was looking forward to seeing Leona again, and looking forward to his trip to Bangkok.
And he was especially looking forward to killing those Lissair stewardesses.