Posted by critmk on May 12, 2003 at 08:19:51:
To view the PICTURES that go with this novel, open a new window to my briefcase at
http://photos.yahoo.com/bc/critmk/lst?.dir=/Sisters+novel&.view=t
I uploaded them more or less in order of appearance. Enjoy.--c.
Sisters
a story by critmk
Chapter 6: The First Thing We’ll Do, We’ll Kill All the Lawyers
I snapped my phone shut, slid the curtains closed and quickly stuffed the three dead bodies into a coat closet at the far end of the conference room.
Then I took a moment to reconnoiter the suite. The place would be filling with women in a moment; I had to have a plan. None of them could get away.
The spacious main room was beautiful, with walnut wainscoting and black-and-white marble floors. It looked like mint-condition décor from 1910.
Five desks were in the open room. I figured they were for the late receptionist and office manager and three yet-to-be-killed secretaries. A small TV monitor showing an image of the hallway rested on the receptionist’s desk. Apparently, it was her job to buzz people in.
The conference room, the powder room and four offices opened off the big room. The doors of the private offices bore name plates: Maureen Kennet, Senior Partner; Lois Sikes, Senior Partner; Joan Armstrong, Junior Partner; associates Angela Loft and Mary Kell shared an office.
The room rose a story and a half to an antique beaten metal ceiling. A wrought-iron staircase curved up to an L-shaped mezzanine with shelves full of law books and two desks. The law clerks did their research there.
In the monitor, I saw two women approach in the hallway. I grabbed my briefcase and ducked into the powder room and then into a stall. I couldn’t make out the words from the big room, but heard several female voices.
It wasn’t long before high heels clicked across the white hexagonal tile of the bathroom. The beep of a cell phone interrupted her stride.
“Oh, hi, Yuri…Yeah, I’m at the office already. I know those new Russian girls are coming this morning, but something’s come up. No, I’m not going to handle it. Mary Kell, the other associate will meet them. Don’t worry, she’ll do a good job. Mary will dress them up nice and figure out which geezer would be a good match for them.”
I heard the buzz of a male voice through the phone. She laughed at whatever he said, and then signed off with a simple “bye.”[angelaloft.jpg goes here.]
“Bye” indeed. I swung the door open and shot Angela Loft in the heart. The strip of white blouse between the lapels of her chic, trim gray business suit reddened instantly. She staggered back a step and rested her skinny butt on the sink behind her. The bullet had gone through her – in the mirror behind her I could see the exit wound in the center of her jacket – and lodged in the white tile.
The blue-eyed brunet was dead when she collapsed into my arms. I used the momentum of her fall to swing her into the stall and onto the toilet. She was exceedingly cute, with a Modigliani wedge of a face framing her large eyes, straight nose, bright red lips and sleek bangs. Her feet were turned over on the sides of her deeply arched, black ankle-strap heels. Her knees were spread to the limits of her taut, narrow skirt.
She tilted to the right, leaving a smear of exit-wound blood on the tile behind her. I grasped her shoulders and straightened her. That touch pushed my excitement beyond the point of return; I masturbated and came in her face.
I latched the door and clambered over the divider. I peeked from the powder room into the main office.
A gorgeous Asian woman in seamed hose was climbing the wrought-iron stairs. A young blond in a lacy black tank top had just sat down at her desk. Another secretary, this one with big hair and a peach skirt and matching pumps, was seated very near me, facing away. Her phone rang; she shifted sensually in her chair. I heard her say only “Mmmm… I could go for that.”
She turned for Joan Armstrong’s office, just to the left of the powder room; I closed my door to avoid detection. When I reopened it, I saw a hotel-style do-not-disturb sign hung on the office door. I almost burst out laughing – could the junior partner be getting a morning clit-lick from her secretary?! I sure as hell would find out.
I readied the 9mm. I waited for the right moment to slip across the four feet of marble to the next office. It came when the blond secretary rose to buzz in senior partner Kennet, whose comely, 50-year-old face graced the monitor on the receptionist’s desk. I slipped into the next room without a sound.
There, Armstrong was talking casually on the phone. She’d extended her nylon-clad leg over her desk. The bimbo secretary was sucking on the spike heel of her boss’ black patent pump! Well, you can learn something new about sex every day. I was getting quite an education, lately.[Armstrong&sec.jpg goes here]
I shot the bimbo brunet, who was maybe 35, twice in the back for openers. She lurched forward hard and jabbed her boss’ black spike heel into the back of her own throat. The yellow legal pad slipped off her lap as she rebounded and threw out her arms. Her chair almost tipped over when she slammed into the backrest. The shoe was still stuck in her mouth and blood was flowing down her chin and onto her white blouse.
She writhed and squirmed in her chair until I finished her with a shot to her right nipple.
Junior partner Joan Armstrong dropped the phone as she watched her secretary/sex toy die. She was scrambling to regain balance from the awkward, leg-over-the-desk position when I shot her in the inside of her right thigh and then in the triangle of white silk between her legs. I shot her in the left temple and she went suddenly and permanently still.
I picked up the phone and said, in my best pre-recorded institutional voice: “We’re sorry, but a switch failure has interrupted your call. Please try again later.” Then I yanked the cord out of the wall.
I took a deep, calming breath and noted the adjoining door to the next office, which was Sikes’. I dared to crack the door to check out the main room. Senior partner Kennet was apparently in her office already. The younger secretary – a 20-something blond in a ridiculously short black and white plaid skirt to go with that black tank -- was again at the reception desk, buzzing open the door for the rest of the shift. I had to close the door and didn’t get a good look at them.
Through the door I heard an authoritative voice – senior partner Sikes’, I was sure – say: “Are those two at it on company time again? Be a dear, Susan, and go in and break that up and tell them to get to work.”
A few seconds later, after a tentative knock. Susan entered. She wore no hose beneath her high, strappy sandals. I hid behind the door and quickly closed it behind her.
She was so paralyzed with horror at the sight of the two dead women that she couldn’t scream. Susan never saw me until I stepped in front of her and put the gun to her forehead. She froze for a moment, then surprised me: She swiped the gun away and bolted for the door.
She didn’t get very far.[susansec,jpgs (4 of them) go here.]
I shot her inside her right shoulder blade, just above the scoop of her black tank. She pitched forward and clung to the door for support. I shot her in the curve of her right buttock just beneath the hem of her skirt, and blood spilled down her leg. The force of the bullet turned her toward me as she fell into a sitting position.
She faced me with her legs splayed and panic in her face. Her tank turned out to be a sort of leotard; her lacy black panties were part of it. Blood pooled under her ass, and it pooled faster after I shot her in the pussy.
She moaned as she rolled forward and to her left. She held herself upright on her arms and made as if to crawl away on her belly, though there was no sense to it; she would be dead in minutes, and she was crawling toward a blank wall.
I shot her in the right instep, between the thin black straps of her shoe. I shot her in the outside of her right thigh, and in her ribs behind her right arm. She went down hard into the parquet. Her feet bounced up and flopped down and then she was dead in a pool of her own blood. It streaked across the floor as I dragged her to Armstrong’s desk and threw her over the top of it. They made nice little tableau, the dead junior partner and the two secretaries. The shoe stuck in the bimbo’s mouth was a lovely detail.
The desire to line them up and fuck them in turn was great, but time was short and business came first. This was the perfect opportunity to convince Sikes, the senior partner in the adjoining office, to purge the filing and computer systems of all reference to the Laufer family.