Reservoir Bitches.

Posted by Ric delCampo on April 01, 2004 at 06:49:11:

Reservoir Bitches
Or
No Honor among Thievettes.

By Ric delCampo

Dramatis Personae

The Bad Guys.
Kristin Aquino. AKA Miss Gold; the Mastermind.
Her henchwomen:
Cherrill Lade. AKA Miss Red.
Victoria Principal. AKA Miss Blue.
Vanessa Feather. AKA Miss Brown.
Anna Farina. AKA Miss Green.
Jessika Simson. AKA Miss Orange.
Blondie Perna. AKA Miss Yellow.

Ariel and Sheryye; gunrunners.
Emmy; Jessika’s Lover.

The Good Guys:
Erik Jaeger, Special Agent, FBI.
Detective Paul Farmer, PD, Major Crime Squad.
Detective Franks, PD, Homicide Squad.
Detective Beans, PD, Homicide Squad.

Kristin Aquino, also known as Miss Gold, watched out the window of the safe house. She could see the headlights of two cars approaching. She glanced at her watch. Right on time. Both cars backed into the driveway, there were three women in each car. All of her gang made successfully made it back to the safe house.
“Her gang.” Kris thrilled to those words. She had masterminded the crime, financed it, supplied the provisions, assembled the ‘gang,’ lead them, taught them; now all that was left was to see if they were successful. If so, her gang would disperse, never to re-assemble. It was good to think of them as sub-contractors. She had an one time job to do, hired a set of skilled sub-contractors to do the work. Now that the job was done, all that was left was to pay them.
Well, it wasn’t exactly like a normal job.
Kris pulled on her black ski-mask.
The six women piled into the front room. They all wore black ski masks and black, thrift-shop clothes. They carried six army surplus duffel bags, stuffed full.
One of the girls reached for her ski mask.
“No, no!” Kris barked. “Ski masks stay on. Stick to the plan.”
Miss Green grumbled, but she left the ski mask on.
“Let’s open ‘em up,” Miss Orange shouted. She yanked open one duffel bag and began pulling out wads and wads of one hundred dollar bills. Several of the women rushed to follow her lead.
“No! No!” Kris insisted. “Stick with the plan. Put it back.”
“Do what Miss Gold says,” Miss Red ordered. Seeing it was she who had done the actually recruiting, several of the girls knew who Miss Red really was, knew her reputation, and feared her much more than their young boss. They had never seen Miss Gold’s face, had no real idea who she was. But they could tell from her voice, its tone, that she was young, naďve in the street. She was small, 5”5’, weighting just over a hundred pounds. Petite. Small, perky breasts. They saw just enough of her almond shaped, brown eyes and the honey color of her skin to know she was Asian. And, while absolutely every part of her plan had gone just as she had planned it, they still had no physical respect for her.
“Put the bags in the safe,” Miss Gold recited from her check-list.
The women grumbled, but complied.
“Every thing go as planned?” Miss Gold asked Miss Red, on the side.
“Just as you planned.”
“Got it all?”
“All of it. We had plenty of time.”
Miss Red shut the vault door and locked it. She gave one key to Miss Gold and kept one for herself. It was an antique bank vault, set in cement, in a hole in the front room floor. They lowered a trap door over it, Miss Gold activated an alarm, and they rolled a carpet over the trap door.
Miss Gold took out her check-list and began reciting her instructions to her gang. They had heard this all before; but, Miss Gold believed, repetition prevented screw-ups.
Several of the women groaned. Especially when she reached the part about waiting three months to divide up the loot.
“We just stole a million bucks each and you won’t let us have a dime of it to spend?” Miss Orange whined. “We oughtta be celebrating.”
Miss Gold was ready for this, she took out five bundles of used bills from a brown paper sack and handed them out. “Here’s $250.00. That oughtta tide you over for a bit. I’ll have more next week when we meet again.”
As she crumpled up the sack, she said, “One of the first things the cops will look for is some body spending a lot of money. So go easy. This money is not part of the stolen money, so it can’t be traced back to the robbery.”
“But why three months?” Miss Brown asked.
“It’s all part of the plan,” Kris replied. “A part of the plan you don’t need to know. I need time to lay a false trail. That’s all I can say.”
They grumbled some more, but Miss Red silenced them. “Listen to her,” Miss Red ordered them.
“Stick to the plan,” Miss Gold continued. “See your PO’s. Keep your jobs, show up on time for work. Don’t change your routine.” She handed out some home-made pamphlets. “Here are instructions on how to create new identities, how to bank your money without drawing the government’s attention. Get to work on that to occupy your minds.”
“Miss Red and I will keep the keys to the vault. Two of you will stand guard at all times. We will meet here once a week.”
With just a bit more grumbling, the gang dispersed. Two girls stayed behind in the safe house. Two others, the drivers, took the cars to dispose of according to Miss Gold’s plan. Miss Yellow caught a ride with Miss Blue. Once, out of sight of each other, they pulled off their ski masks.
Kris walked back to the collapsing barn, where her car, and two others, was hidden; she looked around to make sure no one was following. She got in and pulled off her ski mask.
Miss Red got in and removed her mask as well. Also known as Cherrill Lade, she was the oldest of the gang. A career criminal. Mostly small-time con jobs, bad checks, holding narcotics, and some prostitution. She was only about an inch taller that Kris, but a bit heavier, with nice plump, round breasts in a 38C cup bra. She had short red hair and gray eyes. Cherrill had been the liaison between Kris and the other career criminals Cherrill had recruited for the gang. In short, Cherrill knew every one’s name except Miss Yellow. Miss Yellow had been recruited by Miss Blue.
“Every thing went according to plan?” Kris asked again.
“It was the easiest job I ever pulled,” Cherrill said. “I never dreamed of a job this big, but so easy.”
“You’ll think it’s easy when it’s time to divide up the loot. I told them a million dollars each, what will they think when they find out it’s really ten million.”
“We don’t have to tell ‘em,” Cherrill said. “We promised them a million each, and they’ll get a million each. ‘Sides, we deserve two mill’ each for putting this show together for ‘em.”
“See you next week,” Kris said as Cherrill stepped out.
“Next week.”
***
A few miles away two women, contrary to Kris’s instructions, sat in a bar, and fortified their gripes with beer and whiskey chasers.
“Fuck that Miss Gold!” Miss Blue said. Miss Blue’s real name was Victoria Principal. She was the second oldest of the gang, just a few years younger that Cherrill. She was taller, at 5’10” and about 130 pounds. She had a pair of very juicy tits in her 38D cup bra. She had short brown hair and brown eyes. Miss Blue’s specialty, prior to today, was bad checks. She had spent 13 years behind bars for fraud and tax evasion.
Her companion, Blondie Perna, or Miss Yellow, was much younger, with long thick blonde hair down to her back. She had long luscious legs. And green eyes.
They had met in prison, been cell mates, and occasionally took care of each other’s needs as there were no men around to scratch that particular itch. Blondie was a former prostitute and had served time for narcotics possession.
Blondie eyes the shrinking wad of cash in her hands. “I owe more ‘an this to my bookie!” It I don’t pay him soon, he’s gonna break my legs.”
“That’d be a real shame,” Victoria said, shamelessly patting Blondie on her legs, then sliding her hand up Blondie’s leg, under her skirt.
“You don’t think you could loan some of yours?”
“That depends. What’d ya got?”
Blondie reached over and planted a wet one right on Vicky’s lips. Sank her tongue deep down Vicky’s throat. About that same moment, Vicky’s middle finger found Blondie’s glory hole. While Blondie probed deep with her tongue, Vicky probed deep with her long, delicate finger.
“Hey, you, fuckin’ bitches! Take it outside!” the bartender growled. “This ain’t no gay bar.”
“Fine with us,” Vicky snapped back. “We ain’t gay. In fact, we’re downright pissed.”
***
In another part of town, Miss Orange, AKA Jessika Simson, slid into bed next to her lover. Emmy stirred just a bit. “Every thing go okay?” Emmy murmured.
“Yeah, just fine,” Jessika scowled. “I just stole seven million dollars an’ all that bitch’ll give me is a lousy $250.”
“But you’ll get your share in three months, won’t you. That’s the plan?”
“Yeah, three months.”
Jessika, a former semi-pro athlete, was the tallest of the gang, at almost six feet.Auburn colored hair. She had put on a bit of weight since then, mostly from too much beer; but she still had almost perfect 36-25-35 dimensions. And she still worked out when ever she could. She had worked as a leg breaker for a local bookie and had served time for minor, illegal gambling charges.
Emmy thought she was perfect. They were complete opposites. Jessika was tough. She had also been convicted of several strong-arm muggings. Delicate Emmy had never committed a crime in her life—until now. Now she was harboring a parole violator. Certainly, bank robbery constituted a violation of Jessika’s parole.
***
There were a dozen police cars at the bank when Kris arrived the next morning. A policewoman directed her to one of the vice president’s offices. A couple of the other tellers were there already and three more arrived after her. “No, talking,” was all the policewoman would say, when Kris asked what had happened and she repeated it when Kris asked the other tellers.
She waited. One by one the tellers were escorted from the room, in intervals of one to two hours. None returned to the office. Then it was Kris’s turn. She was escorted to another office. Two men were inside.
The tall, blonde man, he was about thirty years old, shook her hand; led her to her seat, and introduced himself. “Special Agent Erik Jaeger, FBI.”
The brown-haired man was older, about forty-five, with bags under his blood-shot, brown eyes as if he hadn’t slept very well. “Detective Paul Farmer, Police Department, Major Case Squad.”
“What’s happening?” Kris asked; “No one will tell me any thing.”
“Bank was robbed,” Special Agent Jaeger said curtly.
“When?” Kris asked. “I got here before it opened. I left yesterday after we closed. When could they have robbed it?”
“What do you know about the vault in the basement?” Jaeger asked.
“The vault? Oh, that’s an urban legend. You know, gossip we tellers yak about when we got nothing better to do than tell each other lies. There’s no vault in the basement.”
“What if I were to tell you there is?”
“There is?” Kris asked, wide-eyed and innocent.
“What can you tell us about the vault?” Jaeger asked patiently. Farmer was quiet the whole time. He seemed to be watching her intently.
“The tellers aren’t allowed in the basement. Management never told us why. I guess that’s how all the rumors got started,” Kris said.
“What rumors?”
“You know? the gossip I was telling about. That there’s a big vault in the basement, with millions of dollars in it.” Kris looked from Jaeger to Farmer and back again. “Really, I thought it was just a big joke. Millions of old dollars bills, tucked away here, in this bank; before being shipped off to be incinerated.”
“You have access to the vault?” Jaeger asked.
“If they didn’t even tell us about the vault,” Kris started. “You know, management doesn’t tell us anything. I’m just a teller. I don’t think they trust us with anything.”
The interrogation lasted two hours. They went over her duties at the bank, her work experience, her schooling; then to her activities the previous night. Then back to more questions about the vault. Kris became more and more confused. None of their questions seemed to make sense. The two policemen never said the words: “Federal Reserve Bank vault.” And Kristin never made the mistake of mentioning the word “federal” in the same breathe as “vault.”
Then it was over. “You can go home now, Miss Aquino,” Jaeger told her.
“I need to talk with my supervisor,” Kris replied. “I need his permission to go home.”
“Sorry, he’s in interrogation,” Jaeger said. “Trust me, you can go home.”
The policewoman escorted Kris from the office.
Six hours later Jaeger and Farmer finished interviewing the last of the tellers.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” Jaeger said. “Those girls don’t know anything.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Farmer said. “Obviously, it was an inside job, right?”
“Obviously; but the tellers know nothings about the vault, the security codes, the work schedules; they’ve never even seen the vault.”
“All that may be true,” Farmer said. “But the tellers are the grapevine of the office. If one of the officers was screwing around on his wife, had gambling debts, blew a pile on the stock market, desperately needed money; who’s to know better than the tellers? Those girls know something; we just gotta keep listening close enough.”
As they were leaving, Jaeger spotted Kris standing near her teller’s station.
“Didn’t I tell you, you could go home?”
“I need my boss’s permission,” Kris said, near tears; “I can only go if he gives permission. I don’t want to lose my job!”
“Don’t worry,” Jaeger said. “Your boss has already left. Here, let me drive you home.”
“I can take the bus.”
“Oh, come on,” Jaeger begged. “It’s been a boring day; let me spend a few moments with a pretty girl.”
Kris smiled at him.
“That’s better,” Jaeger said. “You know something; I didn’t believe you when you said you were home alone yesterday, last night.”
Kris’s heart skipped a beat. Before she could reply, he said, with a teasing smile, “Or at least, a girl as beautiful as you shouldn’t have been home alone.”
***
Vanessa Feather, AKA Miss Brown, sat in her parole officer’s office, her long legs crossed. She wore a mini-skirt and seamless pantyhose. She smiled wickedly when she realized the parole officer was looking up her skirt. She wasn’t wearing any panties.
Vanessa was tall, leggy, very slender, and had jet-black hair down to her waist. She had very dark brown, almost black eyes. Her skin was a dark reddish-brown.
“Next week is it,” the parole officer said. “Your last visit.”
“Does it have to be?” Vanessa whined, but not for real. “I’ve so enjoyed our time together.”
“You done good, Vanessa,” the PO said. “How’s the job?”
“Boring,” Vanessa shrugged. “But it pays the bills.”
“Your boss is all praises,” the officer said.
‘He oughtta be,’ Vanessa thought; ‘he’s screwing me very day.’
“That’s nice of him,” Vanessa said out loud. “I hope I can get a recommendation from him.”
“You see,” she continued, “when my parole is up, I’d like to move back to Oklahoma; to reconnect with my people; to reconnect spiritually.”
“You can’t go now.”
“Yeah, I know,” Vanessa said. “I just want to tell you in advance. I need to save a bit more money before I can afford to move. I think about three months will do it.”
***
Anna Farina was scowling as she came out of the day hotel. ‘Fifty bucks. Was that all an hour with her was worth? Fifty bucks?’ Anna couldn’t wait for the three months to be up.
Anna, AKA Miss Green, had just turned 31, she was getting too old for this life. She was still slim, about 5’7”, and had a slender figure. Her hair was brown, as were her eyes. She had a nice pair of legs and men still liked to get between them.
The cell phone in her purse rang. “Hello?”
“This is Miss Gold. It is your turn at the safe house. Any problems?”
“Not a one,” Anna replied bitterly. “Not a fuckin’ one.”
***
Miss Blue and Miss Yellow watched from the window as the other women left the safe house. They pulled the curtains shut. Contrary to Miss Gold’s instructions, they removed their ski masks. They stared longingly at the rug-covered vault.
“It’s only been a week?” Miss Blue said. “Just a week. I don’t think I can wait three months.”
“What’s she waiting for?” Miss Yellow asked. She paced back and forth over the vault. “I think she’s waiting for the cops to catch us.” Miss Blue paced the room beside her. “You see her. This is her first job. The cops won’t be looking for her. If she waits long enough, they’ll round us all up and she’ll keep all the money for herself. That’s why she has us wear these stupid masks; so we don’t know who she is.”
:So what do we do?” Miss Yellow asked.
“First, we need the keys,” Miss Blue said. “If we can get her key from Cherrill, Miss Gold will be easy.”
“What about the others?”
“I don’t think there’s enough money to go around, don’t you, Miss Yellow?” Miss Blue said wickedly. “First thing we do, we follow the others home, find out who they are. Then, we snuff ‘em. Maybe that’ll panic Miss Goldy to give up the money sooner.”
***
“Really, this is your first date?” Erik Jaeger asked after the waiter had delivered their plates.
“I don’t get out much,” Kris said. “My life has pretty much been my job.”
“You’ve been working at the bank what, four years now?”
“What are you, a cop?” Kris joked. “Of course you know how long I’ve been there. You read my personnel file. Can’t you stop being a cop for just one night?”
“I guess I don’t get out much either,” Jaeger said.
“So, tell me, how’s it’s going?’ Kris asked. “You got any good leads yet?”
“It obviously was an inside job.”
“Really? How do you know?”
“I can’t go into that; but let’s say, it is obvious.” He gave her a nod. “Any of the bosses acted suspicious lately?”
“How do you define suspicious?” Kris asked. “They’re all a buncha jerks to us tellers.”
***
“Damn! We’re outta money again!” Jessika complained to Emmy. “And it’s three days till we meet again.”
“What are we going to do for money until then?” Emmy asked.
“I’ll think of something,” Jessika said. She pulled a revolver out of a drawer and flipped it open. She debated if it was worth it to knock over a liquor store when she had a million dollars waiting for her at the safe house. She could go there right now; shoot who ever was guarding the safe tonight. But that still didn’t get her into the vault. Red and Goldy had the keys. “Damn them!”
***
“You’re what? You’re sleeping with an FBI guy?!?!?!” Cherrill was furious. “Are you outta your fuckin’ mind?”
“Only when he screws me,” Kris said. “I go outta my mind with delight when he sticks his thing in me.” Her eyes rolled back at the delightful memories. “And then he tells me whatever I want to know.”
“You’re playing with fire.”
“He thinks I’m a silly little girl,” Kris said. “He really gets off showing off how much he knows. They’re looking real hard at the bank president and one of the loan officers.”
“You didn’t tell me about this part of the plan,” Cherrill complained.
“It’s the one modification I’ve made,” Kris said. “Don’t worry; I’ve been planning this job for four years. I’ve worked out every detail. I’ve taken my time and thoroughly covered my tracks. There’s no way I could know all the security codes that I know. I did nothing at my terminal. I saved all my money for four years and I financed this job with cash. There’s nothing I haven’t thought of. But having an inside source in the FBI, I couldn’t pass that up.”
Miss Orange and Miss Brown were already at the safe house when they arrived. They pulled on their ski masks and entered separately to give the impression that they had arrived separately. The rest of the gang arrived shortly.
Miss Gold went through her check-list again. Most of the girls were behind schedule and they griped endlessly.
Miss Gold handed out some more cash to quiet them up.
***
Miss Blue followed Jessika home while Miss Yellow followed Miss Green. But Jessika didn’t go home; she followed Miss Yellow. She stopped only to pick up another young woman. “Now this is interesting?” Victoria said to herself when she saw the unknown girl handing Miss Orange a revolver. She debated: She and Miss Yellow hadn’t planned to act today. But Miss Orange appeared ready. The question was this: Should she save Miss Yellow or betray her? Should she help Miss Orange or let her do it alone?
Miss Yellow parked outside Miss Green’s apartment. Miss Orange and her girlfriend parked a block behind her. And Victoria parked another block back.
When Miss Green had entered the building, Blondie followed her and read her name off her post box. She returned to her car.
Vicky’s cell phone rang.
“Miss Green’s name is Anna Farina,” Blondie told her. “Should we come back later tonight and snuff her?”
“Let’s think about this?” Vicky said. “I think we need to plan this out better.”
“You have any luck with Orange?”
“Nah, she didn’t go home. Right now she’s sitting in a car with another girl. I think they’re fucking?”
“Miss Orange’s a lezbo?” Blondie laughed. “I guess she should’d been called Miss Rainbow.” She returned to her car and drove home. Jessika looked up too late from pussy diving and lost her.
Victoria watched Jessika speed away.
***
Anna’s doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting any one.
There was a stranger at the door, an older woman. “You going to let me in, Anna?” Victoria asked. “Or should I call you Miss Green?”
“You’re Miss Blue,” Anna said. She quickly opened the door, glanced down the hall to see if any of the neighbors saw.
“What are you doing here?” Anna asked. “You’re not supposed to know my name, where I live, what I look like.”
Victoria ignored her. She walked into the kitchen. She found a butcher’s block with several knives. She slid out the biggest one.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Vicky smiled wickedly. “Not for me.”
Anna trembled as the light glinted off the silver knife blade. She noticed Victoria was wearing latex gloves. Goosebumps spread across her skin. Anna was wearing tight, faded blue jeans and a checkered shirt knotted at her sternum, exposing her midriff. She shivered, but not from the cold. Anna’s nipples made hard little bumps in her blouse. Victoria could smell the shampoo in her freshly washed hair; the sweet scent was fading as the musky smell of Anna’s sweat glistening on her pale skin.
Anna’s brown eyes went wide with shock when Victoria strode over to her and without hesitation shoved the butcher knife into her tight little belly. The tip of the blade went into her bellybutton, and the razor sharp blade sliced into her delicate flesh and entered her tummy. She held the knife there, held Anna pinned to the wall, while Anna’s lissome body squirmed and writhed.
Anna whimpered softly, “you’re killing me!” Her knees were shaking. Her legs went weak. They couldn’t hold her up. She was dying. Anna didn’t want to die. She had a million dollars waiting for her. Hot blood trickled from her wounded stomach, down her flat belly, pooled in her tight jeans under her pussy, then trickled down her legs. She slid down the wall, all the while with Victoria staring intently into her eyes, her hand firmly on the knife. With the knife as a medium, Vicky could feel the life ebbing out of Anna. It was almost as good as fucking her. Her labia swelled up in arousal. She needed to finger herself, to relieve the pressure building up between her legs; but instead her held the knife deep inside Anna’s body and vicariously felt Anna’s vital vigor wane.
Anna’s breathing became quicker, but more painful. Her brown eyes fluttered. Her pouty lips opened oh so slightly as her last breath escaped her lungs. Her violated body slumped lifeless across the kitchen floor. Her dead brown eyes stared at the ceiling.
Victoria left the knife sticking in Anna’s stomach. She rushed out to her car, stripped off the gloves, lifted her skirt, shoved aside her panties, stuck her middle finger up her cunt, and began to franticly masturbate. The orgasm that followed was ever so satisfying.
***
One of the CSI was examining Anna’s corpse when Paul Farmer arrived.
“What ya doin’ here, Paul?” one of the homicide detectives asked. His name was Franks. “Though you were working that federal bank robbery?”
“I am,” Farmer said as he stepped in closer to examine Anna’s cute corpse. The knife was still protruding from her belly.
“Who is she?”
“Street walker. Name’s Anna Farina.” Franks said.
“Think a john did this?”
The homicide detective shook his head. “Too soon.”
“No sign of sexual activity,” the CSI guy said.
“I don’t see anything tying this to your case, Paul.”
“With ten millions dollars in hot cash floating around,” Farmer said, “I’d be surprised if there weren’t any dead bodies showing up. Check my office for the serial numbers of the missing cash. Run a check on all her johns. Let me know if she has any connection to any one with the bank or a history of bank robbery or burglary.”
“It’s my case, Paul.” Franks gently reminded him.
“It’s the taxpayers’s money.” Farmer softly replied.
***
“Some of the missing cash showed up,” Erik said. He and Kris lay naked, side by side, in Kris’s bed.
“Oh really?” Kris played it cool.
“In Seattle, would you believe it? And some more in Portland. And a few in San Francisco.”
“That’s on the other side of the country.”
“Yeah. We’re checking into the airlines,” Erik Jaeger said. “See who turns up. Who ever it was, he must’ve flown straight to the West coast after the robbery.”
“You going west, after him?”
“If the Bureau sends me.”
“I’ll miss you,” Kris said. And part of her meant it. The part between her legs. “I’m thinking of moving too.”
“You? Why?”
“My bank was robbed. You haven’t caught the guys who did it. Maybe somebody’s going to think my bank is an easy target. Next time maybe they’ll come in during the day, when I’m there. Maybe next time somebody’s going to get hurt, get shot, get killed. I’m scared. And I don’t think I’m going to feel better until I get away.”
***
“It’s working,” Kris told Cherrill. “I switched the serial numbers on the bills in the computer. And now they’re turning up all over the country,” Kris giggled. “The cops are going crazy trying to run down all those bills. And the beauty of it is not a one of them actually came from the robbery. They’re wasting hundreds of man-hours chasing down innocent civilians.”
“We got problems,” Cherrill said. She showed Kris the newspaper.
“So, some street whore got snuffed,” Kris said. “It’s not the first time it’s happened.”
“Anna Farina was Miss Green,” Cherrill said.
“Shit! Shit! Double-shit!” Kris swore. “I hope the bitch followed my instructions; so there’ll be nothing at her place to tie her to us.”
“Well, you were right about one thing,” Cherrill said. “At least they won’t find any of the money at her place.”
***
“I have to switch the schedule,” Kris explained to her gang. “Miss Green is no longer with us. She disobeyed my instructions, returned to prostitution, and got herself snuffed.”
“I don’t see your name on this list,” Miss Orange complained.
“I got a job,” Kris said curtly. “I can’t miss work.”
“We all got places to be, sister,” Miss Blue said. “If you give us the money, we can all split and nobody’s gotta stand watch.”
“Not yet,” Kris said. “My plan’s working perfectly. Shortly, we’ll be able to spend this cash where ever we feel like it without worrying about the cops tracking us down.”
“Says who?” Miss Orange said.
“I do,” Kris retorted.
“Well, at least Miss Green doesn’t have to worry any more,” Miss Blue snickered.
***
Miss Yellow looked at herself in the mirror. She was wearing a tight, white blouse, half-unbuttoned, and a black push-up bra. Very nice. She was going to catch some horny guy staring down her blouse tonight. She wore a short, leather mini-skirt and knee-high boots.
She was sure to get laid tonight. It had been three months since she had a cock inside of her and she was becoming a bit squirrelly. Immediately after the robbery, she had been jumpy, afraid to go out in public alone least she say the wrong thing to the wrong person. But her needs out-weighted her fears.
There was a knock at her door. When she opened it, a woman in a ski-mask pushed her way inside and locked the door. The woman held a revolver.
“Who are you?” Blondie demanded. She was sure it was one of her fellow bank robbers; but didn’t know which one. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not even supposed to know where I live.”
“And I’m not supposed to do this either,” Jessika said. She poked the revolver at Blondie and squeezed off a round.
The bullet plopped right into the delicate, tender flesh of her firm right breast. Hot lead burned a hole through her blouse, through her bra, and sank into her firm pink flesh.
A gasp escaped her lips. Her green eyes popped wide with fear, horror, and the sudden burning pain in her breast. Miss Yellow clutched at her breast, cradled it gently. She moaned more at the fear of death and the loss of all her stolen riches could buy her rather than at the pain creeping through her trembling body.
“I think you need another one. How about a matching pair?” Jessika shot her again, this time in the other breast. Hot lead punched a hole in her pink flesh just below her nipple. Miss Yellow stumbled back, collided with the wall, and leaned back against it to support her quivering body. Her long legs failed her. And she sat down, slowly sliding down the wall.
Miss Yellow’s lower lip quivered. “Please, p-please don’t kill me.”
Jessika stood back a ways. She didn’t want to get any blood spatter on her.
“Sister, you’re already dead.” She shot one more bullet straight into Miss Yellow’s heart to finish her off. Miss Yellow’s head snapped back, her pouty mouth dropped open, she tried to scream, but her lungs were empty and just the last of her breath wheezed out.
Miss Yellow slumped over, her thick blonde hair haloing out around her serene face.
Her eyes were partially open, partially rolled back, so just a hint of green showed.
Jessika hurried home to Emmy.
****

The CSI team was finished by the time Farmer showed up at the crime scene. The coroner was just going in to bag her.
“Another prostitute?” he asked detective Franks who was on the scene.
“Still running the ID.”
A CSI guy showed him a driver’s license. “Blondie Perna,” it read.
“Same as the other one?” Farmer asked.
“Nah, this one was shot. Take a look.” They walked over to Miss Yellow’s body. There were three little dark red holes in her blouse. “Spoiled a nice pair o’ tits.”
“Look small. You thinking a .22?” Farmer said.
“Probably a lover’s quarrel. Look, we’ll run it down. We’ll let you know if there’s any tie in with your case. But I doubt it. This looks like a crime of passion.”
***
There was a knock at Victoria’s door. Two rumpled men with stubbly chins and bloodshot eyes stood outside. “Police, Miss Principal; let us in.”
Victoria let them in. “To what do I owe the pleasure, boys? I’ve been a good girl.”
“I’m Detective Franks; this is my partner, Detective Beans.”
Franks showed her a picture of a pale dead woman lain out on a coroner’s stainless steel table. It was Miss Yellow AKA Blondie Perna.
“You know this woman?”
Victoria tried in vain to hide her shock. She paused a moment, trying to appear as if studying the picture intently. “I. . .uh, I think we did time together in the joint. She looks like a cellmate of mine.”
“We have eyewitnesses who put the two of you together recently in a local bar.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Victoria said. “That would be a violation of my parole, wouldn’t it?”
“Forget your parole; you help us find who did this and we’ll lose our notes containing those statements.”
Vicky hesitated. “Sorry, boys; can’t help you.”
“Where were you last night?”
“Here.”
“Any one can vouch for you?”
“Sorry, no.”
“You mind if we look around?”
“You got a warrant?”
“No.”
Vicky smiled. “I ain’t got nothing to hide. Go ahead. Look around. But be careful in the bed room. It may warp your tender little minds.”
***
“I’ve got blood.” The CSI guy held up a special light. There were minute traces of blood on the floor of Victoria’s car. They hauled her ass downtown and held her until blood typing tests came back showing it was not Blondie’s blood. After grilling her for another two hours, they let her go.
It wasn’t until the next week when the CSI lab techie finished the DNA testing and dropped a bombshell. Franks grabbed Beans.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To pick up Miss Principal, for murder.”
“I thought it wasn’t Miss Perna’s blood in Principal’s car.”
“It wasn’t. It was Anna Farina’s.”
They kicked in Victoria’s door; but she wasn’t home. They staked out her apartment; but she never returned.
***

Jaeger and Farmer were pouring over their notes, trying to find something they had missed.
“Holy cow!” Farmer whistled.
“What do you got?”
“A copy of something Detective Franks found in the home of a murder suspect, a Miss Victoria Principal. It’s a set of instructions on how to change your identity. It wasn’t typed up on Miss Principal’s computer, fonts are different.”
“So? She’s a murder suspect. Of course she’s gonna wanna change her identity.”
“Hand written, at the bottom, it reads: “Deposits of less then $9,000.00 are not reported to the federal government. I seriously doubt Miss Principal ever had more than $9,000.00 at one time.”
***

“I want my money and I want it now!” Miss Blue demanded.
“That’s not the plan,” Miss Gold replied.
“Yeah?! And was it part of your fuckin’ plan that Miss Yellow got herself snuffed? The cops are after me for that. I need my money right now.”
“Back off! Back off!” Miss Red thrust herself between the feuding two women. “We follow Miss Gold’s plan. Miss Blue, you can stay here. We’ll bring you food.”
“Fuck you!” Miss Blue stormed out of the safe house.
***

“A million bucks? You say?” Ariel was skeptical. Victoria was busy examining the weapons Ariel had brought.
“It’s part of that federal bank job a couple months back,” Vicky said looking down the barrel of a snub nosed revolver. “Ain’t you got anything better than this?”
Sheryye, Ariel’s partner, handed her a 9. mm pistol with a long silencer.
Ariel was 5”8’, with hazel eyes, auburn hair, and a slight tan. She wore a feminine cut business suit, gray, with a cream-colored blouse and high heels. A mini-skirt and hose accentuated her long legs. A Cartier watch on her left wrist. A strand of faux pearls around her delicate neck. She hardly looked like a gun dealer.
Sheryye, her partner, was shorter, with small breasts and a Jennifer Lopez butt. She had short black hair.
“It’s ours for the taking,” Victoria said. “There’s only two people at the safe house and the ‘boss’ won’t let us carry firearms.” She pronounced the word ‘boss’ with great distain.
“Let’s go for it!” Sheryye insisted. She eagerly slipped a load clip into a pistol and screwed on a silencer.

***

“I just saw Miss Blue get into a car with two other women,” Jessika said over the phone to Miss Red. “They had guns.”
“Do you have a gun, or more?” Miss Red asked.
“I can get a couple.”
“Get over here. Right now. And bring ‘em.”
“Right.” Jessika hung up the phone. She smiled an evil smile at Emmy. “I think we oughtta make love for awhile. Let the other girls hash it out between them.”
Emmy couldn’t agree more.

***
“Damnit!” Jaeger slammed down the phone. “The bills have just shown up in Texas and New Mexico. That’s almost every state west of the Mississippi. Which is impossible!”
“Of course!” Farmer was just having one of those Eureka moments. “Who ever did this had access to the security cameras—he turned them off. He had access to all the locks—he left the vault open and unlocked for four hours, as well as the back door. He had access to the guard schedule—he arranged for non-existent guards to watch the back door and vault areas. He knew when the money was arriving and when it was to leave—he had only a one night window of opportunity.”
“What’s your point?”
“If he had computer access to all this; why can’t we assume he had access to the list of serial numbers? If he changed lock, camera, and security schedules without problems, why couldn’t he substitute a phony list of serial numbers also?”
“No wonder we’re pulling in so many innocent people,” Jaeger said. “All these bills we’re collecting were never part of the stolen lot. Is there another source for the list?”
“We can go back to the individual banks which sent the money here. Some of them ought to still have their original lists.”
“Damn!” Jaeger said. “The crooks could be spending the loot right under our noses and we’d never know it.”
***

“Fuck it all! Where is Miss Orange?” Miss Red thought. She was peering out the window as Miss Blue, or Victoria, she wasn’t wearing her ski mask, stepped out of her car. Two other women got out with her and the three of them strode steadfastly toward the front door of the safe house. All three were packing heat.
“Fuck! Where was everybody?” she asked herself. Miss Brown had claimed she had a weapon in the trunk of her car and had left the safe house. Miss Orange still hadn’t shown up. And Miss Red hadn’t bothered to call Miss Gold; she knew Kris would be useless in a real gun fight. Cherrill ran to the kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife. Just then the back door burst open and Vanessa—Miss Brown—returned. She hadn’t bothered to replace her ski mask. Cherrill ripped hers off too.
“My name is Cherrill,” she said.
Vanessa didn’t know what to make of that statement. Did Miss Red expect to die and wanted her companion to know her real name?
“I’m Vanessa.” She held out a hunting bow. “My PO wouldn’t let me keep a gun. But he did let me keep this.”
“Shit!” Cherrill swore. It was almost as useless as her knife.
There was banging at the front door. “Let us in, give us the keys, and we won’t kill you,” Victoria shouted.
“Come and get ‘em,” Sherrill yelled back. She turned to Vanessa. “Can you nail the first one through the door? I’ll try and get her gun and take out the other two.” They ran into the front room and Vanessa moved behind the couch. Sherrill stood to one side of the door.
The doorframe splintered and the door burst open.
Sheryye was the first one through the door.
Vanessa popped up and let fly an arrow.
Sheryye whipped her head around searching from a target. She spotted Vanessa too late.
The razor-tipped hunting arrow struck Sheryye right below her navel. She was wearing a pair of tight, low-slung jean and it entered her belly just above the button. The razors sliced her delicate skin; the arrow-head buried itself deep into her guts; stopping only when it struck her spine.
“OOOH!” Sheryye moaned, her mouth opening in an ‘O’. Her eyes registered pain and surprise. She involuntarily dropped her pistol and clutched at her violated belly. The shaft protruding from her tummy hindered her grasping hands. She looked down, wide-eyed, at the aluminum shaft impaling her slender belly.
She wrapped her hands around the arrow as her tummy undulated in pain; but she didn’t pull it out for fear of yanking out her guts.
Blood was pulsing from the wound. It streamed between her fingers. A trickle of blood ran down her thigh and tickled her pussy.
Sheryye clenched her teeth, pursed her lips. “Ugh! Ugh!” moans forced their way out of her lungs. With every moan her back arched involuntarily and her chest heaved. Her tiny little tits jiggled with every spasm of pain.
Her nipples were hard and made tiny little dimples in her crop-top t-shirt.
Sheryye sank to her knees. Her life was fading. Her vision was gray. She fell over backward, onto her back. Her petite body trembled and was still.
Right behind Sheryye was a woman dressed way too elegantly for a gun fight.
As she ran into the front room, Ariel was blocked by the dying Sheryye. Ariel saw Vanessa duck down and hide behind the couch. She raised her pistol.
Cherrill stepped in behind Ariel. Her left hand clamped over Ariel’s mouth and pulled her back.
With her right hand, Cherrill plunged the butcher knife into Ariel’s right breast. She sank in all the way to the handle. The wide blade sliced through Ariel’s expensive suit coat, through her cream-colored blouse, through her lacey bra, and into her tender white meat. Cherrill angled the blade to the left, into Ariel’s rapidly, even franticly beating heart. She cut the throbbing heart in two and blood burst from Ariel’s chest and dribbled down her belly. Her heart stopped almost immediately and with it the flow of blood.
Ariel tried to gasp, to moan, to cry. She gagged on her own blood. Her trim body squirmed on the impaling blade and her ass ground against Cherrill’s groin as she tried in vain to escape the impaling blade. Cherrill responded by pressing her cunt into Ariel’s squiring ass. She was going to enjoy this bitch’s death.
Ariel’s hazel eyes rolled back in her head and her head lolled to one side as her last breathe of air rattled out of her lungs.
Ariel’s body suddenly became dead weight and Cherrill lowered her to the ground. Her eyes were partially open. Her mouth slightly agape as if moaning in orgasm.
Except for the bloody stain on her otherwise immaculate blouse, and, of course, the blood-smear knife handle protruding from her breast, Ariel was an elegantly dressed corpse. Ariel died with her high-heels on.
Vanessa stood up. “Where’s the other one?”
“Right here, bitch!” Victoria had come in through the back door. Pistol in hand.
Phuut! Phuut! Phuut! Phuut!
Vanessa whirled around just in time for Victoria to pump four bullets into her belly.
Vanessa gasped four times in rapid succession. She suddenly found she could not breathe.
She dropped her bow and clutched tightly at her punctured belly. Blood was already seeping between her long, slender fingers.
Vanessa stumbled backward and tumbled over the couch, landing in a heap. Her mini-skirt slid up her long legs revealing her sheer, seamless pantyhose and no panties.
Vanessa lay on the couch, head down, legs up in the air, thrashing about in pain. Her body was undulating and she was squirming in pain. Her unrestrained breasts bounced with every painful spasm wracking her athletically trim body.
Her luscious mouth was open, but no air entered or exhaled. Her dark brown eyes stared intently at nothing. Suddenly. Her body jerked. She struggled in vain against the gripe of death enveloping her. Vanessa lost the struggle.
Then Vanessa went limp and crumpled off the couch to lie motionless on the floor. A red pool of blood seeped beneath her.
Cherrill dove for Ariel’s gun and came up shooting.
But Victoria already had the drop on her.
Phuut! Phuut! Phuut! Phuut!
Victoria riddled Cherrill’s big round juicy breasts with four 9mm slugs. Her tits jiggled with each impact as the hot lead burned through her blouse and bra and plunged into her squeezably soft breasts.
Cherrill’s fingers lost their gripe and the gun fell from her hand. She stood immobilized by the shock. Her pouty mouth was agape in surprise. Her gray eyes open wide in astonishment.
Her hands fluttered to her bosom and she cradled her perforated breasts. Her blood pulsed from her riddled heart, soaked into her blouse and seeped between her clutching fingers.
Her knees began to tremble and Cherrill felt too weak to stand.
“Fall down, bitch; you’re dead!” Victoria sneered.
Cherrill slumped back against the wall and slid to her ass. Her ample chest heaved as she vainly sucked in air, only to have it rattle out the holes in her lungs. A thin rivulet of blood trickled from her quivering lip. Her gray eyes rolled back. Her head slumped forward, her red hair partially obscuring her face.
Victoria cautiously inched forward.
Cherrill was no longer breathing.
Victoria shrugged as she saw the two corpses of her fellow conspirators. At least she didn’t have to share with them
This was the first time, however, that she had seen Miss Red’s and Miss Brown’s faces.
‘Cute girls,’ she thought. ‘Even cuter corpses.’
She began searching Miss’s Red’s corpse for her key and found it hanging on a chain around her neck. Luckily, she hadn’t put a bullet hole through it.
“Find what you were looking for?”
Victoria whirled around. The key chain dangled from one hand. The other was empty. Her pistol, also empty, lay a few feet away.
Miss Orange stood in the doorway, a pistol aimed at Victoria’s head.
At least she assumed it was Miss Orange. Victoria had never seen Jessika’s face before. She knew her by her voice.
“Why, yes. I did.” Victoria’s voice was even, fearless.
“Do you have Miss Gold’s key?” Jessika had never seen Miss Red’s face before either. But the dead woman slumped up against the wall was too tall to be Miss Gold. “No,” Victoria shook her head.
Then Jessika recognized Cherrill’s face as a fellow inmate at the state prison. “Her name was Cheryl or Sheryl or something like that.”
“Yeah, I know,” Victoria said, “I recognized her when I shot her. We briefly bunked together in the pen. Her name was Cherrill Lade.”
“I’m Jessika.” Jessika’s voice was much friendlier; but the pistol never wavered.
“I’m Victoria,” Victoria, being a little bit older, and a little bit wiser, knew there was a good reason not to know each other’s names. Miss Gold had been right about that.
But, under the circumstance, Vicky decided it was worth the risk.
“I’m not greedy,” Jessika said. “I could share the money with you.”
“Under what conditions?” Victoria felt negotiations were preferable to the alternative.
“Tell me who Miss Gold is.”
“Sorry, I don’t know.”
Jessika put her gun down. “I guess we’ll just have to wait until she shows up.”
“I guess so,” Vicky agreed.
***
“You look extra glum today,” Detective Farmer said to Jaeger as he wandered in and sat down opposite Farmer’s desk.
“My girlfriend’s leaving town,” Jaeger griped.
“Who? You mean that cute teller you’ve been boinking? Don’t tell me you were serious about her.”
Jaeger nodded.
“I mean, as soon as this case was over, you’d be leaving town. How could you expect to have a serious relationship with her?”
“Well, the case ain’t cracked and I ain’t leaving yet.” Jaeger sighed. “She decided to go back to the Philippines and stay with her grandparents. ‘It’s too dangerous here,’ she says.”
“I remember when we did the background check on her. Every payday she’d buy a money order for a couple hundred dollars. She’s been doing that for four years. I recall her statement that the money was for her grandparents in the Philippines. No wonder she doesn’t have a life; she’s got no money,” Farmer said.
“You ready for more bad news?” Farmer asked.
Jaeger shrugged.
“I obtained lists from all the banks which shipped their old bills here for disposal. And compared the serial numbers. Who ever our mastermind is, he changed those lists too. All the numbers match. I tell you: we’re dealing with a computer genius here.”
“It’s been almost three months,” Jaeger said. “Do you think we’ll ever catch him?”
“We’ll get him,” Farmer assured. “He’s gotta make a mistake sometime.”
***

Emmy had become frightened when Jessika didn’t return. Contrary to Miss Gold’s instructions, Jessika had given Emmy the safe house’s address. It was on a lonely country road far away from any nosey neighbors. A dilapidated farm house, overgrown with weeds and surrounded by huge weeping willow trees.
The front door was damaged and slightly ajar.
Emmy crept in. Her heart was pounding.
There were three dead women near the door. Another lay face down by a couch in a pool of her own blood.
An older red-head, with several bullet holes in her breasts, was the closest. Emmy had never seen a dead woman before and curiosity overcame her. She caressed the dead woman’s breasts. Still warm and pliable. Emmy was aroused. She suddenly missed Jessika’s breasts. She pulled open the dead red-head’s blouse and kissed her dead nipple. ‘Umm! Tasty.”
The next woman was younger, tall, and elegantly dressed. She had a butcher knife protruding from her right breast. Emmy coveted the faux pearls around her slender neck and stole them. She didn’t know they weren’t real. She would have stolen the business suit, but there was a hole in the blouse and it was soaked in blood.
Next to her was a short, black haired girl with an arrow in her tummy.
Emmy rolled the dead girl next to the couch over to look at her serene, regal face. She just had to kiss those luscious dead lips. She lifted the dusky dead woman’s skirt and kissed those lips too.
Now she really needed Jessika.
No sign of Jessika yet, but at least she wasn’t one of the dead.
Emmy walked back to the kitchen. The back door was open. There was a car parked next to the door, its trunk lid was still open. Jessika’s car was parked behind it.
Emmy heard moaning coming from one of the bedrooms.
She stealthily crept to the door.
Two naked women were licking each other’s nipples. Kissing each other’s breasts. Caressing each other’s sweating bodies.
One was Jessika.
The other was an older, brown haired woman with large breasts.
They crawled on the bed and the brunette lay on her back and spread her legs. Jessika climbed on top of her and rubbed her naked tits against the other woman’s until all four nipples were hard as rocks. Jessika turned around and stuck her head between the brunette’s legs. She sucked the woman’s moist, pink pussy and thrust her probing tongue into her cunt and tickled her clit.
The brunette licked Jessika’s slit. She too stuck her tongue into Jessika’s pussy and licked clit. Both women were moaning in frenzied ecstasy.
Emmy was crushed. A purple haze came over her as she returned to the front room. She picked up the hunting bow—she was afraid of guns—and one razor-tipped arrow.
Like a cat Emmy crept into the bedroom.
Both women had their eyes closed as their savored each other’s delicious snatch.
Emmy stood on a night stand and aimed down at Jessika’s back.
She drew back the bow-string.
‘Two-timing whore!’ Emmy shrieked.
She let loose the arrow.
The arrow struck Jessika in the back, severed her spine, traversed her heart, burst forth in a spray of blood, and entered Victoria’s belly button, and buried its head deep in Victoria’s guts.
Jessika’s was killed almost instantaneously. She felt the arrow pierce her heart and her hot blood flood into her body. At that moment she experienced the greatest climax of her life and cried in intense, sheer pleasure. Her very last sensation was an overwhelming flood of eternal bliss. Her death spasm thrust her tongue deep into Victoria’s cunt.
Jessika’s tongue slammed into Victoria’s clit at the exact same moment the arrow-head pierced her belly. She was unable to distinguish which caused the greater sensation.
Victoria’s body arched, driving the razors deeper into her belly. Her voluptuous body squirmed in a combination of pleasure and pain.
She was so overwhelmed by the two extremes that she could only react by climaxing over and over again.
Then her body was spent and her last breath escaped the lungs. Victoria slumped. Her brown eyes partially open and gazing at Jessika’s dead, dripping pussy.
Emmy, in a panic, fled back to her car. She didn’t realize she was still carrying Vanessa’s bow.
***
Kris looked in dismay at all the female corpses littering the safe house.
She could only recognize Cherrill; but with two of her gang already confirmed dead, adding Cherrill, and with five additional corpses in the safe house, it appeared that her gang had wiped itself out.
She had already given notice at the bank, to her landlord. Agent Jaeger had already kissed her goodbye.
She rolled back the carpet, unlocked the vault—she had found Cherrill’s key, on the floor next to the two dead women pinned together with an arrow.
She carried the six duffel bags out to her car.
One by one she stuffed the corpses into the vault. It was a tight fit, but she got all six in. She shut the vault door and locked it. She shut the trap door and nailed it down. She rolled out the carpet and tacked it back into place.
Kris spent several hours scrubbing the house. She still had five months left on the lease and hoped the landlord wouldn’t come out here until then. But to be sure she removed all evidence of the bloody massacre and the presence of the bank robbers.
She hid the cars in the barn and covered them with canvas tarps.
She even brushed out her tire tracks on the dirt driveway.
A hundred miles away she threw all the keys—vault keys, car keys, house keys, into a river.
Five hundred miles further she threw away her driver’s license, social security card, and all other identification with her old identity on them. She ditched her old car. She took out an envelope with an all new identity and picked up a brand new car she had purchased on-line.
Six hundred mile further away, Kris started a new life with a new name.
Four years passed.

***
Kris was just coming out of the gym after a hard work-out; her honey-brown skin glistened with sweat. She was wearing a tight black spandex sports bra, bike shorts, leggings, and sneakers. Her slender flat midriff was bare. She suddenly dropped her gym bag.
“Hello, Kris.” FBI Special Agent Erik Jaeger was leaning against her car.
“Hello, Erik,” she smiled disarmingly.
“Long time, no see.”
“How’d you find me?” Kris asked.
“It was really Detective Farmer,” Jaeger said. “Do you remember him? He never let go. He found out your grandparents passed away before your parents immigrated to the US and got married. You mailed all those money orders to a post office box in the Philippines and a friend mailed them back to you. You cashed them all over the city. That’s how you financed the robbery.”
“Pretty good, Erik, would you like a share? I seem to have more than I bargained for.”
“I’m not one you can bribe, Kris. Besides, all your partners seem to meet bad ends.”
“I didn’t kill them, Erik. I intended to share. Their greed killed them.”
“Don’t say anything more, Kris; I need to read you your rights.”
THUD!
It took a moment for them to realize what had happened.
Kris stared in horror at the aluminum arrow shaft protruding from her left breast. Its razor-tipped head had traversed her nipple, slicing it in half, before burying itself deep within her body.
“You Murdered Jessika!” Emmy screamed in insane hysteria. She was notching another arrow on Vanessa’s bow.
Jaeger whipped out his Barretta 9mm and pumped nine bullets into the screaming Emmy. Emmy dropped dead instantly.
Jaeger rushed to Kris as she collapsed into his arms. He lowered her to the pavement and cradled her in his lap.
“Y-you weren’ the only one t’ find me,” Kris whispered.
Jaeger felt warm fluid on his legs. Kris’s bike shorts were soaked and yellow piss dribbled onto his legs. “S-sorry.”
He held her tightly as her petite body trembled and quivered. Her hot blood trickled across her bare belly and onto his lap.
He could hear the thunder of footsteps as his back-up rushed to his side.
Kris’s hands fluttered weakly toward the offending shaft, but she had not the strength to pluck it out.
“Erik,” Kris said, in a whisper, her eyes fluttering, “I think I’m dead.” Her head felled back across his knee and he heard her death rattle. Her chest fell, to rise no more. Her lithe body grew still, to move no more.
“What the hell happened?” another FBI agent asked, looking from corpse to corpse.
“No honor,” Jaeger said. “I guess it’s true: There’s no honor among thieves.”

The End.