Weekends from noon the outdoor pool at Moonraker Apartment Towers were always a social melee on fine summer days. It was a noisy scene of an array of substantially naked bodies, popping corks, splashes, smooching couples, shouting, wanton laughter, the occasional punch-up and a few kids running around having fun.
Few adults actually swam in the pool.
On 'the hard' it was open slather with no space reservations issued and with the best, the indifferent and the worst aspects of human behavior on display. Enlightened management even permitted dry humping but banned actual insertion no matter how discretely it was managed. Residents were permitted to entertain guests poolside, even during peak season weekends.
The more intelligent residents and/or the very aged, infirm or the sick with contagious diseases stayed well away from the pool area on summer weekends. A few would venture poolside in late summer after the seasonal novelty of watching tits, skinny thighs, monstrous midriffs and hairy-legged tight butts had worn off and the crowd poolside thinned and the noise and bedlam became far less annoying.
Will Joll, a top security adviser to industry, was one who appeared in calmer times.
Anita Joplin was another. The big-tit beauty was the daughter of Andrew Joplin, chairman of the management board of Moonraker Towers.
Will and Anita occupied adjoining penthouses but Anita never spoke to him, never acknowledged his presence and so after twenty failed attempts at friendly communication, Will began smiling at Anita and offering greetings such as 'Good morning you cold ass bitch' and 'Hi I see you are menstruating this morning.'
She ignored him brilliantly for a while but his unrelenting verbal abuse finally got to her.
One evening when Will arrived home after fucking his drunken date legless and waited for an elevator, two guys sitting in nearby armchairs rose and followed him into the elevator.
He nodded.
They didn't.
Will watched the smaller guy put on a brass 'knuckle duster' and as the guy rushed at him with a coiled punch ready to deliver, he drop-kicked the guy under the chin, = his square-toed heavy shoe making precise contact.
The assailant dropped like a stone.
The big guy roared and swung a haymaker that missed, because Will, a former Special Forces soldier, was no longer standing there. He was to one side of the big guy was fell to the ground unconscious after sustaining a vicious chop to the side of the neck.
Will stopped the elevator and pulled the two guys out on to the Italian tiles. He pulled off their pants and briefs and took those garments back into the elevator. He pressed the button to continue up to the last four floors and then entered the code to go to the penthouse level. He placed both pairs of pants and underpants outside the apartment of the cold-ass menstruating bitch, rang her doorbell four times and then crossed to his apartment and went to bed.
The next evening when Will arrived in the apartment lobby, the day manager greeted him and said, "Good evening Mr Joll. Here is a letter for you from the chairman of directors of the Towers."
The letter apologized for the disturbance and stated Mr Joll's leased apartment was required for refurbishment. Attempts to contact him that day had failed (lying bastard, Will snorted) and with apartment vacancy urgently required to allow the renovation to commence, Mr Joll's effects had been moved to apartment 1011 on the ground floor. Refurbishment would take 30 days.
Will thought fair enough but if it had to move so would she, the cold-ass bitch. He took the card keys for apartment 1011 from the apologetic day manager.
The apartment was larger than expected and Will was quite pleased. The next evening he arrived from work with two suitcases and installed difficult to detect surveillance miniature security cameras in his apartment as well as very high tech security alarms when were set to activate only when his presence was also detected.
Two days later at 3:15 am, Will unlocked the security office, located next to the office of the night manager who was at the desk in the lobby. He grinned when no alarm sounding and he quickly scanned the room with his electronic hand reader that confirmed there was no equipment installed to send an alarm to a remote location either. Well he was happy to exploit two major flaws in the security system.
Will spent 15 minutes studying the entire security system for the towers. It was really very good but as far as he could determine it was entirely internally confined, with no external monitoring whatsoever. And there was no alarm system to warn when the system went down. So he turned everything off and waited.
Nothing.
He removed the recording disk and the backup tape for that day and placed them in his tool bag.
Will left, locking the door, and looked into the lobby and saw the manager was reading a newspaper. The security screen behind him was blank.
Will took the elevator to the 39th level and still wearing gloves pushed the button to access the penthouse level and smiled when the elevator activated without the usually required password numbers being pressed on the keypad.
He accessed Miss Joplin's apartment and wearing night vision goggles went through it and was surprised. She wasn't there. He happily vandalized every wall in the apartment with difficult to remove spray paint, writing just the one word, 'Bitch'. He cracked the main bathroom basin, cracked all the shower glass and vandalized the bowls of the three toilets, making the cold-ass bitch's penthouse in urgent need of renovation.
Finally he opened Miss Joplin's underwear drawer and cut the crotch out of the nineteen pairs of panties he found.
He then left, locking the apartment door behind him and returned to the basement and drove out in his vehicle and carefully dumped his tools, clothing including balaclava and gloves used that evening five miles away in a commercial area. He retained the night vision goggles and returned them to his workplace next days and he placed the stolen security disks in a grinder and carefully removed every trace of it and flushed all that dust and tiny fragments down a toilet across the street in the men's room of a restaurant.
Two days later a personal call was put through to Will.
"Good morning, Anita Joplin speaking. May I meet with you this evening?"
"Good morning to you Miss Joplin. Yes that would be satisfactory. Where?"
"Seven at your temporary apartment would be fine."
"Very good."
The phone clicked. End of call.
He smiled. She'd played it so coolly. Her voice had remained absolutely neutral, not a trace of hostility. She'd probably arrived with a gun tonight with two guys with machine guns. On the other hand she might have decided well here was a man with substance, let's see what he's like in bed.
Oh yeah?
She hadn't arrived by 7:20. Will taped a not to the apartment door and went out to dinner.
Miss Joplin arrived at the restaurant at 7:40 and smiled coldly. Like him she was dressed in jeans and white shirt.
He remained seated and pointed to a chair. The CAB (cold ass bitch) ignored the direction and took the chair to his left that was the one he'd wanted her to take because he could look beyond her to the entrance and also see most other tables without turning.
She waited for him to speak and found she was wasting her time. The CAB said she'd have a Martini and Will raised a finger and Janice made a Vodka-based Martini, grabbed another light beer, and brought them over.
"A Martini miss?"
"Thanks."
After Janice left the CAB sipped and said surprised, "This is Vodka based."
When trashing her apartment Will had opened the drinks cabinet and had noted one bottle of gin and one opened bottle of Vodka and four other full bottles.
"Classy women tend to favor Vodka base."
That caught her be surprise and she smiled. She actually smiled.
She lost that smile and said, "You trashed my apartment."
"If you think that complain to the police and name me as your suspect."
She snorted and said Moonraker's security consultant said the disabling of the security system and the systematic vandalism of the apartment had been done by a cold ass expert possessing a vicious streak and no trace, not even a hair from his personage, would be left behind.
"Not even a short hair?"
She smiled and eyed him over her glass.
"Perhaps our adviser should have said a cold ass expert with a touch of wicked humor."
