I extend a happy haunted Halloween to all.
AGENT OF STALK IN L.A is the prequel to AGENT OF STALK IN PRAGUE. Whatever order you choose to read them in, both stories are self-contained, neither betrays the secrets of its sister tale, but I wrote the L.A. story second. PRAGUE was narrated from Clive Mercer's hardbitten point of view, but in L.A. I wanted Mercer described in a softer focus, the viewpoint of a woman. What contrasts could I eke out of the same character in two separate tales? A friend who read the early drafts wondered if the stories were about the same character (my goal). I hope everyone gets a kick out of AGENT OF S.T.A.L.K. IN L.A. and everyone casts their vote for 5/8. Furthermore I hope everyone gets laid this Halloween. Make it a good one!
~~~
Nova Nobarro was willing to drop her panties for Molly's uncle the first time she saw him.
There exists a moment when adults of the opposite sex first meet that they subconsciously decide if they would be intimate with the other person. The decision is neither always mutual nor solely based upon meeting someone; just seeing an attractive person across a room or a street can trigger such a one-sided conclusion.
After Nova actually met her friend's uncle she became doubly certain she'd fuck his brains out, given the chance.
His relaxed cat-like economy of movement turned her on. He gave off an aura of great strength, plucked his suitcases off the airport conveyor like they weighed nothing. Nova guessed he stood about six feet tall. Under the black suit he'd be muscular, in shape from exercising. His wavy brown hair and devilish good looks qualified him as one of the most handsome men Nova had ever seen in person. Her eyes stole to the front of his trousers seeking a bulge. She found an impressive one, much more than suitable, on the verge of making her mouth water.
And she adored his sexy British accent.
He asked the curly-haired blonde girl standing beside Nova, "Are you Molly Mae Mercer?" He'd spotted the handwritten sign with 'Mercer' scrawled on it Molly held up in the baggage claim area to incoming passengers for identification purposes.
Her friend responded hopefully, "Uncle Clive?"
"Righto. Goodness, the last time I saw you you were a little girl."
"That had to be ten or eleven years ago at least, I couldn't've been older than nine. I don't remember your hair being as long as it is now."
"Since then I've changed more than you'd want to know." He set down his luggage to give Molly an avuncular hug. Noticing Nova standing next to her, he asked, "This a friend of yours?"
Nova almost blushed when his big blue eyes appraised her. She introduced herself.
"Clive Mercer," he said in return.
He shook her hand politely. Nova would have preferred a hug as well, although delighted Mercer and she weren't relatives. She wished now she'd dressed as revealing as Molly in tight cutoffs and skimpy T-shirt rather than the skirt and blouse she put on that morning at the motel. Nova's skirt was short enough, but she chided herself for not wearing the low cut sweater she'd packed instead with her outfit. Both girls had large breasts; hers were bigger, but Molly laid claim to longer legs. Each of them wore glasses too. Nova should've left hers at the hotel, no matter how many men told her glasses increased her sex appeal.
She'd no way of knowing Mercer would be such a hot guy in spite of being in his early forties, her senior by decades. Had Molly not been around, Nova wouldn't have hesitated luring the older man into her bed. She felt a pleasant warmth building in the damp folds of flesh concealed by the crotchpiece of her thong, which could've been left behind like her glasses. If only she'd known.
Mercer made a good-natured comment about Molly's sneakers (he called them plimsoles). Pink high-topped Converse tennis shoes suited Molly's personality more than hers. But Nova was glad she'd worn high-heeled clog sandals; they improved the way her ass moved when she walked.
"Uncle Clive, these shoes are fashionable here in America," Molly protested. "They're known as Chuck's. I'll buy you a pair as a souvenir of your visit to L.A."
"I'll treasure them all the way to the dustbin, if they're pink!"
"Dustbin?" asked Nova.
Mercer explained, "That's what you Americans refer to as a trash can, Nova."
"Molly didn't tell me you're English, Mr. Mercer."
"Please call me Clive," Mercer requested. "My little brother met an American in England a quarter of a century ago, followed her back to the States and married her. That's why my niece Molly is an all-American girl without an accent."
"You seem familiar enough with America," Nova told him. "Do you live in England?"
"S.T.A.L.K. has me stationed in Prague till the end of the year, then I go back to the U.K. Didn't Molly tell you?"
Nova knew S.T.A.L.K. stood for Supernatural Terminators And Lycanthrope Killers, a notorious European group of bounty hunters somehow sanctioned by the U.S. government. "I know what line of work you're in, tracking down vampires, but Molly only said her uncle was flying in from New York."
"I flew into London from the Czech Republic before crossing the pond to New York. Been in airports or on a bloody airplane for more than thirty hours. I'm positively knackered. Sorry, Nova, that means I'm dead tired."
"You can sleep at the hotel, Uncle Clive. I've already booked you a room, it connects to ours."
That fact delighted Nova too.
"Is it at the same hotel where the Halloween Film Festival is being held?"
"No, and it's not in walking distance either. The Kirkbride in Beverly Hills is a five-star hotel," said Molly.
Nova added, "In other words, Clive, the Kirkbride is way too expensive. We're staying in a La Quinta motel."
"It's like a motor court," said Molly, "It's nice."
"Nice and cheap," Nova said to Mercer. "But it is clean."
He covered his mouth when he yawned. "I don't care so long as it has a bed."
Mercer insisted upon carrying his bags when they begged to help and the three of them headed for the nearest exit in the terminal. He toted his metal Halliburton suitcases as easily as Paris Hilton would a plastic sack of lingerie from a boutique on Rodeo Drive.
He asked, "Molly, were you able to get me any screenshots from the movie since you contacted S.T.A.L.K.?"
"No. But I'm positive the actor in 'Nude Bloodbath' is the guy S.T.A.L.K. knows as Reginald Orr."
"I've been meaning to ask you, that title sounds like a porn film, I couldn't find a bit of information about it in our files or on the Internet."
"Did you just skim my email? I only learned about it through a friend of a friend. The movie hasn't exactly been released yet, Uncle Clive, they only shot it three weeks ago. But it's a fuck flick all right."
"Did you say what I thought you just said, young lady?"
"That's how we talk in Cali in the David Mamet generation. Chill out, I'm twenty one. Nova is . . ."
"Old enough to vote," interjected Nova.
Molly laughed and Mercer rolled his eyes. "Nova, do you talk like my niece too?"
"Me?" Nova innocently batted her eyelashes the way she'd done with exciting males since junior high. "If you're staying with us for the rest of the week I guess you'll find out."
Mercer glanced at Molly. "Do you smoke and drink as well?" he asked with a sigh. His eyes wandered to the tat on her belly of a colorful gecko lizard crawling downward into her panty line. "Is that the only tattoo you have?"
She smiled wickedly. "No, it's just the only one you can see when I have all my clothes on. I'm not a kid anymore, but I don't smoke. Neither does Nova. She has tattoos."
"He won't be able to see them until I wear my bikini at the pool," she announced flirtatiously and Mercer rolled his eyes again.
The veiled risqué conversation and Nova's proximity to Molly's good looking English stud of an uncle caused her to become wet and open; she might have to change into a fresh thong when she got back to the La Quinta.
"Don't be stodgy, Uncle Clive. As I recall you have a tat on your arm, a tiger."
"That's different. I used to be a commando."
