JANINE
Janine poured the contents of her Louis Vuitton bag out on the bedspread, adding a layer of loose tobacco to the embroidered design. She always carried an extra vial of crystal meth to get her through the next job, but those damn vice squad guys busted her connection. She hadn't replenished her supplies in at least a week. This was yet another hazard of working undercover.
For the last three years, Janine Voltaire was an indispensable member of the Special Operation Joint Vice Task Force. However, she was nearing her reintegration back into normal duty. This was not by her request, but the bureau psychologist made it mandatory. Janine had been in deep cover for so long she was losing her identity. Transference was a common condition experienced by long term operatives. The lines were becoming blurred as to what the limits were.
Her base of operations had been an executive suite atop the Embassy Suites Hotel. Janine's assignment was to pose as a high class call girl, gaining inside information in the expanding prostitution and drug trade in Los Angeles.
She was resolute in her commitment to do anything and everything to bring down the suspects, so facing reintegration, she fought to stay in the field. Without a suitable replacement, everyone knew this sting operation would be severely compromised. Since Janine started, several notorious gangsters had been brought down. All the perps were men that displayed the same weakness—a sexy woman.
With her tall, statuesque figure, large breasts, and long blond hair, she completely looked the part. Janine walked with a stride that exuded confidence. She dressed provocatively without looking slutty, and usually garnered the attention of all when she strode into a room.
Her mind went back to when this assignment first started, and how Captain Greer assured her that this would only be a temporary assignment. He guaranteed that at no time would her safety be compromised. Both these promises seemed convincing at the time but proved not to be true.
The original assignment was for her to pose as a call girl and infiltrate the organization from the outside. Then, a year ago, evidence was presented by a local news agency stating the Russian mafia was moving into the city, taking control of the drugs and prostitution. Among the greatest concerns was evidence of a sex slave trade operating in LA. This news completely changed the existing plan and it was proposed for Janine to expand her undercover role. They wanted her to gain information on this slave trade as an inside operative. With this new assignment, her risk increased tenfold. She would be expected to gain the trust of key suspects and work inside the organization as a mole.
It was at this point the Bureau chiefs asked her to make a decision to continue in this new capacity or quit. It was clearly explained that they could not order her to do what was necessary for her to win the trust of the high profile targets. Basically, they were asking her to undertake the life of a whore for God and country. Just pretending to be a call girl wouldn't suffice anymore.
Sitting down on the end of the mattress, she stirred the contents of her emptied bag around on the bedspread. There wasn't any relief coming tonight. She would have to face the next joker with a clear head.
"Lord," she groaned, lighting a cigarette, and clicking the remote to a local news channel. Janine took in a long drag from her menthol Capris, and almost choked on the exhale, as a screen photo of Victor Vanderhoff spread out in full view.
"Fuck this," she mumbled aloud, reaching into her bag, and unzipping the side pocket where she secured her pre-paid cell phone.
In her haste, she broke off one perfectly manicured nail. Cursing louder than before, she flipped the phone open, examining her ruined ring finger. Janine hit the speed dial '444,' and waited for the passcode prompt.
Her heart was pounding, and she didn't have a clue to what had happened. She only knew that if something happened to Victor, the entire operation would possibly be in jeopardy, and her cover might be blown. No one knew she was undercover except Victor, Captain Greer and her crew. She wasn't supposed to contact Greer, unless her situation was severely compromised.
"Damn it!" She snapped the phone shut after the first ring, and started to wonder if it wasn't the drug withdrawal that was making her reckless and impatient. Janine didn't really know what was going on. The news reporter had just flashed Victor's face across the screen again and said he was found dead from an apparent suicide.
How the hell did this happen without someone letting me know about it? She tossed the phone on the bed, and turned her handbag upside down with a violent shake.
Out popped a little clear glass vial with a tiny white rock rolling around inside. "Oh, hell yes," she moaned, as she fished the pipe out of the lining of the bag, and set herself up for release.
She soon forgot about Vanderhoff and his apparent suicide, and anything else she might have been concerned with, until the knock at the door jarred her back into reality.
There was an alarm clock on her night stand, and she made sure to push the button on top of the clock so that it turned on the recording equipment. Next, she walked over to the door and asked, "Who is it?"
"Inna sent me," was the reply.
Clasping the security chain, Janine opened the door a crack, and peered out at a balding, middle aged, overweight man in a business suit. He looked very nervous, and seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn't quite place the face.
"What is it you want?"
"I was told that this is where I could book a trip around the world."
"That is an expensive trip," she said, unlatching the chain, and opening the door to let him in.
Her sheer Victoria's Secret robe opened to her navel, allowing him get a bit of a peek of the goods.
"I was told you were the best booking agent in town." He reached out to grab her tit, but she swatted his hand away.
"You must buy a ticket before you start the trip. The discounted price is two thousand dollars, paid in advanced."
"Shit! That is pretty steep, isn't it?"
"You can book an economy trip down on the street at Wilshire!" she snapped at him, feeling somewhat offended.
"Oh, alright," he acquiesced, digging his wallet out of his vest pocket. She then remembered where she had seen him before. This was Big Bob Davis, the car salesman running for mayor. His picture was posted all over town. She also remembered from briefings that he was known to have connections with some of the most notorious characters in LA.
He counted out a stack of hundreds, and handed them to her reluctantly. She put the money away in the night stand drawer, which also contained her badge, handcuffs and gun.
Janine took his jacket and hung it on a satin hanger. Then she proceeded to do the same with his shirt and pants. All the while, he groped at her large tits. She chuckled to herself as she slid down his boxers, exposing his rigid four-inch cock. The nickname "Big Bob" had nothing to do with his equipment.
He stood there in all his gargantuan glory, anticipating what came next. She definitely did not disappoint, and Davis watched her peel off her nightgown, throwing it over the back of the stuffed chair. Then she posed before him in just her thong and high heels. She certainly had the body any man would pay for.
"Suck my dick, bitch!" he exclaimed, putting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her down to her knees.
Janine felt that out of all the disgusting things she had done in the last three years, this had to be the epitome of the worst. She obeyed his command, getting on her knees. Sucking on this fat, sweaty, smelly pig-dick grossed her out. This was about as low as she could possibly go.
"Not so fast, cunt! I want to get my money's worth." He gripped her by the hair, regulating the speed of his thrusts.
It wasn't long before Bob Davis pumping her from behind, with his hands on her ass and grunting like a sow. She knew this surveillance camera footage would bring him down before he could say "mayor." But for now, Janine had to let him have her ass before she could nail his.
