Locke And Key

The two guys were having trouble taking "not interested" for an answer.

"C'mon, babe," said the blond guy. "Why hang out on this street corner when you could be having fun with us? A couple drinks. You'll have a great time, I promise."

"Yeah," said the other guy, a dark-haired, less intelligent version of the blond. "It'll be fun."

"No, thank you," I said. "I have a ride coming."

"Well, hell, we'll give you a ride," said the blond. "All you gotta do is ask."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure, that might happen. What's the temperature in Hell? Freezing yet?"

"Aww, don't be like that, babe," said the blond, taking a step closer. "You haven't even given us a chance yet."

"You noticed," I said. "Now back off and leave me the fuck alone."

His face flushed. "You don't have to be nasty, bitch," he said, grabbing my wrist. "Stuck-up slut. You ain't *that* fuckin' hot."

And just like that, it was show-time. With my free hand, I feinted for his eyes. He took a half-step back and turned his head. I grabbed his wrist instead and whirled under his arm, twisting his arm behind his back as I did so.

"Owww...!" he said, trying to get away. "Leggo my arm, you fucking bitch!"

I moved with him as he spun around, using him as a shield against his friend. I couldn't do it indefinitely, though, so I planted my feet suddenly and jammed his wrist as high up his back as I could and twisted his wrist even more.

"Gahhhhhh...!" he said. "Y-y-you b-broke my a-a-arm...!

I pushed him away and then jumped back as his friend swung a beefy fist at me.

"C'mon, bitch!" he said.

I kicked him in the balls.

"Gahhh-ahhhh-ahhhh-ahhhh...!" he said. Or something like that. His face was muffled by the sidewalk.

The blond guy was crying. "Y-you g-gotta get me to a h-hospital! Crazy b-bitch! All we were doing was trying to talk to y-you!"

I laughed. "Quit being such a baby," I said. "It's dislocated, not broken. And maybe by the time it heals, you'll have learned how to treat women."

Right then a new-looking dark Transit Skyliner van pulled up to the corner.

"Looks like my ride is here," I said. "Toodles."

"You can't leave us like this! I'll call the cops!"

"You do that, Sparky," I said. "Tell them Special Agent Key Davenport says hello."

I opened the door to the van and slid into the front seat.

*****

As the van pulled away from the corner, I looked at the driver. He had tousled sandy blond hair, glasses and surprisingly thick, well-built shoulders.

Without looking at me, he said, "Friends of yours?"

"They were Avon salesmen," I said. "The pushy kind."

"I see."

"They said I was a deep Autumn. As if. I'm obviously a cool Winter."

He chuckled. "Black hair, pale skin? You're a clear Winter. But you were right to beat them down."

I looked at him suspiciously. "For a handler, you certainly know a lot about season color analysis."

"Someone's got to dress you," he said. "You have no clue."

"Watch it, Locke," I said. "I'll turn *you* from an Autumn to a Winter."

"I'm more of a Spring, actually."

"Whatever," I said. "Any update on the Cartini twins?"

"Maybe," he said. "Word is Tait's meeting McNally at the club tonight."

"Tait?" I said. "Hmmm. Him and McNally don't normally run in the same circles. I wonder what his part in this is."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that myself. Fixer, maybe? That's Tait's specialty, after all. Anyway, find out what you can. Get enough intel and you can drop this gig."

I nodded. "Good," I said. "I'm tired of shaking my ass for McNally."

Locke chuckled. "Well, it may end up paying off tonight."

"It better."

The Cartinis were twin eighteen-year-old college students who had been kidnapped several weeks earlier. Twins in Chrystal Heights are valuable to begin with because they're rare and they often develop some serious abilities. But these twins were the daughters of a powerful and influential government figure, which meant that Chrystal Heights Intelligence was on the case.

Locke and I had been trying to track down the twins for weeks. This was our only present case. We were working the case because we had a unique m.o.

Locke pulled the Transit Skyliner van into a parking and parked beneath a large neon sign. The words "Chrystal Pleasures" flashed rhythmically.

"All right," he said. "Ready?"

"Yeah," I said, getting up and pushing through the heavy curtain into the back of the van. "Let's do this."

The back of the van was a large, comfortable compartment illuminated by a warm, soft glow. The pleasant scent of vanilla lightly misted the air. Soft carpet covered the floor. Two plush captain chairs faced each other.

I slid into the one closest to the back of the van. Locke sat in the chair closest to the heavy curtain. He opened a laptop.

"Okay, Special Agent Key Davenport," he said. "Are you comfortable?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Senior Handler Damon Locke," I said. "Let's get started already before I'm late for work."

He nodded. "Okay, Key," he said. Then he looked me in the eyes and said, "Blue soup."

*****

"Hello, Casey."

My eyes opened.

Locke nodded to me. "All right, Casey," he said. "Time for work."

I stood and stretched, arching my back so my tits stretched my top. Then I stripped down to bra and panties, dropping my clothes into a pile. Opening a mini-closet built into the back of the van, I pulled out a pair of torn blue jeans and a top that didn't quite cover my navel. After slipping into the jeans and top, I pushed my black hair up into a wig, turning me into a bottle redhead. Finally I pushed my feet into a pair of heeled sandals.

I gave Locke a saucy wink. "Thanks, baby," I said. "I'll see you in a few hours, 'kay?"

Locke smiled tolerantly. "I'll be here. If Tait does show up...be careful, okay?"

I smiled and ran a tongue across my upper lip. "I'm always careful. You know that."

I opened the door and exited the van. As I made my way across the parking lot, I could feel my hips falling naturally into an exaggerated roll. When I got to the entrance, the doorman nodded and held the door open for me.

"Good evening, Casey," he said.

"Hiya, Sam," I said, reacting naturally to the name Casey. Intellectually, of course, I knew my name was Key Davenport, but that sounded foreign to me. Casey West, stage name Candy Cane...that felt right.

The music was loud, but not overwhelming. There was a light crowd, mostly men, and a low current of conversation. This early, these were mostly regulars. There were two girls on stage, one topless and one naked, and another on a small side-stage. They were moving through their routines mechanically.

"Hi, Casey," said a man I recognized as a regular, ogling me as I strode by. I gave him a wink, then blew a kiss at another. If McNally and Tait didn't show up, I was going to make some good tips tonight.

*****

The music started. Recognizing the opening notes to the Divinyls' song "Touch Myself," I strutted onstage, my schoolgirl outfit immediately catching everybody's attention.

I made eye contact with a few regulars, then began moving my hips in a way that challenged every man watching me. My fingers danced over my sex momentarily, but then I spun and strutted away from the audience. I stopped briefly, my fingers unbuttoning my blouse before I shrugged it off. Then I spun again, giving the audience a good look at my boobs. There was some light clapping. Most of the regulars weren't impressed- there were there to see me take the rest of my clothes off- but it was a good start. A quick twirl showed off my panties and then I was across the stage again. Then the schoolgirl skirt was off to another brief round of claps.

Thank goodness for Locke. There was no way I could do this on my own. But then again, that's why he's my handler.

Although this was the first time I'd ever gone undercover as a stripper, you'd never know it by the way I moved, the way I spoke, the way I flirted shamelessly. I walked and talked like an experienced exotic dancer, when in fact, even *I* didn't know what moves I was going to make next. It was all buried in my subconscious. Placed there by Locke. And every stripper I'd ever seen in real life or on television.

We're a special pair of agents, Locke and I. I have an unusual capacity for absorbing data, internalizing it and keeping it compartmentalized in my subconscious. Locke is a gifted hypno-handler...one of the best, really. When we started our careers with Chrystal Heights Intelligence, I was a good field agent and Locke was a skilled hypnotherapist working for the Department. We were both good at what we did. Then CHI put us together and suddenly we were one of the best undercover cells the agency had.

The next song started and I made a show of removing my top. Now the audience was paying more attention as my bare boobs jiggled their way around the stage. Not that my boobs were that big- particularly for a stripper- but they were bare boobs and that was enough to get a smaller weekday crowd going.

And then I saw him. McNally entered the club and made his way to a table near the stage. A waitress hurried to bring him a drink. I made a show of noticing his arrival with a boob jiggle in his direction and a subtle but definitive lip-licking toward him.

I had been working on him for two weeks now. Not enough to be obvious, but enough that he was finally requesting me for private lap dances. And tonight, hopefully, we'd strike paydirt.

*****

Two hours later, I was beginning to despair.

Naked except for high heels, I had just finished my fourth dance shift. I picked up the outfit I had selected for this shift- a sparkly, see-through mini-dress- and slipped it back on. I glanced at McNally and he nodded at his table, an invitation for me to come over and have a drink with him. I walked over to his table with as much hip-rolling as I could pull off with dislocating anything.

I waved at the waitress as I sat down. She knew my drink. Which wasn't actually a drink, per se, since it was just diet coke. It served.

"You're looking good tonight, sweetheart," he said.

I smiled and glanced away like I was embarrassed by his praise. "Thanks."

"How about a little lap dance after this song, sweetie?"

I smiled, then winked and said, "Sounds good, baby. I've got some new moves I've been practicing just for you."

And then a guy walked up and said to him, "You McNally?"

McNally gave him a look. "Who wants to know?"

"Grant."

It was Tait. We'd never met, but I'd seen him on video before. I wasn't sure why Tait was using an alias, though.

McNally lifted his drink in a salute. "Ah," he said. "Well, glad to make your acquaintance, Mister Tait."

"Likewise," said Tait. "Now get rid of the slut. We gotta talk."

Shit.

"Ooooooh, aren't you a mister crabby pants," I said, effecting a pout. I turned and put my lips next to McNally's ear. "If you need privacy," I said, "I'll give you a private lap dance in the V.I.P. room. It's *really* private."

Several heartbeats passed and I thought it wasn't going to work. Then he said, "C'mon, Tait. We'll talk in the back room."

Tait shrugged and we started toward the private dance lounge. Tait stopped and pointed at me.

"Without the slut."

I rolled my eyes. "Like I care what you're talking about." I turned to McNally. "C'mon, baby. I've been dying *allllll* night to just rub up against that great, big...lap of yours."

"Just drop it, Tait. Pretty sure she couldn't care less about what we talk about. She's just a stripper, for crike's sake. Pretty sure she ain't an undercover cop, y'know?"

"Stop thinking with your dick, McNally," said Tait. "'Course she ain't no cop. But what she don't know, she can't tell, you dig? Look, I'm tired of arguing with you. If you don't want to do it right, just go to the gallery and talk to Aaron yourself. But I'd make it quick, since the party's tomorrow night." He turned to leave.

McNally sighed. "I'll get that dance later, sweetie," he said, patting my ass.

I pushed his hand away. "Careful, baby," I said. "If the bouncers see you touching me for free, they get kinda upset, y'know?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Whatever. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Sounds great, baby," I said.

I waited until they disappeared from sight. Then I told the manager I wasn't feeling well and suspected I was about to get my period. Five minutes later I was heading out the door.

*****

Locke stopped in front of me and I slid into the front seat. He pulled away from the curb.

"So what did you get?"

"Not much," I said. "They wouldn't talk in front of me. But I think I got enough to work with. There's someone named Aaron at a gallery who's somehow tied up in this. And maybe someone named Grant."

"A gallery? You mean like an art gallery?"

"Probably. Maybe Aaron is an artist. We'll have to look into it. Immediately, though. Tait said the party's tomorrow. You think...?"

"...that that's when they're going to sell the girls? Yes, I do. We'll have to move fast."

"You keep driving. I'll look up art galleries."

*****

We couldn't find anything about a local artist named Aaron, but there were a few galleries in the immediate area. The closest one, however, was having a showing of the works of Baron Carl Mandrake. The gallery went by the artsy name of The Sphere.

"Baron" wasn't "Aaron", but it was close enough to warrant scrutiny.

We pulled in front of The Sphere and parked across the street. We immediately went to the chamber in back of the van and settled in the plush chairs.

"So, how about an art professor?" said Locke.

I shook my head. "I don't have enough technical knowledge to pull it off longer than a couple of sentences. No body language or attitude is going to let me fake that lack of knowledge. How about buyer instead?"

Locke thought about it, then shook his head. "No, a buyer would know who Aaron is and what his area of expertise is."

"True. I need something that lets me be ignorant without penalizing me, dammit."

Locke thought about it for a moment. "Bimbo," he said. "All fluff and enthusiasm, and your lack of knowledge won't set off any red flags."

I gave him a flat stare, but we both knew he was right. I settled back into the chair.

Locke said, "Blue soup."

My eyes closed, my chin dropped to my chest, my breathing evened. I felt good.

Comfortable.

Warm.

Malleable.

Damon's voice slowly unwrapped my outer layer. He spoke about releasing tension, releasing tension, tension was the glue holding my outer layers in place. Relax. Let the tension, the glue, dissipate. Release that outer layer. Letting it sift back into its compartment, packing it away carefully. My outer wrap slowly unravelling, compressing, filling the compartment. Carefully sealing it away for the time being. Sealing away the external Key Davenport, stripping me down to my inner core.

My inner core now bare, Damon began shaping me. Personality traits were gently patted down, sharp edges smoothed over temporarily. Then his voice tapped into an internal compartment, releasing a separately prepped personality wrap. Freed from its compartment, the personality layered seamlessly over my core element. Fluffy. Giggly. A creature of now, of what's in front of me, not around me. Body language blended in. Mechanics pressed into place.

"Hello, Mindy."

My eyes opened. I looked at Locke and blinked several times. Locke tried to be good, but he cracked and laughed. Too late I realized my surprised bimbo look must be in place.

I giggled. "Watch it, buster."

Locke held up his hands. "No problem."

I couldn't really blame Locke for laughing. This personality was so opposite my core personality, the contrast had to be hysterical. This wasn't the time for levity, though. It was time to get to work.

I wriggled my way over to the cabinet and took out what I needed. Matching Victoria's Secrets push-up bra and panties. Black stretchy mini-skirt. White blouse leaving generous cleavage and a strip of belly exposed. Black high heels. Blonde wig.

I opened the van door and stepped out. "I'll be back in a little while, 'kay, cutie?"

Locke gave me a lazy salute. "I'll be here."

I closed the door and headed for the gallery, heels click-clacking with every step.

*****

There was a surprisingly large crowd inside. The Baron was apparently fairly well-known. Interesting, that.

I giggled and cooed at everything in sight before finally figuring out I was in the wrong section. The artist for this area was someone French whose name I couldn't have pronounced even if I wasn't wearing a hypnotic bimbo personality bodysuit.

I finally spotted an older gentleman wearing a suit who appeared to work for the gallery. I breathed in deep, stuck my boobs out as far as I could and wriggled my way in his direction.

Stopping just in front of him, I pressed a finger against my lower lip and gazed at a nearby painting as if awestruck.

The older guy stepped up and placed a gentle hand on my hip. "Enjoying yourself, dear?" he said.

I turned as if startled, boobs jiggling. "Oh!" I said. Then I giggled. "Omigod, yes! This display is, like, awesome!"

"I'm glad you think so, dear," said the man. "Are you familiar with his work?"

"Oh, yeah!" I said. "I mean, well, not really, but it's still, like, *amazing!*"

"Indeed. He's an impressionist."

"I know! I was totally impressed!"

"I mean he's an impressionist artist."

"Who?"

"Baron Mandrake," he said, with barely a hesitation. Such a pro.

"Oh!" I said, my eyes big. Then I breathed deep, trying to look like an artist groupie. "Is he gonna come out and, like, meet his fans?"

"I'm afraid not, my dear," he said. "The Baron doesn't typically go anywhere near galleries. A phobia, I'm told."

Dammit. Nothing left now but to throw out one more line of inquiry and move on.

"Really?" I said. "That's totally weird! I was talking to Bunny the other day and she kept going on about all the great work Baron did at the gallery. Although I thought she had called him Aaron, so maybe I got, like, the wrong guy?" I gave an embarrassed giggle.

The gentleman gave a tolerant chuckle and glanced down my cleavage. Then he said, "My dear, are you sure your friend was referring to Baron Mandrake? It sounds very possible that your friend was referring to Erin Ambers, who is not an artist, but rather the director of The Muse art gallery."

Paydirt.

I squealed and hugged the man impulsively, pressing my boobs against his chest. Then I kissed his cheek and jumped back.

"Oh!" I said. "I *so* bet that's it! You are *such* a sweet man for helping me! I'm totally telling all my friends about this place!"

Then I turned and jiggled my way out the door, my lipstick marks still visible on his cheek.

*****

Despite my behavior, I wasn't actually a dumb bunny. To make my interactions real, however, Locke implemented certain spontaneous reactions on my part to make my bodysuit complete. Some of those reactions were embarrassingly bimbo cliché. Unfortunately, squealing with delight was one of them. So was an initial inability to process information.

It isn't quite as dangerous as it sounds. If my subconscious recognizes true danger, a switch hotwired directly to my agent compartment is thrown and my field agent persona is instantly in place. The only danger is the momentary flicker of dead time between personalities as my thought patterns realign.

*****

I click-clacked back to the van and slid into the front seat. Locke already had the van running.

"Well?" he said as he pulled into traffic.

I pinched my left earlobe hard to shut off Mindy. I waited for a moment as my thought patterns shifted slightly sideways. Then I said, "The Muse."

"The Muse," Locke said, punching it into the GPS. "Got it. A definite?"