Spy Games Ch 22

We spent what was left of the afternoon ensuring our security system was fully functional. I was fairly sure the two cops didn't know where I lived, but there was no reason to tempt fate. After a thorough check, we only found one motion sensor that had been jostled from its mount, most likely by a passing deer. With the errant instrument restored, I felt sufficiently safe to forego posting a guard.

Flanagan had a dinner date with Raven that night. I cooked dinner for myself and the two girls ... beef stroganoff over noodles with a dark mushroom sauce. Dessert was a freshly baked apple pie which we enjoyed before watching a Netflix movie.

Sixty-nine cuddled up in one of the easy chairs while Janis and I commandeered the couch. Claiming to be cold, Janis leaned up against me with her head on my shoulder and a blanket over her body. As the movie progressed, Janis' head slowly descended off my shoulder, down my chest and onto my lap. Not sure what she had in mind, I gently stroked her blonde locks with my right hand but struggled with what to do with my left. Janis quickly solved my predicament when she guided my fingers inside her blouse.

And that was it. Unlike other women, my gentle nipple massage didn't drive Janis to the edge of orgasm. Despite the obvious bulge in my trousers, she didn't lower my fly and let the monster come out to play. Although I'm sure Sixty-nine could have been easily convinced, when Flanagan returned from his date, he didn't find the three of us on the floor, one girl impaled on my cock and the other on my tongue. And, most surprisingly of all, I still enjoyed myself. Not that I didn't want to do things to Janis' body that would send her into the next galaxy. I did. But that could wait until the time was right. I didn't know when that time would be, I just knew it would happen.

Unless the mayor's stooges, or Popov, or Raven killed me first.

"That's why she invited me to dinner," Flanagan said after his return. "Raven doesn't just want you dead, she wants to cut your dick off and feed it to a bear. She wants to bury you in the sand and let the incoming tide drown your sorry ass. She wants to stake your body to a woodpile and roast marshmallows in the flames. She wants to stand you on a block of ice, slip a noose around your neck and --"

"Okay. I get the point. She doesn't like me, the feeling's mutual. Hopefully you steered her towards something a little less gruesome."

"Of course I did. She's going to put a thirty-eight round into your heart this Wednesday."

"It's only Sunday. Why wait till Wednesday?"

"I need to teach her how to shoot first. Figured it would take at least two days, maybe three depending on how she responds to my teaching technique."

"Wait a second. Aren't Stuffit's goons supposed to kill me on Wednesday as well?"

"They have to kill you by Wednesday. I don't think the mayor would mind if they offed you a day early."

"Well let's see if we can't move up their timetable. I don't like scheduling too many activities for a single day."

***

The next day was a Monday. The first thing I did after my morning run was ask Sixty-nine to update me on Popov.

"He's still in Atlanta," she said. "Or at least his plane is. It's not at Hartsfield, the main airport. They landed at Dekalb-Peachtree which is a small municipal airport northeast of the city."

As much as I wanted to task another Company agent to keep an eye on them, I knew the BBB wouldn't allow it, so I put Popov on a back burner and moved on to the next threat against my life. The two Merryville cops who apparently moonlighted as the mayor's assassins.

"Officers Randy Toody and Fanny Muldoon," Flanagan said, reading from their service records. "They've been partners for the last twelve years, mostly because nobody else in the force can stand being around them. Toody has a reputation for handing out bogus traffic citations and collecting the fine on the spot. He only accepts cash. Muldoon has more excessive force complaints filed against her than the rest of the force combined."

"The woman likes to rough people up?"

"Yep. She was the state's female ultimate fighting champion for three years running. Still would be if she didn't get caught taking performance enhancing drugs."

"So, other than Muldoon's physical attributes, were talking about a couple of fuckups that should have been kicked off the force years ago," I said.

"Exactly. The chief's tried several times, but the mayor keeps overruling him."

"So, what do you think?" I asked. "Take them out now, before they make their move. Or wait to see if they actually follow through?"

"We've got way too much going on to worry about two dirty cops waiting to ambush us. I vote for your original suggestion. Invite them to dinner and eliminate the problem. But before we let them start their new career of handing out parking tickets in Hell, we should see if they have any actionable intelligence."

"Why waste time on an interrogation?" I asked. "I sincerely doubt that they know anything about either the Chinese or the Russians."

"Agree, but my cover for getting on the Merryville police force is that I'm trying to solve a few cold case murders. If I succeed, nobody will ask why I was here. And I bet there's a good chance Officers Toody and Muldoon can help me."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense, but inviting them to dinner?" I asked. "You don't think they'll be suspicious? The new cop asks them to come over for drinks the day after the mayor tells them to kill somebody?"

"Normally, yes. But they already think I'm on the mayor's personal payroll."

"Why would they think that?"

"I was the guy that took Janis' comatose body off their hands after the city council raped her. As far as they're concerned, I'm just as crooked as they are."

***

Flanagan and Sixty-nine spent the rest of the morning at their improvised rifle range as they had been doing for the past several weeks. According to Flanagan, her marksmanship skills had improved dramatically.

"At a hundred and fifty yards, she's putting all her rounds into a tight five-inch, center of mass cluster," he reported.

I wasn't sure if he was still swatting her on the ass after every shot, but there were several days when she came back from the lesson with a smile on her face and a slight hitch in her step.

That afternoon, with his permission, I secretly watched Flanagan give Raven her first shooting lesson with a pistol. Different gun. Different student. Same "hands on" instructional technique. In this case, his hands were mostly on her boobs.

From my viewpoint, it seemed that the safest place to be when Raven had a gun in her hands was directly in front of the target. Flanagan assured me that, after a couple more practice sessions, the girl would be able to consistently shoot me in the heart. I had my doubts.

Tuesday was a repeat of the previous day. In the morning, Flanagan molested Sixty-nine's ass while teaching her how to be a sniper. That afternoon he mauled Raven's boobs while she shot at a paper target with my name printed inside the bullseye. To round out the day, he invited his two new best friends, Officers Randy Toody and Fanny Muldoon, over for dinner.

Not to our house, obviously. If things turned to shit, we didn't want them to know where we lived. But that wasn't a problem. We had the keys to over two hundred Merryville houses ... half owned by the Chinese and half by the Russians. Most of them were completely empty but a few residents left some furniture and kitchen supplies behind.

The house that Officers Toody and Muldoon pulled up to that evening was a two-story colonial at 666 Flogger Way. We chose this particular residence for several reasons. The previous owners had left a few pieces of furniture behind, hopefully enough to convince his dinner guests that he really did live there. It included a secret room which the previous owners used as their private BDSM parlor. And, most importantly, nearly all of the neighboring houses were also unoccupied, making it unlikely anybody would report an occasional scream.

The two police officers were an odd-looking pair. Randy Toody was a couple of inches over six feet and built like a scarecrow. Despite his height, I doubt he weighed over a buck sixty and if he ever in his life visited a gym, it was only to serve a warrant or collect a bribe.

Fanny Muldoon was a good four inches shorter than her partner but probably weighed about the same. Nobody would ever use a straw stuffed dummy to describe her figure. "Exaggerated hourglass" came to mind. Big boobs and butt with, not exactly a thin waist, but certainly not a pot belly either. One look at her toned arms, legs and stomach confirmed that, unlike her partner, she knew her way around a weight room.

Flanagan met them at the door, escorted them into the living room and offered a choice of beer or whiskey.

"Is both an option?" Fanny asked.

"Jack and Bud?"

"My two favorite men," she said.

"Same for you Randy?"

The skinny cop nodded, and Flanagan disappeared into the kitchen to fetch their beverages.

As soon as my partner was out of sight, Fanny and Randy went to work. She pulled a low-quality microphone out of her purse and attached it to the underside of the coffee table, while her partner stood watch by the door. I know this, because I was in the hidden playroom monitoring their activities via one of the top end audio/video surveillance systems installed in all of the houses sold to the Chinese and Russians.

Both of his guests were settled back into their chairs when Flanagan returned with their drinks.

"A toast to a long and prosperous relationship." Flanagan lifted his glass of beer and held it aloft until the two cops reciprocated.

"You want to tell us what that means?" Randy asked after taking a large swig of beer.

"It means he wants a share of our action," Fanny said.

"What action would that be?" Flanagan asked.

"Come on. We might be small town cops but we're not idiots. You know what we did to the Moorehead woman. Hell, you even took care of the body for us. That can only mean one thing. You're working for the mayor."

"Does that bother you?"

"Only if our off-duty employment income goes down."

"Don't worry. If you've got some side gig going with the mayor, I'm not trying to muscle in. But, if you ever need an additional gun, I'd be willing to help."

"We'll take it under advisement," Fanny said, giving her partner a knowing look.

The three of them each took a draw on their beers and changed the subject to discuss the mass exodus of people from Merryville. Fanny finished her shot of whiskey and had downed half her beer when she excused herself to visit the ladies room.

Clandestinely drugging two people at the same time is a difficult and possibly hazardous undertaking. Especially when both are armed and in the same room. If one of the police officers succumbed to the knockout drops in their beer before the other, there was a chance the still conscious cop would become belligerent.

Even though both of our subjects weighed approximately the same, the similarity ended there. The tall, thin, out of shape man would certainly react differently than the shorter, beefier, fit woman. And there was also the question of how quickly each one consumed their "go-to-sleep" medicine. Randy was asking for a second beer before Fanny started her first.

Lucky for us, Fanny decided she wanted to snoop around the house while Randy kept Flanagan busy elsewhere. Her visit to the ladies' room was nothing more than an excuse to plant a few more bugs and rummage through Flanagan's stuff.

As I suspected, Randy succumbed first and was soon passed out on the living room couch. Two minutes later, Fanny collapsed in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Lucky for her, she was on her back slipping a bug under a bed when the medicine took effect. If she had been on a stool searching the upper reaches of a closet, like she'd been just a minute earlier, she might have injured herself in the subsequent fall. And we didn't want her to get hurt ... yet.

As soon as the two cops were under the influence of their doctored beverages, we moved Randy into what used to be the library and Fanny into the hidden room.

The two of us didn't have much trouble hefting Randy onto the shuffleboard table. We let Sixty-nine and Janis strip his clothes off and fasten him into the leather arm and leg restraints.

Getting Fanny onto the eight-foot-tall wagon wheel we had recently installed in the hidden room was a different story. It was securely mounted to a wall in such a way that it could freely turn around an improvised metal axle with the lower part of the wheel six inches off the floor and the upper part a foot and a half below the ten-foot-high ceiling. Leg restraints were located at the five and seven o'clock positions (lower left and right). Wrist restraints were attached at eleven and one. A highly modified saddle was fitted a foot below center.

It took all four of us to get Fanny properly situated. Hanging a hundred-fifty-pound, comatose naked woman nine feet in the air is harder than one would think ... especially since we forgot to bring a ladder. After several comical failures -- in which one or more of us ended up on the floor with Fanny's nude body sprawled over us -- the winning technique involved me lifting Fanny's ass onto the saddle as Janis stood on a kitchen stool and tied Fanny's left wrist to the wheel while Sixty-nine sat on Flanagan's shoulders to secure Fanny's right arm. With her upper body stabilized, we tied off her ankles and then secured her to the wheel with a belt around her middle. And those were just the preliminary steps.

All of the restraints -- leg, arm, waist and saddle -- were adjustable. They could move up and down on the spokes to ensure that the occupant's weight was exactly centered on the wheel. This took a little experimentation, but when done, we could release the brake, spin the wheel and Fanny's body would rotate freely around the axle ... like balancing a tire on a car.

The final step in the process was inserting a mechanical penis through the modified saddle and into Fanny's snatch. Flanagan was especially proud of this bit of engineering. He didn't just drill a hole in the saddle and stick a store-bought dildo through. His invention, which he hoped to patent sometime in the future, was adjustable in both length (anywhere from Pee Wee Herman to John Holmes size, four to twelve inches) and width (pencil dick up to horse cock). It was powered by compressed air, adjusted via a remote control and included a lube/cum feature. Flanagan and Sixty-nine had already tried it out a few times when it was still in our garage, however this would be my first experience with what they called "the wheel of misfortune".

I had my appendix taken out when I was sixteen. Not that me missing a non-essential organ is germane to the story, but it reminded me of how I felt waking up from the anesthesia. Consciousness returned in stages. My first recollection was hearing voices in my head, those of the recovery room nurses. Several seconds later, my nose and eyes became functional, and I realized I was in a different place. Which was a bit disconcerting. One second, I'm in an operating room surrounded by doctors, nurses and anesthesiologists. A blink of the eye later I'm someplace else. Different room, different people.

For me, the shock of recovering from anesthesia was short lived. Once my brain started hitting on all cylinders again, I realized that my routine medical procedure was over, I was in the hospital recovery room, and all was well.

But for Fanny Muldoon, when she finally came out of her drug induced slumber, her seemingly instantaneous transition from snooping in the upstairs bedroom to being tied naked to a wagon wheel in a hardwood floored dungeon had to be completely disorienting. Which was exactly what I wanted.

Not wanting the two police officers to recover their senses before we had them properly situated, I went on the high side of the recommended dose of knock out drops, giving me a chance to enjoy a glass of bourbon barrel aged Cab Sav before Fanny came around. By design, I was the only person in the room when she awoke.

I continued to sip my wine while the trussed-up woman scanned her surroundings. Not believing what her eyes told her, she attempted to rub them with a hand, only to discover that she couldn't. Shaking her head, she tried to slide off the saddle, making her realize she was not only restrained by her hands, feet and waist, but there was also something intruding into her vagina. That's when her terrified eyes fell upon me.

To Fanny's credit, she didn't say what most people would in similar circumstances. The phrase "what the fuck" never came out of her mouth. She also didn't threaten me with bodily harm or appraise me of her position in law enforcement. Instead, she remained silent as her still cloudy mind tried to make sense of her unfortunate situation.

"Are you ..." she said after figuring out the most likely possibility.

"The man you were sent to kill?" I suggested.

"I was going to make it painless," she said. "A bullet in the back of the head. You'd have never known what hit you."

"Are you asking for the same professional courtesy?"

She nodded in agreement.

"Normally I would," I said. "An injection of fast-acting poison is my preferred method. A quick jab in the arm at a crowded concert and I'm out the door before EMS gets to the scene. Less noise and mess than a nine-mil round through the temple and, unless the coroner knows what he's doing, the death will look like a heart attack. Not unlike what you and Toody did to Janis Moorehead a few weeks ago, except you decided to offer her body to the entire City Council before you stuck the needle in her arm."

Her look of fear took a turn towards terror as my words sunk in. She reflexively strained against her restraints as small beads of sweat formed on her face.

"That ... that was not my doing. I was just following orders."

"... said the Nazis at their war crime trials. And most of them ended up with a noose around their necks. No Officer Muldoon, my plans for you do not include a quick and painless death. In fact, you might find my plans for you to be quite enjoyable, as long as you play the game."

"I don't understand. What game?"

"It's a competition between you and your partner. Officer Toody is un-comfortably stretched out in the next room. Each of you will tell us everything you know about the illegal and immoral goings on in Merryville for the last couple of decades. I want names, places, dates, and corroborating evidence. You get special credit for info on what the Mayor and City Council have been up to, but I also want a full accounting of the sins you and Toody have committed against the citizens of Merryville. And please don't leave anything out. I'll be matching what you say against your partner's story. If they don't agree, there will be consequences."

Officer Muldoon looked like she had something else to say, but I picked that particular moment to switch on the remote-controlled saddle vibrator and she lost her train of thought. With most of her weight concentrated on a four-inch wide, nine-inch long piece of saddle-shaped vibrating leather -- which stretched the length of her butt crack, past her vagina and up against her clit -- her world just got a lot smaller. And with the protruding phallus keeping her centered, she had no way to escape her torment.

"I'll give you some alone time to think," I said as I walked towards the door.

"You might as well do me now. If I talk, I'll be dead before the week is over anyway."

She said something else which I didn't hear because I shut the soundproof door behind me and walked into what used to be the library.