Worst Case

This story is a reposting of a previous tale titled Retribution. I have edited it slightly and renamed it to avoid confusion with other stories that were identically titled.

Dallas

*

It was midnight in downtown Dallas. Even though there was barely any traffic, she drove slowly, just under the speed limit. It was her routine to mentally run through the steps over and over during the drive, until she was one mile from her target. Then she would empty her mind and drive as if she was in a trance. The routine had worked for her ever since her Special Forces days in Australia.

When she saw the club located in a windowless abandoned warehouse just south of the city, she drove around the building seven times, circling it like a shark circled its prey. Her mind clicked into business mode, as her metallic silver BMW crisscrossed the large parking lot. She selected a spot under an oak tree, away from the flashing neon lights that screamed "Girls, Girls, Girls!"

Turning off the engine, she hid the key under the passenger seat, and then checked her makeup one last time in the rearview mirror. Her emerald green eyes were surrounded and shadowed by bodacious black ink, as if she was a quarterback in professional football. Her lips were full, hidden under layers of fire-engine red lipstick. She ran her fingers through her platinum blond hair, letting it fall over her face and partially covering her right eye.

She stepped out, balancing herself on the five-inch stilettos. Leaving the car unlocked, she pulled down her leather miniskirt so that her g-stringed panties peeked just above the waistband an inch below her hips. Her halter top was knotted behind her neck, cropped two inches above her navel, and showing off her muscled stomach. Her back was entirely bare, except for an elastic band running below her shoulder blades.

The bouncer thought he saw an Amazon approach in her all black outfit, standing over 6 feet with heels. He could not recognize her, but that was not surprising because he worked only on weekends. His day job was in construction, but with the economy still in the toilet, he had to moonlight on weekends. Because he was not affiliated with any of the gangs, he would later be the only one who mentioned her to law enforcement.

The bouncer looked at her for under a second before opening the door for dancers, which was to the left of the main entrance for guests. The deafening thumping sound of hip-hop slapped her in the face as she entered. She stood still for a few long seconds, letting her eyes adjust.

The room was Texas-large, with dozens of girls moving around in various stages of undress. In the middle of the room, four dancers twirled around four separate poles on the raised platform. The bar was on her left and the restrooms on her right. In the far end of the room was a red sign with the three letters V-I-P.

She crossed the room diagonally and headed for the ladies' room. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Don Giordano. He was celebrating with his top three regional chiefs, each of which had kidnapped and shipped more than ten girls overseas in the last ninety days. Hanging out at the club was his way of motivating his team.

Don caught sight of her over the rim of his glass when she sauntered in front of the men. He whispered to his bodyguard.

"Hey gorgeous, my boss there would like you to join us." The bodyguard came up behind her and squeezed her left elbow with his stronger arm.

She went along with him and asked, "Who is your boss?"

"Doesn't matter who he is. You'll be well compensated, don't worry."

She swayed her hips from side to side and timed her walk to coincide with the music. Anyone watching would have no clue she was a lethal killer.

"Nice to meet you." She bent down as she extended her hand, allowing Don a generous view of her chest. The husky bedroom voice was Don's favorite.

Don banged the glass down in the low table with a crack that was audible above the music. He grabbed her palm with both hands and pulled her in. His long-time bodyguard knew the drill, pushing and rotating her so she ended up sitting on Don's lap.

"Let me introduce you to the gang," Don rubbed himself against her leather skirt, which had slid up to reveal her panties. "This is Uno, Dos, and Tres." He pointed to the three men, all of whom were formally dressed in three-piece suits. Only Don was in a polo shirt and his bodyguard in a black sleeveless shirt.

"Hi," she turned around and shook hands with all three. "My name is Milkshake. You can shake me as much as you like." She bopped up and down on Don's lap, making him harder.

Don rocked from side to side in his armchair, laughing so violently she thought he might just drop dead with a heart attack, saving her the trouble. The rest of the men laughed politely, going along with the boss.

Don coughed and took a deep breath after the violent laughing episode. The DJ came on and announced, "Let's show our appreciation. The girls work only for tips."

Don handed a thick stack of twenties and told his bodyguard to spread his love. Four new girls climbed the steps to the stage, holding hands with the previous girls and taking a bow. New music came on. The previous four climbed down and headed straight to Don's group. All five men now had girls on their laps.

"Let the show begin," Don declared to his top go-getters. It was a signal to start undressing the dancers. Don tried to undo the knot behind her neck. She turned around and kissed him on the lips. Then she licked his earlobe, whispering, "Let's go to the VIP room."

Don had been to the VIP room a hundred times. He snapped his fingers, nodding to his bodyguard. The bodyguard fished out five twenties, reached inside her skirt, and slid it under her g-string. The four men saw their boss ease his three hundred pounds out of the large chair, slowly walking to the VIP room, his hand forcing itself inside the back of her tight leather skirt.

It was pitched dark inside the VIP room, designed for maximum privacy so that nobody inside could see what was being done. The music seemed to be even louder here, with speakers surrounding the large sofa seats. Sitting on his tool, she reached behind her neck and undid the knot, retying the halter top around Don's neck, and teasing him by bouncing her breasts against his face. Don closed his eyes and leaned back.

She grabbed his hair and pressed his face hard against her chest, flattening his nose. Squeezing her breasts together, she straddled him and stopped his oxygen flow for a few seconds. The move was new to him, bringing him into paradise. She knew he liked it when his hand started reaching inside her panties. She guided him until he could insert his thumb into her. He found her moist, warm, and welcoming. At that point, she knew she had him totally under control.

Gyrating to the music, she let his thumb stay inside. His ring finger started to explore her, looking for another point of entrance. She adjusted her weight and let him find it. With two fingers holding her like a bowling ball, she filled his mouth with her tongue and pinched his nose. The deprivation of oxygen turbocharged him as she rode on his fingers, driving them both into uncharted territory. Before the end of the first song, he exploded inside his pants.

When the second song started, she removed his shirt, teasing his nipples and biting on them as she did so. Then she stepped out of her panties, inserting it in his mouth. Going around him, she held his own shirt over his face and tied it in such a way he was blindfolded. He could no longer see where she was. He felt her pull his pants down to his ankles. With rapid strokes on his manhood, he was not sure whether it was her hand or mouth.

He felt her hands move behind him, expertly massaging his temples and the back of his spine. God, she was good. He felt soft and relaxed everywhere except for his hard member. She tightened the blindfold, then pinched his nose and pushed her panties further in. He choked slightly, but enjoyed the airy feeling of near asphyxiation. When she released his nose and mouth half a minute later, he breathed deeply and exploded a second time.

The third song was a slow number. She circled around and wiped off his semen with her hair. Gee, he would give anything to have her. It would have to be outside the club because actual sex was illegal in a Dallas club.

Don was making plans on how to enjoy her for the night when he felt the strangulation on his neck. Too late, he realized she was twisting her halter top as tightly as she could, pulling it up so his butt was an inch above the chair. Surely her top would not be strong enough and would break was his dying thought. He screamed and used up the remaining air in his lungs.

The bouncer saw her left the club. Strangely, she was wearing a polo shirt too large for her. The BMW sped out of the parking lot, crushing the gravel under it as if they were grapes.

By the time Captain Laria got there, all the witnesses had left. The police had no reason to hold the customers. The girls also had nothing to say. As was usual with gang killings, everyone claimed they did not see or hear anything. Even the crew who worked in the club claimed they did not know Don Giordano, and did not even notice the woman who killed him.

Cody Laria ducked under the yellow tape. He stepped over the body of Don Giordano, the boss of the Lone Star Dudes, part of a international white slavery ring. Cody had known all along about the lucrative business of his gang. He just did not have any evidence to nail the cocksucker in a court of law. None of his informants in the criminal underworld were willing to testify in open court. Even if one of them was somehow foolhardy to do so, the jury would not believe witnesses who had rap sheets as long as the length of their forearms.

The bouncer was the only exception. Aware that people were watching him, he did not say anything at the scene. But later he called Captain Laria.

Motel 6

A week later, close to midnight, Cody Laria stood in the DFW airport, waiting for her, alone. The next day was his day off. Hours before, he had just completed the investigation and filed the report. All the bouncer could tell was that she was tall, blond, and athletic. Nobody else could identify her.

The sketch artist had worked with the bouncer to produce a generic picture, narrowing down the search to several million women in the country with German, Swedish, or Norwegian descent. Law enforcement personnel in Minnesota and the Upper Midwest were notified. But since the victim was a known crime figure, it was considered low priority. It would soon be another cold case.

It was her habit to spend a week in the Caribbean after each job. Almost all her jobs were strictly for business, with clients paying top dollar for her unique skills. She had one huge advantage, few people in the criminal underworld knew who she was. She had lived her previous life in Australia and had been trained there.

But with Cody, she worked purely for altruistic reasons. Cody had a list of criminals involved in sadistic and heinous ventures. They could not be brought to justice using the legal system. Once a year, she performed a pro bono job for him. Sexual criminals were the animals she detested the most.

Cody drove the same BMW to the airport, but with the plates switched. It was risky to do so, but it was the gambling adrenalin that they both craved. Twice, in the last two years, Cody had waited for her when she returned.

Cody saw her at the back of the entire crowd from the 747. She liked to be the last passenger to clear customs. She was wearing a white tube top and low-slung skinny jeans. The bikini lines on her were obvious.

They embraced hard. She was strong, tightening her grip until he felt slightly difficult to breathe. Then she eased up and smiled. In the airport shuttle bus, they had their arms around each other. They looked at each other knowingly, no words spoken.

Once the car left the multi-storied parking lot, her head was between his legs. He drove with one hand, the other struggling inside her tight jeans. Her lips were on his jeans, chewing off the button, unzipping, fumbling, and freeing up his hard cock. His driving was erratic, but he knew there were no cops on this stretch of the freeway. When he stopped at a gas station, he bought 24 cans of beer.

Minutes later, they were at a Motel 6. They liked the feeling of being cheap and dirty. Also, Cody knew the owner, an ex-con whom Cody had helped to obtain the necessary business licenses. Tumbling into the hard bed, they quickly satisfied each other. Then they inhaled the cheap beer and fucked each other's brains out again. They went to the bathroom, threw up, and then repeated the cycle until they lost count and passed out.

The next morning, she was still sleeping when he went out to buy her favorite breakfast, Sausage McMuffin from McDonald's. While he was gone, a black Mercedes pulled up to the motel. Three masked men dressed in black emerged, with the driver remaining in the car, engine running.

Katherine Solo, trained in the Australian Special Forces, and currently one of the most successful assassin in the world of gang killings, heard the unmistakable clicks of lock picking. Still slightly intoxicated, defenseless and no weapons within reach, she barely had time to arrange the pillows, placing the blankets to resemble a sleeping person. Relying on the faint light through the cracks in the shades, she took her clothes with her and crept to a position behind the kitchen counter. Kat opened the kitchen drawer and retrieved two forks and a frying pan.

The door knob turned, three men entering in single file, moving stealthily to surround three sides of the bed, ready to pounce. The leader, standing at the foot of the bed, held a Glock with a silencer. The other two men had large knives. One of the men also carried two pairs of handcuffs.

From her small makeup mirror, she saw the three men. Only one of them had a gun. She mentally marked him as target number one. She also saw the handcuffs hanging from the belt of one of the men. This was good news because it meant they were here to kidnap her, not to kill. If she disabled the gun, the men would not be killing with the knives, immensely increasing her odds.

The blanket was removed, revealing the pillows. "Where the fuck is she?" The leader's voice sounded panicky.

"The boss would not be happy if we fucked up." The man with the handcuffs said.

"Especially when we boasted about how we'd all take turns to fuck the shit out of the whore." The man shook his knife to make his point.

The leader suddenly put his index finger on his lips, pointing at the attached bathroom. He walked towards it, the two men followed closely. When the leader stepped into the narrow doorway, his back facing the kitchen, Kat leapt out from under him and stabbed his scrotum with both forks. He doubled over in pain, dropping the Glock into the toilet bowl. When he instinctively turned around, Kat hit him squarely in the face with the frying pan. Target one was out of action.

Kat ducked just in time when she heard the jingling sound of handcuffs from the man behind her. Although he had a knife, he was trying to hit her head using the heavy metal cuffs. When he missed, she spanned around and swept his ankles from under him. He fell hard on top of the leader.

The third man rushed towards her, only to be slammed on the face by the bathroom door. Dazed, he lost his grip on the knife. When the door opened again, he saw a blur of movements and felt a kick in the gut. Next thing he knew, Kat was behind him, smashing his head into the mirror. He tasted blood and cussed.

Kat hurriedly jumped into her skinny jeans, pulled the tube top over her hair and head, roughly stretching it across her chest. She could hear the men clumsily getting to their feet in the bathroom. She thought about going back to knock them out, but decided instead to flee.

Stepping out, the sun blinded her for a split second. Cody was on his knees, two feet to her left, his hands on his head. A semiautomatic was behind him, the red laser light precisely in the middle of his head. The motel owner was holding the Uzi.

They had been betrayed.

"Go back inside or he dies." The fourth man spoke softly but firmly.

Inside the room, the fourth man kicked behind her knees, forcing her to kneel, facing the wall. She could not see, but felt the presence of several men behind her. Her arms were twisted behind her, her wrists cuffed. Then her elbows were forced unnaturally and painfully to touch each other. Another pair of handcuffs were snapped shut just above her elbows. When her elbows were released, they sprang out, tightening the cuffs and cutting into her bare flesh.

With her doubly secured, the men tied Captain Laria's hands and legs using telephone cord. Finally, she was yanked by the hair and lifted up to her feet.

Doubly cuffed, her tube top pushed to her waist, she was brought back to the club.

To be continued . . .