Greg Lorcan had left implicit instructions with the Hotel manager to be left alone in the restaurant banquet hall, a room sizable enough to accommodate at least fifty people comfortably. And while his ego could fill a space twice that size the Senator from Washington D.C. just wanted to be left alone.
He didn’t notice her at first but he should have. She was tall standing a good six feet with long toned legs that would make a spider jealous. She was dark skinned with a flawless complexion and an ebony mane that seemed too fluid to be real. Had he looked at her then he would have wondered to himself just how much the guys at headquarters had to chip in to be worth her time.
Her stride was graceful, silent as her legs carried her to the bar. Lorcan didn’t notice her until she sat down beside him. The first thing he noticed was her bright smile, followed by a pair of haunting green eyes that seemed to peer into him.
“I ordered you something to eat,” her voice was seductive; “I’ve been told you haven’t eaten anything since you arrived.”
“Who are you?”
“A gift.”
He nodded as he turned back to his glass of whiskey. “How much did the boys pay this time?”
“You don’t want to know,” she replied. She made her way around the bar.
Lorcan noticed this time. He smiled to himself. “You’re slinky.” He sounded slightly inebriated.
“Good, you’re pliable. Another drink, Senator?” She hoisted the bottle of Makers Mark and poured a few ounces in his glass, followed by two cubes of ice. Lorcan slammed it. “Slow down Senator, I have plans for you later.”
“Yeah, like what?”
She refilled his glass and then bent herself over the bar. She looked into his eyes and said, “Naughty plans. I’m going to do things to you that Ted Kennedy has only fantasized about.”
Lorcan’s eyes widened. The guys at the office must’ve mortgaged their houses for this one. He made a mental note to thank them later.
The phone rang behind the bar, she turned and answered it. His eyes walked all over her. She was wearing a red evening gown; he guessed it was handmade by some effeminate designer from Paris with an unpronounceable name. Obviously he knew his shit. The dress accentuated her shape which was long in some places and full in others. She was narrow waisted yet with curved hips and a round ass, “ghetto booty” was the slang term.
“Okay, bring it in twenty minutes. Thank you.” She hung up the phone. “That was your dinner,” she said as she turned to him. She produced a hair band from out of thin air and began to tie her long black hair.
He couldn’t keep his eyes away from her. “I’m not hungry.”
“You will be.” She sauntered over to him and spun him around. She sank to her knees and, before he could respond, had his pants opened and his cock in her hand. “Just a taste of things to come.”
She put her mouth on him.
“Ted Kennedy, eat your heart out,” he whispered.
She was masterful. She blew him meticulously, thoughtfully. It took a mere five minutes and he erupted like a dormant volcano.
She fastened his pants and made her way back behind the bar. She picked up the phone and hastened Lorcan’s meal.
“I’m starving now.”
“Told you.”
The food came, a roast beef on fancy rye bread, delivered with a smile. The waiter left pocketing a fifty dollar bill. Lorcan wolfed it down wide-eyed with the thought of things to come.
She produced a key to her room again from thin air, a magician this hottie was. Waved it in front of him. She grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck and offered to take him upstairs.
As Lorcan stood he got light headed. His knees started to buckle but he caught himself on the bar.
“You okay?” The ebony beauty asked.
“Stood too fast, I think.”
He gathered himself and then followed her to the elevators.
He watched her remove her clothes trying to fight off a slight drowsiness. He was coherent enough to be rock hard while she stripped. Her shoulders were broad with big tits and her legs long but he liked bubble butts and hers was perfectly bubbled. She was down to a red thong and a smile, he asked her to turn around. She complied. He grabbed himself when he caught a glimpse of her ass.
“Now it’s my turn.” He stood from the bed to undress. His legs and feet suddenly became unable to bear his own weight. The elegant penthouse suite started to spin. He fell back to the bed.
She said nothing as she began to dress herself.
He wondered why she was putting her clothes back on, weren’t they supposed to be fucking? But before the thought became words he blacked out.
Lorcan felt cold as he awoke from a deep sleep. He realized that he was completely unclothed. He also concluded that he was tied to a very uncomfortable chair. He heard a woman’s voice talking, apparently into a cell phone. By the time he could make out her words she had Captain Kirked it closed. His eyes focused as he looked about the room constructed of cinder blocks. A lone soft bulb hung from a wire in the ceiling.
She walked up to him, the red dress replaced by jeans and a black turtleneck. She checked his pupils, they were still slightly dilated.
“I apologize,” she said. “I must have used too much; you were out for four hours.”
“Too much what?”
“Amazing stuff really. Concocted by a close friend of mine. It comes in two parts. Each part harmless by itself but when mixed together it attacks the central nervous system.”
“Two parts?” he managed. “What the hell is going on?”
“Good, you’re coming out of it.”
“Out of what?”
“I slipped you a mickey,” she confessed flatly.
“Why did you do that? What kind of call girl are you?”
“The really weird kind.” She toyed with him.
“Is this some sick sexual thing?” He looked around the room. “Because if it is I’m starting to like it.”
“Let me explain it to you this way, you are in an old utility room in an abandoned building on the other side of Washington. It has been scheduled for demolition in about thirty minutes.”
“Shit lady, you’re kinky!”
“Yeah and it gets better, this building has got just enough TNT strapped to it—in very strategic places—to bring this ol’ bitch down on your skull, crushing it to oblivion.”
“Risk factor. Got it.”
In one hand she had a very imposing gun. She attached a long silencer to it with the other.
“What’s with the gun?”
“I’m going to shoot you, three bullets center mass.”
“Role playing?”
She laughed to herself. She couldn’t believe this egotistical bastard. “Yeah, that’s it, role playing. You’re my target and I’m your assassin. And, let’s see, I’ve been hired by a certain powerful individual, that shall remain nameless, to kill you which will in turn keep you from passing a very damaging piece of legislation.”
“Who, a tobacco big-wig?”
“Whatever, Senator. Take your pick I’m sure you have many enemies.”
She pointed the gun at him. “Any last requests?”
“Yeah, can I suck your toes?”
She squeezed the trigger three times ZIP, ZIP, and ZAP! Lorcan’s chest exploded just as many times. His head fell to one side, eyes still open.
She stuffed the gun in her pants and grabbed a duffel bag sitting by the door. She opened it to walk out but stopped. She turned to the dead Senator, “stupid mutha’ fucker!” She left his corpse in her wake, locking the steel utility door behind her.
Twenty minutes later, after a modest explosion, several tons of concrete and steel came crashing down.
Three days later, in a remote part of the country thousands of miles from Washington D.C. via fiber op, class one: secured.
Q: Mission Status?
Ebony: Complete.
Q: Liability?
Ebony: Terminated. Payment?
Q: Usual manner.
Ebony: Thank you.
Q: Next assignment?
Ebony: Vacation.
Q: Bonus, six zeros.
Ebony: Vacation?
Q: Did I mention six zeros?
Ebony: Intel?
Q: Usual manner
Ebony: Thank you!
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