Agent of S.T.A.L.K. in Los Angeles

Mercer paddled her gyrating buttcheeks for several grueling minutes more. At last he dumped her writhing form off his lap onto the carpet, rose and went into the bathroom. Nova heard the shower running and struggled to get loose. She encountered difficulty getting to her feet with her hands tied behind her. By the time she managed, the shower water stopped. She was trying to open the connecting door with her hands behind her back when Mercer strode into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, hair wet. He tugged Nova by her own locks to direct her to the spot he wanted, gamely dodging the kicks she aimed at his balls, and flung her facedown onto the motel bed. Before he untied her he whispered in her ear to answer his questions with a nod or a shake of her head.

"Have you had your fill of fun and games?"

Eyes wide above the gag, she nodded vigorously.

"Do you promise not to bother me at least till I catch up on my sleep?"

Another desperate nod of assurance from Nova and Mercer lifted her effortlessly off the bed. He set her down on her feet. Standing between her and the connecting door, he opened it, unknotted the necktie around her wrists, stepped aside and laughed when she scampered into the adjacent room with the thong still tied in her mouth. Nova locked the door separating them immediately and fumbled the tie off her head in order to spit the soiled panties out of her mouth.

"Motherfucker," she snorted.

She shot the finger impotently at the connecting door and went straight to the shower in her room. For half an hour she fingered her pussy under the running water. She induced some minor orgasms.

They were little consolation.

~~~~~~~~~~

Molly heaped a chip precariously with salsa and held it up to her mouth, a balancing act of eating while talking. "As much as I hate to say it, Nova, I told you so." Molly spoke quietly; Nova thought so the family at the table beside them wouldn't hear, especially the middle-aged husband who'd been trying to look up their skirts since they first sat down.

The girls sat in the seating outside of a Baja Fresh Mexican Grill in Beverly Hills. It wasn't the landscaped patio garden at Spago, but in Nova's current mood Spago would be a waste of money.

She sighed for about the fiftieth time, ignoring the basket of chips and studying the traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard. "I still can't believe he fucking spanked me. Like some goddamned kid misbehaving."

Molly said between bites, "Sounds like you were acting like one, according to your own story anyway, sneaking into his room wearing nothing but a pair of panties. You want to pay me that twenty now?"

"And admit defeat?" Nova grinned. "Fuck no and fuck you, I still have several days and nights left."

"Rotsa ruck." Molly scarfed down another chip. "So you're not mad at Uncle Clive?"

"Well, it's not like I can't sit down or anything. Spanking me doesn't change the way he looks, he's no less good looking this evening than this afternoon."

"Yeah, and not to diss my uncle, but how many good looking assholes have you met in California?"

"I can name fifty or sixty off the top of my head."

"So even though my uncle's as hot as an actor or a surfer dude, you don't consider him an asshole because he warmed your bare ass?"

Nova disregarded the slight smile playing around the edges of Molly's lips. "I consider that more of a Round One."

"Or foreplay?" asked Molly in a whisper.

Nova threw a couple of chips at Molly and, laughing, the girls engaged in an impromptu food fight. The man at the next table strained to watch their every move in his peripheral vision. Both girls wore very short denim skirts that revealed lots of leg and the energetic chip throwing exposed a lot of thigh. Nova was glad she hadn't gone commando tonight.

Molly got her uncle a bag of take-out before they drove back to the La Quinta. She cracked the door to check on him, Nova didn't dare.

"Is he still asleep?"

Molly exclaimed, "He's gone!"

"What?"

Nova bolted into the connecting room after Molly, who had already switched on the light. She saw no evidence Mercer's suitcases, but Molly discovered a note on the pillow. They read it together. Mercer had written: 'Ladies, do not be alarmed by my absence, I merely checked into another room in the motel to catch up on lost sleep. Do not trouble the front desk inquiring about what room number, I instructed them not to divulge it. Will meet the two of you here tomorrow at noon and buy lunch. Love, Uncle Clive.'

"Do you think he's pissed off at me?" Nova asked Molly.

"I doubt it, he said he's just tired. Anyway, would he pay for your lunch tomorrow if he's pissed?"

"But he went and got another room and asked we not try to find him. That's sending some kind of message, y'know, saying something without saying it." Nova could not help but feeling rejected, not just once, but twice now. Damn that man! Being unaccustomed to rejection, she isolated the fact she wasn't taking it well. But she had every intention of handling it well.

"He may be uptight but he is male, after all, Nova, and from what you told me it sounded like a very feverish interlude."

She hadn't told her everything! "Thanks for trying to mollify me. What now?"

"Want to go out?"

"Not particularly, I don't feel like it."

Molly shrugged. "Hungry? I have a sack of take-out."

"You just ate, girl!"

"No use letting this Baja Fresh go to waste, Uncle Clive won't be eating it."

"I hate chicks like you who eat and eat and eat and never gain a pound. I'm sure glad that fucking Halloween festival starts tomorrow." Nova sighed one more time. "It's too bad the batteries in my vibrator are dead."

Molly giggled, "Wonder what's on TV tonight?"

~~~~~~~~~

Mercer horrified Nova and Molly with the clothes he showed up in for lunch.

"No, no, Uncle Clive, a thousand times no!" uttered Molly, "Is that a Halloween costume?"

"Halloween's not till Saturday," agreed Nova, wincing.

"This is sunny California. What's wrong with me Hawaiian shirt?"

"For one, it's so old all the colors have faded from red and green to pink and gray. And your skin's too white to even think about wearing shorts, especially Bermuda shorts. Do you want to stop traffic?"

"What about me plimsoles? They're American and certainly no worse than those pink things on your feet."

"Sorry, your yellow Nikes have got to go. You look like you haven't bought any clothes since back in the eighties."

"But they still fit," he said sheepishly.

"No way I'll let you embarrass yourself in public like that. Nova, please educate my uncle about socks."

"Clive, you don't wear black socks with tennis shoes, not wearing shorts at any rate. It's just not done."

"What am I to wear then? My suit got hijacked yesterday," he said, helpless under the scrutiny of the fashionistas.

"We'll pick it up at the cleaners this afternoon."

"What do I do till then? I'm sure nothing else in my suitcases will meet with your approval. And I'm famished."

"Fortunately, I bought you some presents yesterday."

"What kind of presents?" Mercer asked suspiciously. "I'm not wearing pink shoes, especially not for the sake of fashion."

"Don't worry, I wouldn't let you leave here in a pair," laughed Molly. "You're lucky your niece has your back. Follow me."

She led him into the room he'd vacated. Nova went only as far as the connecting door and leaned against the frame. Molly had placed all of Mercer's gifts on the bed: a garment bag, a shoe box and two or three plastic sacks from various clothing outlets. Nova left them to it and got a magazine she'd brought off her night table. She heard Mercer and Molly arguing.

"I want you out of this room while I change!"

"If Nova saw you in your boxers then it won't hurt a thing if one of your relatives does too!"

Nice, thought Nova.

They emerged from the room a few minutes later, Molly with a triumphant gleam in her eye and Mercer clad in a lightweight olive suit with the sleeves of the jacket pushed up to his elbows. The black Converse high top tennis shoes matched his plain black T-shirt.

Nova knew Molly expected her to make a comment. So she whistled and said tartly, "Much better, Clive, you might even get laid while you're in Cali."

Mercer complained, "I look like a bloody rock star."

"Not without eyeliner you don't," replied Molly. "At least you don't look like a tourist from Nimrod, Oklahoma. Welcome to the new millennium, Uncle Clive. You'll be among the best dressed men at the film festival."

"And you would know!" He paced around the room, casting an occasional glance in the mirror. "Have to admit these sneakers are more comfortable than me loafers." He tinkered with the coat sleeves, starting to tug them down to his wrists.

"Leave those at your elbows," scolded Molly, her hands on her hips.

Mercer smirked, "Mummy knows best," but complied and regarded his image in the mirror. "This suit fits like you had it tailored. How'd you know what to buy?"

"Before I took your other one to the cleaners I dropped by a clothing store with it to get one the same size. I also peeked at your loafers to check your shoe size before I left."

"You think of everything, the shoes fit too, I'm dead chuffed."

Nova wanted to ask him what the expression meant, but kept quiet, wanting to gauge how Mercer acted around her today. If he had anything to say, he'd have to bring the conversation to her. She needn't have been concerned, he acted like yesterday never happened and behaved like a gentleman overall, dry-witted and pleasant.

Molly drove them to Pink's hot dog stand on La Brea and Nova noticed several women staring at him while they stood in line. Molly teased him, asking why he insisted upon dressing like a rock and roller. They devoured eight chili dogs between the three of them, afterwards Mercer insisting on taking a bus tour of movie star homes before they returned to the motel. They had two hours before needing to depart and killed time chatting in their room.

Mercer surprised Nova and Molly talking about his hobbies. He revered the escape artist Harry Houdini. "Chap would dislocate bones in his hands and feet to slip out of manacles," he said, "In the commandos I used to hold demonstrations, getting out of coils of rope and locked trunks, though not at Houdini's level." Mercer also possessed an in-depth knowledge of old black-and-white horror films, saying how keen he was for the opportunity to see the ones scheduled to be shown at the Halloween Film Festival.

Molly said, "Yesterday you didn't seem to know much about this festival."

"I couldn't dig up any information about 'Nude Bloodbath,' but did find the festival itinerary on the Internet. They plan to show a lot of old Universal Studios movies tonight. 'Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man,' 'House of Dracula,' and 'The Mummy's Tomb.'"

"Enjoy yourself. Since the festival is devoting the first night to black and white horror classics, Sammy Baldwin and Reggie might be no-shows. Tomorrow the porn crowd should be out in full for the screenings of their brand of horror movies."

"Molly, will the porn screenings be private?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know the festival is reserving modern mainstream classics for Halloween night on Saturday. The oldies and mainstream stuff will play on the screen in the Kirkbride's convention center, all suitable for public consumption. But what about the porn? Will they screen those movies in the convention center too, or elsewhere?"

"I'm not sure how the promoters are handling that, but if I know Sammy, he'll probably hold screenings in his suite at the Kirkbride."

"Not a lot of festival goers will get to see them if he does."

"True, but it's a surefire way to entice the aspiring actresses into a more private setting, if you get my drift. He's a horndog."

"Is there any way you can persuade him to give us a sneak preview of 'Nude Bloodbath' tonight?"

Nova spread her hands apart. "May I point out that might put Molly in a compromising position, Clive."

"I'll be there too," he said, "We'll run into the same obstacle tomorrow."

"Do you have to see the movie? Maybe Molly can ask Sammy to introduce us to some of the cast instead."

"Good idea, if they're here. And Reggie's the only one of the lot I need to meet."

"If this Reginald Orr character is a vampire will he recognize you as an agent of S.T.A.L.K.?"

"I've never met him personally, Nova, just studied the photos of him in S.T.A.L.K.'s files."

"What I'm thinking is along the lines of this: if S.T.A.L.K. compiles a most wanted list, maybe vampires do the same, only in reverse. A be-on-the-lookout for this bounty hunter or that one."

"Logical enough, although I doubt Reggie'd know me on sight," said Mercer, chewing at the inside of his cheek. "The best I can do is be there to watch after Molly. And you, of course."

"Of course," said Nova absently. She consulted the time on her cell phone. "It's time for us girls to get ready."

Mercer excused himself, claiming he needed to send an email to his boss and make some preparations of his own. He knocked on their door in twenty minutes. Nova let him in, noticed his jacket didn't fit like it had and asked about the bulge under his left armpit. He told her he'd added a shoulder holster to his apparel, but refrained from showing her the gun. She wondered if he packed the big chrome job she'd seen him with yesterday.

He expressed surprise they still weren't dressed. When the girls came out of the connecting room in their evening attire half an hour later, Mercer shook his head in disbelief. He made the comment: "You two seem more undressed than dressed."

Both wore mini-dresses that exposed their tits and advertised their asses: Molly in red satin with spaghetti straps keeping her dress from falling off; Nova in clingy silver silk with circular holes the size of dinner plates cut out of the front and back. Only a strip of fabric hid her nipples leaving the top and underside of her breasts revealed along with her belly button. The cutout in back was so low part of the crack of her ass showed.

Mercer said, "I know you're not wearing a bra, Nova, but it appears like you're not wearing underpants either."

"I am," she assured him and hiked her hemline up to prove it. The waistband of the gold thong rode midway down on her hips. "It's designed to wear with garments like this."

"Oh, is that what it's called?" Mercer quipped. "Ingenious."

"Uncle Clive, what do you think of my dress?"

"Is that the Little Red Riding Hooker model? Isn't wearing such, uh, brief costumes just inviting trouble?"

"Attracting attention is more apropos," said Molly.

"The object is to get noticed by the right people."

"Those outfits will attract attention from everybody, right people, wrong people, the police."

"You want to meet Reginald Orr, don't you? These dresses alone will help us gain access to the inner circle where you can rub elbows with him."

"What if he's not there tonight?"

"Not a problem, we've got clothes as scandalous as this for all three nights."

He screwed up his face. "That's not what I meant."

Molly laughed. "Take it for what it's worth. I think we're finally ready. Has everyone got their invitation?"

~~~~~~~~~~

In years gone by Mercer attended the Cannes festival twice and Berlin once; the Halloween Film Festival at the Kirkbride in Beverly Hills failed to compare. By a long shot. No red carpet or floodlights or elegant theaters in which to watch the films. The promoters had picked the right hotel for a Halloween show; the Kirkbride festered with archaic architectural motifs: columns, gargoyles, cornices, stonework, scrolled balconies and stained glass. Mercer found the convention center across the street stylistically nondescript, interchangeable with any similar 'function' monstrosity strewn across the states from Clovis to Cleveland. Maybe in a few years the Halloween Film Festival would rival Sundance or Tribeca, he thought, but never Cannes. He didn't bring that up to the girls, giddy and excited by being part of the event.

If he deemed Molly and Nova underdressed, some of the other women's outfits by comparison could be labeled indecent exposure. The actresses outnumbered actors he recognized, most of them nobodies, has-beens, C-list at best. This festival had a long road to hoe before it would take a whiff of rarified air. At the convention center a sparse group of onlookers gathered beyond the lone velvet rope appeared nonplussed with all the non-entities parading about. The interested few consisted chiefly of goth kids in doom-and-gloom black costumes and a smattering of photographers from lower echelon tabloids.

Except for watching an old Universal Studios film, 'The Invisible Man Returns,' Thursday night was a washout for Mercer: not a porn star, director or producer in sight. Plenty of actresses circled like hungry vultures, but neither they nor Molly saw or spoke to Sammy Baldwin or Reginald Orr all evening. Mercer knew Molly had Baldwin's phone number and, early on, told her to call him. She did and got no answer. When the call went to voicemail she asked should she leave a message and he nodded to her, but she never got a callback. By evening's end Mercer had met a myriad of minor industry people, shaken fifty or sixty hands and listened to a lot of big talk.

He witnessed one incident he thought out of the ordinary. A very pretty girl from the goth crowd was approached by two men in white dinner jackets, chatted up for a minute and escorted inside the Kirkbride. Mercer trailed after them out of curiosity while Molly and Nova conversed with a restaurant owner and his wife. The liveried doorman of the hotel stopped Mercer when he tried to enter the lobby and informed him he needed to be a registered guest before he could go inside. He was tempted to rent a room for the night but, by then, the young girl with the two men boarded a lift and disappeared from sight when the metal doors closed. He rejoined Nova, Molly and their acquaintances, dismissed the whole affair as a product of his overly suspicious nature.

The three of them cruised back to the La Quinta in the wee hours of Friday morning empty-handed. When Molly announced she planned to retire for the night and wandered into the other room Nova asked Mercer if he'd like to have a nightcap with her in his room. Judging from her bedroom eyes, Mercer declined.

"Why not?" she said sliding closer to him on the twin bed where they sat. She'd downed several glasses of champagne with his niece inside the convention center and seemed tipsy. "Don't you drink?"

"I do on occasion."

"Don't you consider being in Los Angeles an occasion? You're a long way from home."

"You know where a nightcap in my room would lead, Nova."

She toyed with a lock of his hair and asked, "Would that be such a bad thing to wind up in bed together?"

"I thought you said you had a boyfriend. Aren't you in love with him?"

"Not really. No brag, just fact: I have many boyfriends."

"So I'd be only one more convenience for you?"

She stood up, angry. "Why not just call me a whore?"

"I didn't."

"You inferred it."

"I apologize. At least tonight you're not being deceitful."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she asked in a heated whisper.

"You well know what I mean, that business about nicking one of the bath towels while I was supposed to be asleep. Coming into the bedroom naked."

"I wasn't naked, just getting ready to bathe."

He weighed his words carefully before speaking. "You're not being truthful, Nova. Admit it."

She sat down beside him again and draped her arms around his neck. With a shy grin she said, "Okay, I'm busted. But what harm is there in making love to me?"

"I went into my reasons yesterday."