Agent of S.T.A.L.K. in Prague

"I will make you a better deal than the one I made with the man on the second floor. Two thousand Korunas."

Outside the possibility of being a vampire, Barbora held no interest to him. He could nevertheless not help from asking her, "Two thousand Korunas for what?"

She stared him dead in the eye. "A blowjob. I swallow."

"No thanks."

The blonde girl raised the hem of her dress while she swung around to put her back to him. She leaned slowly forward so he had a royal view of her rear assets. The mere thread comprising the back of her thong bisected her anal dimple. Each side of her plump mound spilled out of the black nylon covering the lips of her pussy. To leave nothing to Mercer's imagination, she pulled aside the thong to expose all the delights awaiting him. Though the illicit romp with Jitka ended only ten minutes ago, desire rippled through his loins again. Barbora informed him he could make use of the twin orifices for just an extra five hundred, an All Soul's Day bargain.

Were all the employees of the 'Fun Palace' depraved?

"I only wish to ask you some questions." "What kind of questions, handsome?"

If just one more slut in this dive called him that he thought he'd show her the back of his hand. He took a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. If he messed about on a job for S.T.A.L.K. he might well get himself killed. "I appreciate your compliments, Barbora, but call me Mercer," he said, fumbling for the dead American's wallet. He let her see the driver's license. "Have you seen this man in here tonight?"

Tugging her mini-dress back into place, she turned back toward him to glance at the man's picture. While she did so, Mercer saw her eyes fall upon the crucifix hanging on his chest.

No reaction.

"Well?" he prompted.

Barbora sighed. "Is he wanted for something, a criminal?"

"Answer the questions, don't ask them. You see him or not?"

"I think you are a policeman, Mr. Mercer."

"Answer my question, Barbora."

"The man with the bad breath. Yes, I saw him."

"Did you have sex with him?"

"While we danced he played with my pussy and fingerfucked my asshole, if you want to call that sex. I made him give me five hundred---"

"Is that all that you let him do?"

"These are funny questions. Do my answers excite you?" she asked. "No, I don't like the questions any more than the answers, but they're necessary."

"I think you are telling Barbora a little lie, Mr. Mercer."

She attempted to place a teasing hand in his lap to test her excitement theory, but he gripped her wrist to stop her. This only resulted in her laughing and reaching her other hand toward his crotch. He clutched her other arm before she could touch him and squeezed her wrists until she winced. Her breasts wobbled in her exertions to free herself from his grasp. In such close proximity Mercer smelled the pungent odor of sex on her. She reeked of it.

He pressed on. "Maybe it's you lying to me, maybe you went to the third floor with the man."

"That hurts, stop! Let me go."

"Not before answering my question, Barbora. Did you go to the third floor with him?"

"No, I have not been upstairs with him. With two other men tonight, yes, I went. But not with the man with bad breath."

Mercer eased her away from him. He knew what he wanted to know, a succubus would've torn herself away from him without even trying. Barbora fought in vain against his grip on her, and lost. Staring at the cross hadn't fazed her either.

He said, "Get out of here. Tell Victor or Jakub or whoever's standing outside the door I said so."

She left the office and Jakub entered, smiling and obviously pleased about something. "Two down and one to go, Mercer. I'm sure that makes you happy."

"What are you so jolly about? You departed with a frown on your face."

"I'll tell you when Kryštof gets here. I want him to hear what I have to say. And you."

Mercer wouldn't give the security chief the satisfaction of asking what it pertained to. "Kryštof is liable to be a while. He's upstairs with Jitka."

"I called him on his mobile. He will be here shortly."

That gave Mercer time to prepare for Štěpánka, the last name on their list. He placed his trenchcoat on the armrest of the couch like he'd done in the other office, with easy access to the pocket containing the dart gun. After sliding the knife from his leg sheath under the middle cushion of the couch, he picked up the glass of beer on the desk.

Jakub asked, "Would you care for another Pilsner? That one is probably not very good."

"It's fine, thanks," said Mercer, setting the glass on the floor next to the edge of the couch. He removed the dark glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose and wipe a sleeve across his damp forehead before putting them back on. The crucifix on the chain went back into his shirt pocket. He combed his fingers through his thick rumpled brown hair and sat on the couch, waiting for Kryštof and Štěpánka to arrive.

"I would not imagine a man like you, Mercer, drinks very much. Or gets much pussy, even though the girls in the club seem attracted to you."

Mercer regarded the man with the ponytail. "And what do you care, Jake?"

"Me? I don't care. I don't give a shit about you."

Mercer yawned. "We have the one thing in common then because you are not high on my list of favorite people either." He sat, relaxed but ready should Jakub take another swing at him.

"Yes, we have that in common," agreed the security chief. "But knowledge is power and I know more about you than you do me."

Mercer supposed Kryštof had told Jakub about his daughter. If he did, that didn't trouble him in the least, but the man acted like he knew something more. Mercer yawned again, still not deigning to ask Jakub a single question. He'd hear what the man had to say soon enough. He glanced at his watch: twelve fifty five A.M. Hurry up, Kryštof! Mercer wanted to crawl into bed in his flat and sleep for the rest of the night and all of the day.

Jakub lit a cigarette and leaned against the desk smoking, neither man saying another word. He stubbed the butt out in an ashtray; Kryštof walked in a minute later. He still wore his tan slacks, but had shed his suit coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Mercer didn't need much imagination to guess what transpired upstairs between Jitka and him.

"Have you interviewed Barbora yet?"

"She's in the clear," Mercer said. "How about Štěpánka? Is she available to talk to now?"

"I spoke to the man watching her on my way down. Benedikt will deliver her here in a few minutes."

Jakub put another cigarette in his mouth but left it unlighted. "I think it's safe to say we have the best possible man for this job, Kryštof."

Mercer hadn't expected faint praise from Jakub.

Kryštof said, "I feel that way too, but why do you mention it?"

"I made a few calls," explained Jakub.

Kryštof fidgeted, brushed his hair back out of his eyes, put his hands on his hips, took them off, got out his cigarette pack. "To whom?"

Jakub flicked his lighter for him. "One was to a friend in our organization, the other to a contact I have at Interpol."

"For what purpose?" Kryštof asked, uncertain.

"To verify Mr. Clive Mercer's credentials more thoroughly."

Kryštof looked at Mercer then directed his gaze at Jakub. "Why?"

"I thought his behavior a bit odd, for one thing. His actions make a lot more sense to me now."

Mercer sat silently, waiting to hear how accurate Jakub's information was. He knew what to expect.

"What are you talking about?" asked Kryštof.

"Well, to begin with, he seemed not to enjoy the little liaison with Jitka. Any normal fellow would still be glowing about having fucked her. He sits there as glum as a fucking prude."

Mercer spoke for the first time since Jakub began talking to Kryštof. "We had a small orgy up there, Jake. You think it's normal for men to cavort with prostitutes in a sex club. Maybe your idea of normalcy differs from mine."

"I think I know why," Jakub said, "Clive Mercer used to be Father Clive Mercer. For almost ten years he was a Roman Catholic priest before he became a vampire bounty hunter. A drastic difference in career fields one might say."

Kryštof took a drag and expelled smoke through his nostrils. "Mercer told me his reasons, even though he did not mention the part about being a priest."

"He also happens to be a defrocked priest. Perhaps that explains why he entered into a new endeavor with S.T.A.L.K."

"Is that true, Mercer?" asked Kryštof.

"Jakub is not wrong."

"I knew you were squeamish with Jitka, but you don't strike me as the type of man who buggers little boys."

"I'm not," Mercer said, "I'm unashamed of why the archbishop requested I leave the church."

"What happened?"

"Why not ask your head of security, Kryštof? He's the one with all the answers."

"Jakub?"

"That piece of information I was unable to acquire."

Mercer asked, "Do either one of you care about my history? I'm not here for commendations, my health, to make friends or any such rot. I'm here to carry out an assignment, depending on whether we can suss out a murderess."

"This is true, Mercer, but I cannot help being curious."

"If it puts your mind at ease, Kryštof, I helped a woman who became pregnant as a result of being raped obtain an abortion. My actions in her behalf never bothered me; the diocese however had a different opinion."

"It is my turn to apologize, Mercer, I thought the worst about you," admitted Jakub. "In fact I find that a noble act. But I am puzzled about why you saw fit to spank Jitka as punishment for her choosing to support herself as a prostitute. Pointing out the error of her ways is a noble act too. Or is that just a personality disorder among repressed, randy Englishmen?"

"Act your age, Jake, spanking is a British cliché, nothing more. Regarding Jitka, I regret what I did. I was wrong. She reminded me too much of my daughter and a cog slipped in my head."

"Your daughter Stephanie?"

"You have good sources, Jake. Anything else?"

Jakub produced a pocket notebook and read: "Clive Charles Mercer, born 1966, married Emily in 1984, daughter born the same year, divorced 2001. This I find the most interesting; I wondered where you learned to fight so well; member of the British Commandos '83 through '93, sniper, taught hand-to-hand combat before becoming a chaplain after the first Gulf War in 1991; denomination Roman Catholic, et cetera, et cetera."

Kryštof said, "Put that away, Jakub, we haven't the time for foolishness. If you piss Mercer off, what are you going to do? Call in the cops?"

"He's not leaving. Emily is Irish, Mercer, does she have red hair? Does Stephanie?"

"Why not get back on your phone and call Interpol and find out?"

"I know what happened to Stephanie in 2001, tough guy. I know she's a vampire and you've been hunting for her for years."

"If you or any of your people get within a hundred kilometers of my family, I swear this will be your last Dušičky, Jake."

Jakub ignored the threat. "Our girl Štěpánka has red hair, by the way. She's a foreigner too, not born in the Czech Republic. You are aware that Štěpánka is the Czech pronunciation of Stephanie, aren't you?"

Kryštof shouted, "Put that fucking notebook away and keep quiet, Jakub! Are you trying to disconcert Mercer into making a mistake carrying out his mission with all this silly shit?"

"I just want him to be aware of certain facts, Kryštof," Jakub said calmly.

Mercer stood up and headed for Jakub, but Kryštof jumped in the middle of them. "Enough, you two! I apologize for Jakub."

Locking eyes with the security chief standing behind Kryštof, Mercer barked, "You want me to be aware, do you, Jake? Then you'd best beware of me."

Before any further arguing ensued, a knock sounded at the door. Štěpánka! Mercer's heart began hammering in his chest. He asked himself was he so tired from traveling and fed up with his current assignment he overlooked the correlation between Štěpánka and Stephanie. The next few moments might be the ones he waited for for eight years. And of all places to finally catch up with his daughter: in a whorehouse called the 'Fun Palace.' Mercer struggled to contain the fear and other emotions threatening to boil over inside him.

What if this last suspect was Stephanie? Would he kill her? Could he bring himself to? Mercer wanted to hang his head in misery, but had to hold it high. He sat back down on the couch, praying anyone but his daughter walked into the room.

Anywhere else, anytime but now!

Kryštof asked him if he was ready.

Mercer said he was.

The girl who came through the door had long wavy red tresses and dressed in shiny black leather like a dominatrix, including a studded leather hood masking her face except for zippered openings to see and breathe through. The fiery hair streaming from the back of the hood resembled Stephanie's in texture and color. Štěpánka's height and slender build were identical to his daughter's when she'd become a creature of the night. Her costume (or was it an everyday outfit?) consisted of a leather bra-and-panty set with studded belts crisscrossing her upper torso, all black, like the high-heeled boots that stopped short of the knee. To complete her ensemble she wore leather wristbands and a dog collar, also adorned with chrome studs like the small drawstring purse she carried. Mercer didn't see a buggy whip, perhaps Štěpánka left it in the dressing room.

Would the girl recognize him if he was indeed her father? Mercer adhered to a strict diet and exercise regimen that maintained his weight at thirteen and a half stone for the past decade. His appearance hadn't changed much in eight years, only a little gray at his temples. He noted a couple of tattoos that Stephanie did not have, at least not before, but those might have been added over the years.

Kryštof said to Štěpánka's escort, "Thank you, Benedikt, wait outside, please."

Mercer launched immediately into questioning the girl. "Do you know who I am?"

Štěpánka didn't speak, only shook her head no.

"Would you remove your mask so I can see your face?"

The girl responded by shaking her head again.

"Have you ever gone under the name Stephanie Mercer?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

Kryštof snapped, "Cut out the bullshit, Štěpánka, and answer this man."

Mercer asked, "What is your name?"

Behind the mask the girl whispered, "Štěpánka." She'd spoken so softly her voice might be that of any young woman. Whispering made it impossible for him to determine if the voice belonged to his daughter.

Asking questions with one word or yes-and-no answers got him nowhere, he tried a different tactic. "What country are you from and how long have you worked here?"

Štěpánka shifted her weight from one foot to the other as if bored, neither gesturing nor speaking. Kryštof opened his mouth to perhaps chastise the girl, but Mercer held up a hand to stop him.

He said, "Do you know why you've been summoned here?"

She asked back in a whisper, "Because of the dead man upstairs?"

The blunt answer shocked the men into temporary inaction. Štěpánka smiled through the opening in the S&M hood, stepped close to Mercer and seized him by the lapels of his jacket. In a flurry of furious motion, she lifted him off his feet and hurled him bodily across half the room into Kryštof and Jakub. The three men crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Mercer lost his sunglasses in the course of events. Štěpánka had effectively distanced him from all his weapons, except one. He strove to separate himself from the two Czechs in order to reach the cross in his pocket. The girl grabbed the man closest to her, Jakub, and jerked his head up by the hair and stared into his wide-open eyes.

"Don't look at her, she's a vampire," warned Mercer, "She can bewitch you just by making eye contact."

His shouted warning came too late. Now Štěpánka squeezed Kryštof's face in one powerful hand and the helpless chap looked at her in sheer terror. She hypnotized Kryštof the same way she had Jakub. Both men crouched on their knees, frozen in place in a deadly trance, their eyes vacant and dull. Mercer clenched the cross in his fist, but spied his dark glasses on the floor out of his peripheral vision and dove for them. If he didn't put them back on Štěpánka would have him under her spell in an instant, cross or no cross. If she accomplished getting all three of them under her dominion they were doomed. She'd suck the life energy out of them, leave their mutilated corpses behind and be free to depart the 'Fun Palace' and Prague to wreak havoc elsewhere on the continent.

Štěpánka gleaned Mercer's intent and kicked him hard in the chest. He gasped as he rolled across the carpet to smash into the wall with enough force to dislodge a picture hanging above him. It fell and the corner of the frame struck his forehead, opening a cut. Blood trickled down the side of his face. He watched Štěpánka kneel to pick the glasses off the floor. She turned them this way and that while examining them. Finally she crushed the sunglasses in her fist. Mercer fought to avoid losing consciousness. He scanned his chest through drooping eyelids for the cross and saw no sign of it or the chain the crucifix depended from. During his tumble the chain probably twisted around his neck, he must be lying on top of the cross! He closed his eyes to feign being knocked out as Štěpánka approached him one slow step at a time.

The office may be soundproof, but the heavy thump when he hit the wall should have alerted Benedikt. No one stuck a head through the door to investigate though. The music thundering out of the giant suspended speakers on the first floor either covered up the noise inside the office or Benedikt wasn't paying attention. Mercer heard Štěpánka's deliberate footsteps come to a stop. He lay there terrified, helpless as a newborn. Nothing happened for several moments until gentle fingers stroked along his jawline.

Štěpánka murmured, "Such a pretty face you have, daddy, too bad it's bleeding. Let me see what I can do about that."

Mercer paid no attention to the girl's voice, preoccupied with horrific thoughts stacking up in his mind. He sensed her leaning over him, confirmed when the leather bra touched his chest. The smell of sex and apprehension drifted in the air. Her hands moved his head. Now she'd thumb open each of his eyes and put him in a vampire's trance or he'd feel fangs bite into his neck, but neither happened.

A tongue licked at the fresh blood seeping from the cut on his forehead before licking down his cheek to capture and savor every drop. An eternity later Mercer felt the lips of her mouth touch the wound and begin to suck. He wanted to scream but stayed stock still, beyond caring. Next stop: death.

"Mmmm," she purred, "Your blood tastes so sweet, daddy, I think I will save you for last, for dessert."

She'd called him daddy twice. Štěpánka was Stephanie! He expected to die sooner or later working for S.T.A.L.K. but to be slain by his own daughter grated like sandpaper on his soul. How ironic, how ignominious. Thoughts of what Stephanie had done as a succubus for eight years chilled him. How many men had she laid with, how many had she murdered? Shame swept over him, joining the terror holding him enthralled.

The weight of her body lifted off of him and he heard her retreating footsteps. He kept himself from shuddering, so she was saving him for last and inadvertently giving him one more desperate chance. The sound of two zippers reached his ears. Mercer dared not move, not yet, but cracked his eyelids enough to see. Štěpánka knelt in front of Kryštof and Jakub massaging their cocks until each man's member jutted erect from his open fly.

"Stand up, you two," she commanded, never taking her hands off them as the two men obeyed like zombies. "As I start to suck each of your dicks the trance will be dissolved, but you are not to move, just stand there. I want you to feel what I'm doing and enjoy the pleasure as much as I do. You will still be under my spell," Štěpánka chuckled, "In more ways than one."