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

"You'll follow them out and leave Molly and me here alone?"

"I promise not to be long. You should be safe enough in this mob. Too many witnesses."

"Will you try to force those two to talk in your suite? They'd never consent to going there. You need a Plan B."

Mercer scratched at an eyebrow, pretending to think. "I'm a forward person, direct; not too good at planning."

"You're crazy, Clive, I'm worried for you."

"For my safety? Got any better suggestions?"

She didn't.

He kissed her on the cheek. "You worry too much, Nova. I taught unarmed combat in the British Commandos."

"But what if they're carrying guns?"

"We'd be three of kind then."

Nova shook her head, agitated.

She went back to mingling with the guests and Mercer waited. And waited. The men in suits circulated among the others crowding the suite. They said hello to a flush-faced Baldwin after Stormi completed her audition. She balanced against him reapplying her lipstick. The temperature and the volume of conversation rose as the liquor continued to flow. Scented plumes of marijuana intermingled with the smog of cigarette smoke floating in the air. Mercer impatiently glanced at his watch, two and a half hours since the two men arrived. They talked a long time with a director Molly knew, then suddenly set down their drinks and headed toward the door.

Mercer took his dark glasses off. "Time to stretch me legs," he hissed to Molly and Nova. "You two stick together."

"You're out of here?" they asked.

"Back in two seconds." He slid the glasses into the breast pocket of his jacket and followed the two men out of the suite.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Where the fuck is he going?" Molly swore as Mercer cut through the crowd on his way out.

"I think you know. I hope he keeps it cool," Nova whispered.

"Who keeps what cool?" a man's voice asked. A new voice. "Pardon my interrupting, girls. You enchanted me across the length of the room. I am Reginald Orr, I'm in the cast of 'Nude Bloodbath.'"

Nova locked eyes with him and felt instantly mesmerized. She experienced the moment when two people of the opposite sex meet and subconsciously decide whether they'd fuck the other. Yes, she would definitely do Reginald Orr, despite him being rail thin and scraggly haired. The dude also wore oddball make up; a scalene triangle of black greasepaint around his eyes like an eerie domino mask. Some unknown quantity or X-factor attracted her enormously to him, she couldn't pinpoint what. He turned his riveting gaze on Molly, who increased the wattage of her smile, squared her back and shook her breasts at him. She placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder, bent close to lick his ear, her eyes ablaze with distant fire, one of her fingertips tracing a path on the zipper of his trousers. What had come over Molly all of a sudden? Without realizing it Nova brushed her tits against Orr's arm, rested a hand on his butt familiarly. She identified the urge to fawn over him and resisted, yet unable to stop touching him. Her pussy secreted heavily. What had come over her?

Molly and she readily accepted Orr's suggestion that they relocate to suite 700. "Not as many people, it's cozy, more private," he said. Nova hung onto his every word. Very few moments later they entered the other suite, a dimly lit room, stunned by the video cameras on tripods and lights with umbrella reflectors. More ominous than the photography equipment were the men inside the suite. They appeared creepy and old to Nova, more than a dozen of them and they were the only two women. Molly and Nova traded a glance signifying they mutually wished to leave this place. But neither one moved. Even when the men formed in a circle around them, placed intimate hands on their bodies.

Reginald Orr stepped in front of Nova, bid her to kneel and looked down at her, smiling. "What is your name?"

She trembled. "Nova Nobarro."

"Age?"

"Eighteen."

"And what brings a girl like you to Sammy Baldwin's party?" Orr's voice was affable, reasonable, his questions imbued with genuine interest, not probing curiosity.

She hesitated before telling him anything. "My editor sent me to cover the Halloween Film Festival. I write entertainment features for a Catholic periodical."

"A religious publication?"

"It's called 'Modern Catholic.'" All Nova could think about was the outline of Orr's dick in the tight pants he wore bulging only inches from her tongue.

His eyes lit on the diamond-studded cross Mercer had given her. "Do you think of yourself as a religious individual, Nova?"

"You might say that, I left a convent in May."

A murmuring spread through the men in the room. Nova felt a heated wetness intensifying between her legs. Orr stroked her chin with long fingers. A tangible sensuality radiated from him she could smell and feel, his words honeyed.

He dragged the crucifix around the chain until it hung out of sight behind her back, handling it like it burned his fingers. His spoke as gently as his hands moved, "Do you not find it queer, Nova, a religious publication assigned you to view and review pornography?" His eyes seemed unnaturally white surrounded in the triangle of black make up.

"My editor wants an article on the mainstream Halloween movies old and new, not porn films. She'd have a cow if she knew I hung out with Sammy Baldwin."

"Interesting, it leads back to the original question. Since you told us Sammy's porn crew is not part of your assignment, what's the real reason you're kneeling there right now, Nova?"

More trembling. "Maybe it's because I feel repressed after five years in the convent. I quit because eventually I want to marry and have kids. But for now I want to be free, y'know, just to live, to have fun, to experiment. I don't have much experience with guys."

The men muttered among themselves again. Orr stooped on his knees in front of Nova. He pushed a hand into her spandex shorts, she hadn't worn panties with them. She got his questing fingers all wet, they sent a carnal shiver snaking through her. He sensed it even though she tried not to be so obvious.

"Lovely Nova, do you feel experimental tonight?"

"Unusually experimental."

"Enough to make a short movie?"

"Anything," she panted, "Just so long as we do something."

Orr manipulated her clitoris, snickering when she groaned. He slid his roving hand out of her shorts and stood, rubbing his wet fingers together grandly over the top of his head. "She's very aroused," he said and the men roared. Orr nodded at Nova to stand and announced: "She is ready, gentlemen. Do what you will."

He kissed her quickly on the lips and retreated to a loveseat pushed against the wall, in the shadows.

Two men bared Nova's breasts lifting her top over her head and off. One guy peeled her sticky shorts down to the middle of her thighs. A burly man in a suit bent her body forward at the waist and handcuffed her hands behind her. She contemplated the long blue vibrator in another one's fist and soon felt it nuzzling the mouth of her cunt. It excited her beyond belief to have an orgasm with all those men watching. The humming vibrator had her babbling incoherencies of joy and her body quivering. After dallying in Nova's pussy, the vibrating toy journeyed up the crack of her ass seeking a new destination. A pair of hands parted the cheeks of her ass wide and the other, operating the vibrator, nosed the well-lubricated tip relentlessly against the ring of upraised flesh until it inevitably gave way. She shuddered and bit her lower lip, eyes clenched shut. The device moved slowly and gently in and out of her an inch at a time until, several minutes later, lodging deeply inside her anus, where it remained. Nova couldn't see, but it felt entrenched up to the cap, whirring away, stimulating her inner slut. She felt simultaneously humiliated and thrilled when the men made rude comments about the expression of her face.

Someone hitched her shorts back up with the vibrator still buried in her asshole, transmitting tickling waves of sensation throughout the nerve centers of her body. She squatted on her knees when urged and opened her eyes to a thicket of dicks pointed at her face. The head of one long, thick shaft touched her lips. She opened her mouth to allow entry and struggled to deep throat it the first time. It took several tries.

"That's the biggest dick I've seen in my whole life," gasped Nova.

"Not that you've seen all that many," Orr called from the loveseat. "You said you only left the convent five months ago."

"But I got to see a few in that timeframe."

That dick was soon replaced with another one seeking to wedge itself down her throat. Before she knew it a fifth man's replacement embedded itself in her mouth, one of his hands gripped under her chin, the other pushing at the back of her head to make her comply with his whims. The more pricks Nova sucked, the more the men seemed better looking and younger than she remembered earlier.

She wanted to satisfy them, wanted to suck every single one.

Through watery eyes during a lighting change Nova saw Molly sprawled next to Orr in the loveseat now. Nova knew a moment of envy, she desired Orr for herself, but had her hands and mouth full at the time. Orr investigated under Molly's skirt, a hand inside her panties. They exchanged sloppy kisses, he obviously finger fucked her. No cameras filmed the loveseat action, Nova dominated the limelight fellating her many co-stars. She was the star attraction, but Molly didn't wait idly by for her turn in front of the lens. She began giving Orr's organ a tongue bath as Nova got preoccupied again. The next time Molly came into view she had her head in Orr's lap sucking his dick. He started coming and doused her face twice until she got his spewing member back between her lips to capture the rest of what came out of him. In a show of enthusiasm Molly swallowed every morsel deposited in her mouth.

Nova became sidetracked once more. She'd sucked on seven or eight different pricks and none of the guys had come for her yet, but that changed when two of them painted her face in the span of a minute. A third shot made her glasses hard to see out of. The fourth actor approached, wagging his etched ebony dick under her nose, advising her he'd be coming in her mouth. His bitter and voluminous tribute went down as warm as a shot of Tequila. The vibrator buzzed away in her ass during it all, the spandex crotch of the shorts slippery wet with juice seeping from her pussy.

Through the haze she thought she saw two men leading another man to the loveseat where Orr sat. It was Mercer! Where had he come from? Did he have handcuffs on? Nova couldn't see his eyes but could feel them when they dwelled on her. In fact, she came the hardest of all the times she had that evening with his dark glasses turned in her direction.

~~~~~~~~~

Mercer inclined his head to the two men in the corridor, his hands stuffed in his pants pockets, unassuming, unthreatening. He made no attempt at conversation as he waited with them for the lift to arrive. If no one else occupied the car, Mercer would ride down with just the two men. All his impatient waiting might pay off. He'd had an abundance of time to formulate his line of interrogation, to wring as much information out of them with the fewest questions possible.

The metal doors slid apart and the three of them shuffled into the vacant lift. Such luck! Mercer stood with them on his right. When the car started to descend he pressed the Emergency Stop button. They lurched to a sickening halt. He swung around to face them.

One guy asked, "Whatcha think ya doin'?"

The other guy asked, "What is this, pal?"

"You gentlemen sound like out-of-state help," said Mercer. "I saw you last night in your white jackets with the girl. Who drove the car?"

"Whatcha talkin' about, wiseass?"

"You know precisely what I'm talking about."

The one closest to Mercer jabbed at him and threw a series of punches. He countered each blow in the palms of his hands to lessen the impact and deflect away. The second man decided to enter the discussion. Mercer slammed him against the side of the lift by shoving the other man into him. A chop to the neck disabled the first one's ability to attack, he toppled in a heap. Mercer knew the lad would experience muscle spasms for the next several minutes and not be a spot of trouble.

He asked the conscious one: "Who drove the car?"

"What do you mean, pal?"

"You have till three to answer, on four you'll have a broken nose." Mercer counted, "One, two . . ."

"Are you a cop?"

"Answering a question with a question isn't an answer," he said. And broke the guy's nose.

The man slid down the side of the lift into a sitting position. Mercer hauled him to his feet by his shirtfront.

"A cop can't fuckin' do that!" blustered the man.

"I'm not a policeman, I do what I want." He tagged the guy on the nose with his fist a second time, holding him by the shirt to prevent him from collapsing. "Who ran over the girl?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about, mister."

Mercer could suss out a lie from a kilometer away. He produced the large chrome-plated pistol and pressed the barrels to the man's forehead above his left eye. Thumbing back the two hammers echoed dramatically in the enclosed space.

He said, "Talk to me."

The man wiped the blood off his mouth to speak. He talked for a minute or two. Mercer asked him a question. The chap answered and Mercer asked more questions. By the time the one on the ground could stand without wobbling, he knew most of what he wanted to know. The Farris girl agreed to meet some 'movie people,' balked when she realized they were porn 'movie people,' got slapped around when she said she wished to leave. She sneaked off and, fearing she might cry cop, one of the men followed her in a car into the convention center parking lot.

Mercer went through the men's pockets in the lift while he trained the pistol on them. They carried security badges inside flip wallets but no guns. Mercer transferred those into his coat, they might be of use getting him through a few doors. He let the two men know he was making a citizen's arrest and detaining them for the police. He fiddled with the panel of buttons in the lift to get the bloody thing up to the sixth floor. The prisoners complained, but preceded him down the empty corridor to his suite. He handed one of them his key card and ordered him to open the door.

Inside he made them lie facedown on the floor and called the desk. "Would you trot the house detective up to 607, love, it's quite urgent." He hung up before the girl could ask questions. That should bring the hotel cop running.

Mercer clicked on Molly's number. Ringing then voicemail. He called Nova and got the same thing. An icy feeling of panic settled around his shoulders like a blanket. Why didn't they pick up? He'd only been gone ten minutes. He continuously tried calling both girls until the house detective knocked. A big, solid guy, but in his sixties, a retired sheriff perhaps. Mercer swiftly explained the situation, but the old boy seemed very reticent. He didn't want to detain any men for the police while Mercer ran off to an emergency elsewhere in his hotel; he suggested they do it the other way around. Mercer overcame those objections with four hundred dollar bills. The house detective had a revolver, Mercer left feeling confident he had his prisoners under control.

Now to find Molly and Nova. He ran down the corridor, flung open the door to the stairwell. No time to wait for the lift. He tore up the stairs and put his dark glasses back on before trying the doorknob of suite 704. Locked, he guessed it would be. But simply by knocking someone let him. He crisscrossed the room through the people but saw neither of the girls. He methodically opened the rest of the doors in the suite claiming he thought it was the bathroom when anyone snapped at him. Molly and Nova weren't in 704.

Mercer found Baldwin in the living room area with a hive of so-called actresses buzzing around him. He talked rapidfire to three different girls, gesturing with an unlit cigar. Mercer stopped him in mid sentence. No, Baldwin hadn't seen Molly or the senorita recently, the last time he had they'd been talking with Reginald Orr. Mercer calmly asked where to find him. Orr would be partying, Baldwin guessed, in one of the other suites. Mercer didn't want to cause a ruckus and backed off. Once in the corridor, he desperately knocked on the doors of Baldwin's other suites. A man stuck his head out of 702.

Mercer said brusquely, "I'm looking for a couple of girls."

"You'll probably want to look in 704, fella."

Mercer pushed through the door, his eyes scanning the room. In the near dark couples sat around talking, drinking, having sex. He didn't see Molly or Nova.

"What's with barging in here like a one-man army, fella?"

"Terribly rambunctious of me, sincerest apologies. I am Sir Clive, with the Times. I'm running behind for the interview with Reginald Orr. Is he in here?"

His British accent and the lie placated the man, who acted anxious to avoid any sort of physical confrontation with Mercer. "Reginald was here, but he left fifteen twenty minutes ago," the man volunteered.

Mercer thanked him and knocked at suite 700. Same deal, a man cracked the door and didn't want to let him in. He explained he needed to find Orr for a newspaper interview. The man shook his head, Orr was busy, come back later. Mercer exerted more force to push his way in than in the first room, the man who had been talking to him was much bigger. The idiot cocked back his fist and, while in that ridiculous pose, Mercer struck him smartly in the solar plexus. He sank to his knees, green. Another large bloke appeared keen to dive on Mercer, but changed his mind when Mercer warned him away with a dirty look and moving his head slowly from side to side.

He saw lights and cameras when he entered the room. Lots of people too. He wasn't surprised the altercation at the door attracted none of their attention. They had it focused on the floor show, a girl sandwiched between several men on the floor, her brunette hair hanging in her face. Mercer swiveled his head searching for Reginald Orr, hoping he knew the whereabouts of the girls. His eyes came to rest on a wild-haired geezer with a horizontal streak of paint across his face like a mask. With the extreme make up, Mercer couldn't discern if he was Reggie or not. He did know the blonde girl sitting in a daze beside the man, totally naked except for her glasses and high-heels. Little Miss Molly! Glancing at the heap of people writhing in front of the cameras, Mercer recognized the star of the floor show when her hair no longer obscured her face: Nova. His heart sank.

He shifted his eyes back to the made-up man next to Molly. While trying to determine if he was Reggie, the man gave Mercer a sign of recognition. He waved and pointed in greeting, Mercer thought. And thought wrongly he learned as the two burly guys he'd exchanged pleasantries with at the door tackled him from behind. Orr had been signaling to them, not Mercer. The sight of his vacant-eyed, naked niece and Nova at her worst had put him off his game. Mercer crashed into the floor hard, the man he'd hit in the stomach earlier yanked the chrome-plated pistol from his shoulder holster and aimed it at him. Nova's multiple partner performance ground to a standstill, every eye on Mercer and the man with the painted face.

He rose from the loveseat, stepped over to him and made a short bow. "Reginald Orr, at your service."

Mercer knew that now, too little too late, or he'd have fired a silver projectile into Reggie's heart before he got his gun taken away from him. He still had two silver daggers in ankle sheathes the man shaking him down overlooked. Both men jerked him to his feet and held his arms secure. Orr tapped a forefinger on Mercer's chest, chuckling.