tagNonConsent/ReluctanceAssassin Ch. 07

Assassin Ch. 07

bycckuay©

Megan picked Arkansas to commence her journey of revenge. It was out of the way and nobody would guess it as her base of operation. Although not well known, the northwestern part of Arkansas had decent transport links to the rest of the country because of the presence of major corporations like retail giant Walmart, food giant Tyson Foods, and transport company JB Hunt. Northwest Arkansas was also the home of the 20,000-strong University of Arkansas, the state's flagship college. Arkansans were fanatically proud of the Razorbacks football team and obsessively attended every game.

Her first order of business was gathering information. She had to know who killed Fabian. More importantly, she had to understand why he was killed. What was in the laptop's hard drive that was worth murder?

She also had to understand if the same person or persons who killed Fabian took orders from the same group that kidnapped and tortured her, and wanted her dead. All she knew right now was that Fabian was dead, they wanted her dead as well, and there was something that was worth killing for.

She needed a call phone that could not be traced. Fortunately, Arkansas was the headquarters of Walmart. She went to the store just a stone's throw away from Walmart's global headquarters, locally known as Store 100. As she entered, she was greeted warmly by the senior citizen standing at the entrance. Company folklore had it that Walmart stationed a person at the doorway not just to make customers feel welcomed. They were also there to watch customers leave; making sure that nobody was taking away merchandize without paying.

"I am looking for the electronics section," she winked at the older man, probably retired and in his seventies. Bella Vista, a neighboring suburb, was full of retired men and women that came from all over the country to enjoy the quiet inexpensive Arkansas lifestyle, complete with golf courses, hiking trails, and world-class medical facilities. Lately, the area had even scored the world-class Crystal Bridges Museum, which housed renowned art sponsored by the Walton's -- Walmart's founding family.

He stood at attention and replied professionally. "It is at the back of the store. You walk pass the grocery section, almost where the milk and orange juices are, and take a left, just pass the footwear." He sounded as monotonic as the voice from a car GPS.

"Thank you." She tucked at her dark jacket, straightened her blouse, and walked away. He turned to take a last look at her pencil skirt and the back of her bare thighs, her hair in a ponytail, swinging in rhythm with the click clack of her heels. The retired man thought she must be from out of town. Everyone around here did not need directions inside a store because they shopped in Walmart at least once a week. There was nowhere else to buy groceries in Benton County, Arkansas.

After picking a one-time use prepaid cell phone, she wandered to the apparel section and picked up a push-up bra, fishing for the label to make sure it was two sizes too small. She almost could not believe when she noticed that the price was only $3.98, so she bought a dozen, all black with front hooks. She tried to use the self-checkout lane, but needed assistance anyway to activate the cell phone.

Shopping in Walmart was a deliberate act because she wanted to remain anonymous and difficult to trace. If she was picked up again and interrogated in another city, nobody would know her home base because there were 4,000 Walmart stores throughout the nation. As a headline in "USA Today" once put it, we were now "One Nation under Walmart."

She found a new Motel 6 at Walton Boulevard, not far from the "Home Office," which was local lingo for Walmart's global headquarters. She checked in using cash, paying in advance for one night. The Indian born clerk barely looked at her when he issued the electronic key, thinking she was just another supplier, although most suppliers paid with credit cards.

She needed information and she knew exactly where her first lead would be. She had saved his life once. He knew both sides of the criminal world and would likely know somebody who knew somebody who knew who tortured, raped, and tried to kill her.

She bounced on the motel bed and fished out her new phone. She looked at her watch, noted it was two in the morning, and punched a number with a 561 area code.

"I want to speak to Chuck."

"Who may I say is calling?"

"Tell him Black Cat from Siberia is collecting."

"Chuck is in a meeting but would call you back."

When she saved his life, he promised that she could always seek his help. He gave her a password which she could use to get through his security people. In the last five years, she called him twice to find out of anyone on the street knew about her activities. They had not.

Chuck called her back within a minute. Of course he could meet her. What about tomorrow, he asked? She would have to drive twenty hours through four states to reach him. No problem, she replied. What about 6:00 p.m. tomorrow? She knew that his club would not get busy until 10:00 p.m., and that Chuck would sleep all day before starting work at 5:00 p.m.

The drive from Arkansas to Florida was long. She would have preferred to fly, but she wanted to be with her Glock all the time. She had enemies she could not see and was determined not to be unprepared again.

She knew what kind of man Chuck was and how to motivate him. He liked the trashy slutty look. She colored her hair platinum blonde and had blue contact lens. Inside her leather jacket was a black sports bra with thin crisscrossed straps at the back. Under the micro mini denim skirt, which struggled to cover her butt, she wore a lacy black G-string, pulled high so the strings on the sides peeked out from the skirt's waistband.

With her outfit, she found the only place for her baby Glock 26, a subcompact with ten rounds, was on her back, tucked tightly between her skirt and panties. As she drove, she leaned back and savored the security of the hard metal against her bones.

She knew Chuck's men would search her and discover the Glock. Still, they would expect her to pack and would find it suspicious if she appeared unarmed.

Right outside Atlanta, she was tired and decided to stay in Motel 6 for the night. She adjusted her jacket so the Glock would not be visible to the clerk. He tried to hit on her but she smiled, telling him she was not in the mood. She collapsed on the bed, shifting her gun to the front of her skirt, falling asleep in under a minute.

Waking up early the next morning, she got to Boca Raton early, with plenty of time to spare. She drove pass Chuck's strip club twice in the day, mentally rehearsing what would happen inside. Then she parked her car in a rest area meant for tourists, made sure the car was under the shade of a large tree, and took a nap. Checking in to a motel in the Boca area was risky because Chuck controlled the entire area and she did not want him to be tipped off on her early arrival.

At 4:00 p.m., she parked the car two blocks from Chuck's. She entered a Starbucks just opposite the street from Chuck's club, ordered a Grande Latte, and settled on a window booth on the second floor. Again, it felt good to have the fully loaded Glock trapped between her butt and the thin cushion of the booth, even though she knew it would soon be taken away from her.

Like clockwork, Chuck showed up a minute after five, clean shaven and neatly dressed in a white shirt and khaki pants. Other than his receding hairline and salt and pepper hair, Chuck really had not changed much. He still had the bony chiseled face, reminding her of her first date in third grade. Even his bodyguard remained the same. She searched her memory and thought his name might be Rocky.

She called him at the appointed time. His office was on the second floor and she could see him picking up the phone when the receptionist transferred the call.

"I am sorry to hear about Fabian," he wasted no time and came straight to the point.

"Do you miss me?" She tried the soft approach.

"Where the fuck are you? You are late."

"I am right across the street from you."

"What are you waiting for?"

She was tempted to respond to that but knew that he had the upper hand. She needed him a lot more than he needed her. A man could be motivated in only one of three ways, or a combination of. Money was one, but would not work for Chuck because he was rich. There was no amount Megan could offer that would match the information she was seeking.

The second way to turn on a man was power. Again, Chuck had plenty. As a retired government man with extensive links with both criminal elements and law enforcement, he knew where the skeletons were hidden and plenty of men and women owe him career changing favors.

The carnal way would not ordinarily work because with wealth and power, Chuck could have almost anyone. Almost, but not everyone. Megan had saved his life and was so far untouchable. But someone or something big was hunting her. She desperately needed help and Chuck was in a position to name his price.

"I am worth the wait. You will not regret this." She crossed the street and looked directly at the security camera, bending forward and squeezing her chest to make the point.

One of the bouncers escorted her upstairs to the waiting room of Chuck's office. A blonde sat outside his office, typing and not bothering to look at her. The bouncer asked her to remove her jacket, saw the Glock, removed the magazine and all the ammo, and returned it to her. She stuck it back to her back. Strangely, even an empty gun conveyed a sense of comfort.

She was brought to Chuck's office.

"Long time no see. Please have a seat." Chuck sank into the three piece sofa without waiting for her. She had to carefully adjust her skirt to sit, crossing her left leg over her right thigh to conceal her panties. No point showing the goods before the negotiation.

"What can I do you for?"

"You know. Information."

"What are you offering?"

"What else can I offer to a rich and powerful man?" Megan uncrossed her legs and recrossed it, trying her best to channel Sharon Stone. She licked her lips and waited for his response.

"How motivated are you?"

"Very."

"Why? What is Fabian to you?"

"Fabian is not just my business partner. I guess I have a loyalty that you would not understand." She regretted it as soon as she said it. She had to remember she was here to beg, not to antagonize.

"I'm sure you know about my kinky taste."

"Yes."

"I don't make love. I simply fuck hard and violently. Are you sure you want to go down that path?"

"Why? Are you afraid I am too hot to handle?" She tried to walk the delicate balance between challenging and plain rudeness. She had to maintain the fantasy persona that would make him want more. This might not be a one-time event.

"You'll have to wait until we close tonight. I am busy until then."

"What time do you close?"

"3:00 most nights, sometimes later, waiting for the last customer to call it a night."

"Wow. The man believes in customer service."

"As should you when we fuck."

"Are you now my customer?"

"Isn't this what this is? You are offering your body in exchange for information. Don't tell me you expect romance."

"Nope. Strictly business. The way you like it. Be careful not to fall in love with me, though."

"No way. You are bad for business."

"We have a deal then?"

"Sure."

They were both comfortable leaving out the details.

"Come back at 3:00, but I want a down payment."

"Give me some information first. It does not have to be specific."

"You pay on your knees first."

He pressed her bare shoulders with both arms. She did not resist, maintaining eye contact until she was staring directly at his lump in his pants. He unbuttoned the top of his pants. She bit the zipper and pulled it down slowly, her hands on his butt.

"I am sorry, but I know you could kill with those hands. I need them behind you."

She crossed her wrists and placed them behind, touching the Glock. The bouncer ripped out a phone cord and used it to secure her wrists. He also removed the Glock and gave it to Chuck.

He removed the magazine and checked again that there were no rounds in the chamber.

"Open your mouth." He inserted the barrel of the gun into her mouth, pinching her nose at the same time. "Show me what you can do."

She licked and sucked the cold metal, making it warm and wet. When her movement became regular, he coiled her hair around the other palm and made her move according to his tempo. His tempo was fast, then slow. She altered her breathing to match his rhythm, closing her eyes and moaning softly. She was face fucking a gun with her hands bound behind, but anyone watching could not tell she was faking it.

"Okay. Stand up." He removed the gun abruptly.

"How's the appetizer?" She looked directly into his eyes with her blue contacts.

"Good enough for me to anticipate the entrée."

"So who are they?"

"There are two prime movers. One of them has a Malaysian passport, the other is a middle easterner, probably Arabic."

"And?"

"That's all you get for giving a blow job to your own gun."

"I need more information. You know I can do so much more."

"Come back at 3:00 a.m. and change your outfit."

>>>>>

To be continued in Assassins Ch. 08...

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