Supergirls and Stupid Men Ch. 01

Chapter One -- A Great Idea -- A Robbery Gone Wrong

Author's Note: Welcome readers. This is another story featuring Penelope Bishop who we have met before in my stories: Cop Town Girl, Sleeping Beauties, A Dish Best Served Cold and All The Pretty Girls. Penelope joined Jennifer Jones, the heroine of my story Click Bait, in my last story Strange bedfellows. These two gorgeous, hard-headed, trans-women work on different sides of the law: one is an uber-criminal, betrayed by the FBI and seduced into a life of crime, the other a brilliant but flawed detective in a small Texas City. I'm sure that once again they are going to have their ups and downs (pun intended).

Michele Nylons

February 2022

Jennifer Jones was a multi-tasker. She had lured Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich and his arch enemy Alexi Reznik to their deaths in a warehouse outside of Balwyn Texas and had taken over Dmitriy's empire: his Bratva. While she had been in Balwyn Jennifer had her trusted lieutenant Katya Kuznetsova seduce Special Agent Dan Murphy of the Texas Department of Public Safety Criminal Investigation Division prior to them conducting interviews with prostitutes at an institution called Supergirls.

Supergirls was a strip club which offered a 'full-service' experience to selected clientele and was located in Balwyn's Bridge Street free zone: a street lined with titty-bars, adult stores and greasy spoons where locals and visitors could taste something spicy whether it be something narcotic or sexually adventurous. The police deliberately kept a low profile on Bridge Street but diligently patrolled the adjacent streets and were intolerant of any miscreants who attempted to bring their unsavoury behaviours outside of the delineated area. Bridge Street was called an island of crud in a sea of resplendence by the Balwyn's genteel population.

Supergirls was owned by Alexi Reznik under a subsidiary of his Belarus International conglomerate which had dissolved on his demise. Jennifer had allowed the other Pakhans to squabble over the remains of Alexi's empire but she had claimed Supergirls for herself.

The other Pakhans had little interest in a nightclub-come-brothel in a small Texas City but Jennifer realised its potential.

The girls who worked at Supergirls were mostly Slavic illegal immigrants who had been smuggled into the US through Mexico and coerced or forced into prostitution rather than the domestic jobs they thought they were going to undertake on arrival in the land of milk and honey. Most were pragmatic and realised the earning potential that went with their employment. They were indentured for two years and allowed to keep twenty-five percent of their earnings, which was considered generous. They could send money home if they wanted. The Bratok didn't charge them for board or victuals and they had a stipend for clothing.

Some of the girls working at Supergirls had completed their two year 'contracts' and stayed on anyway, able to keep fifty percent of what they earned and had the freedom to move out of the dormitory and in the community.

One such girl was Olena Svetlana, a twenty-three-year-old blonde with a decent body, a pretty face hardened by her trade, strong long legs well-muscled from pole dancing, a cocaine habit and a biker boyfriend who didn't mind sharing her with his friends.

When Katya had told Jennifer about Supergirls she had seen potential in the dive that others did not. Balwyn was located some 150 miles west of Austin and was a four hour drive to Laredo; close enough to the border for special cargoes to be conveniently and expeditiously transported and held in storage prior to distribution elsewhere in the US but far enough away not to attract the attention of law enforcement agencies whose prime purpose was controlling what passed between the borders of the US and Mexico.

Jennifer's Bratva had 'counting houses' located strategically across the USA. The thing is that people paid cash for their vices and Jennifer was in the vice game. Men paid their hookers, strippers and pole dancers with cash. They paid cash for 'special services' from 'special women'. They paid cash for drugs. They paid cash for porn. They paid cash for contraband and guns. Ransoms were collected in cash, hits were paid for in cash, people gambled with cash. Cash was everywhere in the businesses that Jennifer controlled which was good because it was unreportable income but bad because it was a pain in the ass to handle when it was in large quantities.

Jennifer's Bratoks had their lieutenants collect the cash for their businesses once a month and take it to one of her counting houses where it was counted, bundled and packaged. Some of the money remained in the US to be washed and circulated but most of the money was shipped overseas to countries that used the USD as their currency or it was put into foreign bank accounts.

Supergirls was the counting house for the south central region of the US. There was a room on the second floor that was primarily used as a 'workroom' by the prostitutes who plied their trade in Supergirls but once a month it became the counting room.

The door to the room, whilst it looked just like the others, had steel plating and heavy-duty locks fitted and the cameras in the room had been deactivated. The money arrived there in the early hours of Monday morning delivered in suitcases by men driving rental cars from all over the southwest. Two trusted lieutenants with counting machines counted, bundled and packaged the money then put it in a U-Haul where the money was hidden amongst innocuous looking cargo and driven south across the border for transshipment.

Jennifer's counting houses had never been hit by her competitors or by law enforcement. The system was simple and safe and Jennifer was proud of it.

The only problem was that system relied on humans and humans were fallible.

The only person at Supergirls who was supposed to know about the counting room was the manager, Sandy Spiffle. The cash arrived after closing time when the girls and the staff had gone home and before the cleaners arrived in the morning. One time the lieutenants had asked that if they arrived early could they get a freebie from the girls and Sandy had replied that there was no such thing as freebie but he could get a couple of the girls to stay behind and entertain the money counters if they kicked him a bundle from all that cash they were counting.

The two lieutenants figured what the hell, before they counted the money nobody knew exactly how much cash was on hand so an arrangement was made. The counters tipped the manager twenty grand and he kept two trusted girls behind after closing who looked after the counters carnal desires and treated them to drinks and snacks while they went about their business and while Sandy stood guard outside the door.

Once all the money arrived, the two lieutenants and the two hookers were locked in the counting room until it was time to leave so there was no problem; everybody got what they wanted.

The problem was that Olena Svetlana who had been sex trafficked three years ago and was an emancipated prostitute and an illegal alien just couldn't stop thinking about all that cash. She didn't mind fucking the cash counters, pouring them drinks and ducking under the table to blow them while they counted the money. Being around all that cash actually made her horny but she wanted some for herself.

Olena eventually told her asshole biker boyfriend Harlan Decker about the money. He gave her a slapping for not telling him about it sooner but was careful not to leave any marks on her. After saying he was sorry and fucking Olena happy he grilled her for the details and told her that they were going to be rich.

Olena dreamed of riding around the USA on the back of a Harley Davidson with Harlan, the wind in her hair, the panniers stuffed with money. They would go wherever they wanted and live the high life.

Harlan Decker didn't quite have the same dream. Harlan was the Sergeant at Arms for the Balwyn Chapter of the Beasts of Burden Motorcycle Club. The club was small with only six patched members and four prospects. Harlan had the Club President, Duane McAllister, call an extraordinary meeting of the patched members and Harlan told them what Olena had told him.

"Fuck this, I vote no. Those Russian mafia guys will fuckin' torture you to death when they catch you, and they will catch you because they don't give up... ever!" Bob Livingstone, the club Vice President said.

The rest of the committee voted with Bob and Harlan's motion was defeated but he wasn't. He wanted the money in that counting house and while he had Olena working at Supergirls there was always a chance he could get it. He just needed a good plan and the right people.

He ended up with neither but he went ahead with the robbery anyway.

Harlan's brother Pete was a no-hoper who had recently been released from prison after serving seven years for armed robbery. He was mean and stupid. So stupid that he made Harlan look intelligent. Harlan didn't want his brother in on the robbery because he was gun happy and when the guys who had been robbed came looking for the perpetrators Pete's name would already be in system.

Pete had also shown an unhealthy interest in Olena. Harlan didn't mind sharing Olena with his fellow bikers at the clubhouse when they partied, she wasn't his old lady, but Pete was his brother and it didn't seem right that he and his brother fuck the same woman.

They say that fortune favours fools and that's exactly what happened. All of Sunday night and into the early hours of Monday morning couriers arrived in their rental cars and delivered suitcases full of cash to Supergirls and Sandy Spiffle took them up to the counting room where the counters were busy counting and fucking Olena Svetlana and her coworker Alina Kunis between deliveries. Sandy Spiffle stood guard by the door, bored by the whole proceeding but grateful for the twenty grand that one of the counters had slipped him for the services of the two hookers and the booze and snacks.

It was a bumper month and nearly twelve million dollars had been counted, bundled and packaged as the early morning light dawned.

Harlan and Pete Decker waited across the street from Supergirls in a Ford F-150 Raptor. On the back seat was a canvass carryall with an array of weaponry for them to choose from. Just sitting in the truck would send Pete back to the slammer because he was a convicted felon in a vehicle with firearms but this was the 'Free Zone' and they hadn't seen a police patrol all night.

"That's a lot of deliveries," Pete commented, breaking the silence.

"Yeah. Olena says there's over a million dollars in each suitcase," Harlan replied, never taking his eyes of the front doors of Supergirls.

The club had been closed for a quite a while now and it was dark. Harlan knew that the counting room had no windows; the only light coming from the club was from neon beer signs and the exit signs.

"Why didn't we just take out one of the guys making a delivery?" Pete asked.

Harlan turned to face his younger brother and glared at him.

"Because that would mean gunfire on the streets stupid. Also I don't want some of that money; I want all of that money. Do you ever listen to a word I say?" Harlan growled.

Pete changed tack.

"You don't mind that Olena is inside there fuckin' and suckin' those cartel guys?" Pete took a dig at his older brother.

"She's a prostitute, dummy! That's what she does every day. So long as she shares what she makes with me and treats me right why should I give a fuck? It's not like I'm going to marry her." Harlan turned back to the Supergirls shopfront.

"Then why can't I get freebie?" Pete whined.

Harlan said nothing. The phone in his pocket vibrated. A signal from Olena that the count was just about done.

"Let's go. We do it just like I told you," Harlan hissed and pulled down the ski mask over his face and put on his hard-knuckle tactical gloves.

Pete gave a rebel yell and pulled down his own mask and put on his gloves.

Out of the arsenal in the back of the pickup they both selected nine millimetre semi-automatic pistols fitted with suppressors and Harlan grabbed his go-bag and they walked across the quiet street. They were both dressed in black jeans and dark shirts and jackets. Although the morning was chilly their jackets remained unzipped because they wanted freedom of movement.

They knew that there was a camera mounted over the door and more cameras throughout the club but they weren't concerned. With their masks and obscure clothing no one would recognise them and they intended to delete or steal the security video footage which Olena assured Harlan was kept in Sandy Spiffle's office.

From his go-bag Harlan produced a snap gun, also known as a lock pick gun, which is a tool that can be used to open a mechanical pin tumbler lock without using the key. He inserted the steel rod into the lock and the snap gun briefly fired the rod against all of the lock pins simultaneously, momentarily freeing the cylinder and enabling Harlan to turn the lock using a tension wrench.

Olena had unlocked the bolts located at the top and bottom on the inside of the door when she had come downstairs from the counting room ostensibly to get more ice and booze.

Harlan and Pete Decker entered the club as quietly as they could, closed the door behind them and stood listening in the gloom. There were some dim lights behind the long bar which reflected in the mirror and they could see the layout of the place. All of the chairs and tables faced the raised stage on which three poles were mounted. There was a line of booths along two of the walls. The carpets were sticky underfoot and the place smelled of stale beer, cheap perfume and despair.

Harlan nodded to the door that led to the VIP rooms where the girls provided lap dances and the two men entered the passageway, leaving the door open. The stairs to the upstairs bedrooms where the girls fucked those customers who could afford it were located at the end of the passageway and Harlan nodded that way.

Harlan had been in the VIP rooms a few times getting free lap dances and one time a blowjob from Olena but he hadn't been upstairs. Why should he pay for what Olena gave him for free? Olena had described the upstairs layout to Harlan: a short corridor with three bedrooms either side with a bathroom at the end. The counting room was the last room on the left.

Things started to go wrong almost immediately. Harlan's plan was not well thought out and his brother was gun happy. Texas has capital punishment and Pete had no intention of sitting in prison waiting for the needle if anyone got killed during the robbery and he got caught. He had a tattoo on his chest Kill em all - let God sort them out and his intention was to ensure there were no witnesses left alive.

As Harlan and Pete came to the top of the stairs and peeked over the last rung they could see Sandy Spiffle with his back against the counting room door asleep on his feet.

Pete Decker loped down the corridor and put his suppressed nine millimetre pistol against Sandy's forehead and pulled the trigger just as Sandy came out of his fugue, alerted by Pete's footsteps. Pete's pistol didn't fire because in his rush Pete had not disengaged the safety.

"You motherfucker!" Sandy Spiffle cursed as Pete knocked him to the floor.

Sandy was using one hand to try to get own pistol out of the waistband of his jeans whilst pushing Pete's gun-hand away with the other. Pete found the safety and pulled the trigger and his gun made three muffled 'phut' sounds but the rounds entered the wall three feet away from Sandy's head.

"Hey! What is going on out there?" a Slavic voice called through the steel-reinforced door.

"Fuck!" Harlan hissed and bounded down the corridor to help his brother.

He put his pistol against Sandy Spiffle's temple and pulled the trigger twice and Sandy stopped struggling.

"Sandy? What the fuck is going on? We are ready to leave!" the Slavic voice sounded muffled behind the door.

Harlan helped Pete to his feet and pushed him against the wall adjacent to the door to the counting room. He put his finger to his lips indicating that Pete should shut the fuck up.

Sounds of the door being unlocked came from inside the counting room.

"Sandy?" the door opened a crack and the muzzle of pistol emerged followed by a wrist.

Harlan grabbed the wrist protruding through the door and yanked as hard as he could and a thin besuited man with neck tattoos was caught off guard and pulled into the corridor. Pete shot him three times in the chest before the man even realised what was happening.

"Fucking assholes! Do you know who you are dealing with?" an angry roar came from inside the counting room followed by the screams of two women.

A fusillade of gunfire erupted from the room. Rounds ricocheted off the steel reinforced door and embedded themselves in the plaster wall.

Pete poked his pistol through the gap in the door and blindly sprayed the remainder of the rounds in the magazine of his pistol around the room.

"Fucking Olena is in there you fucking moron!" Harlan pushed his brother's gun hand down.

The doorway was filled with gunsmoke and Pete and Harlan's ears were ringing from the Slavic man's fusillade. They could hear groaning. The girls had stopped screaming.

"Harlan? Is that you?" Olena's voice sounded shaky.

"It's me and Pete. Is the guy dead?" Harlan called through the slightly ajar door.

"You motherfuckers! You nearly shot me and Alina!" Olena called out.

"Is the guy fucking dead!" Harlan growled.

"He's lying on the floor bleeding. He isn't moving," Olena called back.

Harlan burst through the door and found a big man in a dark suit lying on his back trying to lift his.357 up to a firing position. Harlan shot him twice in the head.

"Get the fuck in here Pete!" Harlan called through the door.

Olena Svetlana and Alina Kunis were crouched down behind the bed, Olena peeking over the mattress. Five open suitcases lay on top of the mattress full of bundled banknotes.

"What happened to your plan?" Olena stood and glared at Harlan.

"Pete happened," Harlan pointed at his older brother.

Alina Kunis got to her feet and looked around the room in a state of shock. Olena hadn't told Alina about the robbery. She didn't want her getting scared and ratting them out to Sandy or behaving suspiciously in front of the Russians.

The girls were dressed identically in pleated micro miniskirts, tube-tops, sheer pantyhose and black high heels. They wore heavy makeup and Olena's long blonde hair was tied in a ponytail and Alina's brunette hair was mussed around her face.

Pete Decker stood there staring at the girls, taking in their bare midriffs, long legs and pretty faces.

"What is going on?" Alina whispered.

Olena pulled Alina into an embrace and began to whisper in her ear. Watching the two young women embrace caused Pete to get a boner despite the gravity of the situation.

Harlan Decker was not watching the girls. He was mesmerised by the suitcases full of bundled cash.

"Jesus," he whispered.

Then the gravity of the situation hit him. The Russian had been firing unsilenced large calibre pistols and although the free zone was deserted at this hour of the morning there was no telling if anyone had heard the gunfire.

"Let's get the cash and get the fuck out of here," Harlan slapped his hand down on Pete's shoulder to bring him out of his reverie.

Olena brushed Alina aside and began closing the suitcases, helping Harlan take them off the bed and place them outside the door.

"Put those fucking cash-counting machines in there too. No need to make it too easy for the cops," Harlan snarled and Olena tossed the counting machines and a bottle of vodka into the last suitcase before she closed it.