Supergirls and Stupid Men Ch. 02

"Sangster is a fool who knows nothing of our operation. I considered having him disappear but I think it is better to leave an idiot who can offer the police nothing in charge for now," Pavel continued.

"Good call. Have the police been to the pussy palace yet?" Jennifer raised an eyebrow.

She was letting Pavel know that she knew the colloquialism that the men used for the girls barracks and that she very likely knew more than they thought she did.

"They interviewed Freya Krause. She's the house mistress. She knows nothing about our businesses except for the sex trade," Pavel replied.

Jennifer just grunted. Another change she and Katya made was to replace all of the men guarding the girls in their accommodations with women. Putting men in those positions was like putting bears in charge of the bee hives... they just can't stop stealing the honey. The precaution was made not so much to keep the girls happy. Jennifer didn't care who fucked the girls, that's why they had been trafficked. It was more to do with the girls' welfare. They needed rest when they weren't working, just like any other employee.

"I have hired two vehicles as you requested. They are parked at the hotel," Pavel said as the limousine turned into the Balwyn's business district where the hotel was situated.

"Good. Give me an hour, then come to my room and you can brief me on the rest of what you know," Jennifer put down her iPad and purposely crossed her legs, adjusting her skirt.

Jennifer had given Pavel the leg show and panty-peek to unnerve him and to see how he reacted. She had been thinking of killing him because he was the Bratok in charge of the counting house so it was his fault that it had been hit but he seemed competent enough. She'd see how things panned out and decide later.

Jennifer checked in, took a long shower and did her hair and makeup. She put on sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose a satin and lace bra and a knee-length white satin robe. After pouring a drink she made call on a secure line.

"Hello Katya darling, how are you?" Jennifer settled onto the chaise lounge, curling her legs under her.

"Hello Jennifer, how is Balwyn?" Katya Kuznetsova replied.

"I haven't seen much of it yet but I doubt it has changed. Have you spoken to your friend in the police department?" Jennifer cut to the chase.

Katya had different priorities.

"How is Katerina?" Katya asked.

"She's just peachy; but you already know that, you see her often enough," a smile crossed Jennifer's lips.

"Don't be obtuse Jennifer; you know what I mean?" Katya's tone changed, becoming chiller.

Katya and Jennifer had an entangled relationship. Katya had introduced Jennifer to the world in which she now dwelled and at one time had been her lover. Jennifer had later saved Katya from a life of misery and promoted her to a position of wealth and power; but in return Jennifer had used Katya's daughter to bait a trap and then taken on Katerina as her Girl Friday.

"Katerina is working out wonderfully. She's learning every day. She's running things while I'm away cleaning up this mess in Balwyn," Jennifer took a sip of her gin and tonic.

"I never wanted this life for my daughter. I kept her away from it for most of her life," Katya sounded a little choked.

"I never wanted this life either Katya. But this life finds you; you don't find it. Of course you had a lot to do with me finding this life," Jennifer countered.

"You know that Uri and I were only doing what Donald Chase demanded," Katya said coldly.

"Donald Chase. Now there is a name I haven't heard in a long time. Which reminds me, my girl in France finally caught up with Mike Cole in Switzerland. You might be pleased to know that she said he cried like a baby and begged for his life before she dispatched him," Jennifer said just as coldly.

"Don't worry about Katerina. She's doing very well for herself and I love her as much as I love you Katya," Jennifer's tone softened.

"You know they call you the skorpion suka ," Jennifer could sense Katya's smirk even though she couldn't see it.

"My Russian is improving. I know what that means and I quite like it," Jennifer laughed into the phone.

"Ok. Penelope Bishop's task force haven't yet identified the two men who took out your counting house. They know who the girls are of course: Olena Svetlana and Alina Kunis. Forensic techs have identified the weapons used. Your men's guns are untraceable as expected. Sandy Spiffle, the manager, was carrying a Glock he purchased legally at a gun show. The two intruders were carrying weapons fitted with suppressors. The guns were part of a shipment stolen by a biker gang in California," Katya passed on what she knew about the weapons.

"The blood at the scene has been matched to the three deceased men but the CSI's also found a patch from another person. They believe one of the intruders may have been wounded during the firefight. They are in the process of matching it and putting the blood type and DNA through the system," Katya concluded her summary.

"Good work. How is Alice Leasingham by the way? You two still fucking?" Jennifer said a little snarkily.

"Alice is sweet. You know she is. I let her spend her vacations here and I treat her well. I'm fond of her and she has her uses," Katya replied.

"I'll say hello to her for you if I run into her," Jennifer teased.

Katya knew Jennifer was joking. Katya and Alice's love affair was a closely kept secret, encouraged by Jennifer because she liked to have eyes and ears in as many places as possible.

The door chime sounded and Jennifer checked her watch.

"I have to go Katya. I love you darling," Jennifer said; the sentiment real.

"And I love you too Jennifer. Look after my daughter," Katya replied and broke the connection.

Pavel Ivanoff had changed into a dark suit and looked quite fit and handsome. Jennifer never fucked the help except for Katerina but if she had an itch that needed scratching she might let Pavel scratch it.

Pavel was surprised to find Jennifer dressed only in nylons and a robe but appreciative of the view. He'd never been tempted by a transgender woman but Jennifer could possibly change his mind.

The thought was fleeting and ludicrous. Jennifer Jones was his Pakhan and a cold-hearted killer. Pavel knew the fable of the scorpion and the frog and Pavel had no intention of becoming the frog.

Jennifer offered Pavel a drink and curled up on the lounge again, Pavel sitting across from her in an easy chair. He handed Jennifer the keys to her hire car and Jennifer shared with him what Katya had told her.

"The thing about the suppressed weapons being stolen by bikers in California is interesting. The bikers would likely only sell the weapons to other bikers because the weapons were too hot to sell on the streets. Freya Krause said she had seen Olena Svetlana in the company of a man wearing a biker jacket," Pavel rolled his glass in his hands, clinking the ice.

"They call them colours or something. On the back... She said it looked like a wolf," Pavel frowned.

"How novel," Jennifer uncurled her legs and stood.

Pavel couldn't help looking at her legs; they were very long for a woman of such a small stature.

"I think we are a little ahead of Balwyn Police Department and tomorrow will be busy. Do we have Supergirls back yet?" Jennifer asked, leading Pavel to the door.

"The place is still a crime scene but we expect it to be handed back late tomorrow. I have let that idiot Robert Sangster think he will be the new manager and I have some new girls coming. Freya has the house ready for them and we still have a few girls working for us freelance," Pavel said as they arrived at the door.

"We need to get someone local to manage the place; not some bald-headed muscleman with tattoos and a Russian accent. No offence of course but you stick out like dogs balls around here," Jennifer said and Pavel blushed.

"I'll see you tomorrow. I'll call you after breakfast," Jennifer ushered Pavel out the door.

Jennifer took dinner in her room and worked until the early hours of the morning. She checked in with Katerina and a few of her Bratoks around the country to make sure that business was being taken care of the way she wanted it to be. She stripped down to a pair of lycra shorts and did some floor exercises and took a nap, setting the alarm for 2am when she woke, showered and fixed her makeup.

She went to her bedroom and slipped a pair of Lorna Jane black spandex leggings over sheer pantyhose and put on the matching long-sleeve sports top. She stepped into her black Nikes and laced them and took a hooded fleece-lined coat from the closet.

Jennifer took the magazine from her Walther PPS M2 9mm and inspected it and then slammed it back into receiver, jacked a shell into the chamber and checked the safety before putting it in her fanny-pack. She pulled a black ballcap down low on her brow and left the room. She took the elevator to the fourth floor and then the stairs to the underground car park where she pressed the button on the car keys Pavel had given her and looked around to see the indicators flashing on a black BMW X5.

Jennifer wanted to see the scene of the crime herself. There was something about actually being in the place where a crime had been committed: the bullet holes in the wall, the bloodstains, the smell, the ambience, illuminated her tactile senses.

The free zone was popping. All the strip clubs were open with hawkers beckoning the punters to come inside, the greasy-spoons were busy selling heart-stopping fat-filled, calorific, salty treats, the music from the nightclubs was raucous, hookers and dealers prowled the streets.

Supergirls was conspicuous for being the only dark building in a sea of light. Jennifer parked in a slot beside the Adult Store across the road from Supergirls and got out of the car. She adjusted her fanny-pack so it sat just above her ass, pulled down the brim of her ballcap and pulled the hood up and over her head. She locked the car and walked quickly across the street.

*****

Harlan Decker had given considerable thought about what he and Pete were going to do with the money once they had it. They knew that the money was untraceable and was bundled by denomination so there was no need to launder it but it's not like they could just walk into Wells Fargo Bank and ask to deposit twelve million dollars in cash.

Harlan had rented a small farmhouse on the outskirts of Balwyn where they could hole up for a while and wait for the heat to cool down. He had relocated his bike there and put in some meagre provisions and essentials to last a day or two. The plan was to head down to Mexico and kick back. He wasn't worried about the cops as much as he was the Russian mob. He had heard what they did to people who stole their money or fucked with them in any way.

Whilst his brother Pete was excited about the money, he was also excited that Alina Kunis was virtually his prisoner. She had been at the scene of the crime and would be a suspect in the murders but more importantly he'd seen how she'd looked at the money. She wanted some of that cash and she knew that the only way to get some was to continue to hang with Harlan, Pete and Olena. She also knew that Harlan and Olena were ambivalent about her. She was a liability as far as they were concerned.

Pete knew that Alina knew that Pete was her only ally.

Harlan handed out tasks to his three accomplices. Olena was directed to park the Raptor in the workshop at the back of the farm alongside Harlan's ride, Harlan was going to monitor police channels, the TV news and online news services to see what the cops were up to and Pete and Alina were to take the suitcases and the canvass carryall with the weapons cache upstairs and put them in the attic. They would figure out a better hiding place later if need be.

Pete continually pestered Alina while they did their chores, putting his hand up her skirt when she went ahead of him on the stairs, pressing against her at every opportunity and generally pawing at her. Alina finally gave up. She needed to be left alone so she could think.

When they climbed out of the attic after putting the last suitcase up there Alina pulled Pete into one of the bedrooms. She pulled Pete onto the bed and he pounced on her, kissing her sloppily and pawing at her clothes. He smelled of blood, beer, gunsmoke and sweat but she gritted her teeth and did what she needed to do.

"No time to play nice; the others are waiting for us. Do me quickly," Alina slid from under Pete, her tube-top stained by the drying blood from his ripped t-shirt.

Alina helped Pete unbuckle his belt and yanked his jeans down to his hips. He winced at the effort but his cock was hard and ready, a filament of clear precum leaking from the glans.

"Ok, let's do this," Alina scooted around on the bed on her hands and knees and raised her ass.

Pete pulled down her pink nylon panties and cheap pantyhose and bunched them around her thighs. Her pudenda was shaved and the lips of her labia were swollen and protruded from her vulva. Both Russians had given her a good pounding in the counting room.

Pete was lightheaded from his wound, emotionally drained from the firefight in the counting house and sexually aroused. A combination of temperaments that disposed him with the need to vent his emotions and seeing Alina on her knees offering him her ass was the remedy he needed.

Alina felt the mattress shift when Pete scooched in behind her, pushing her legs open a little wider. He nestled his glans in Alina's puffy vaginal lips and thrust.

Alina gasped as Pete's organ filled her vagina. She was glad that her cunt was filled with Russian cum because Pete's cock distended her bruised pussy. Surprisingly she felt a little tingle of pleasure through the pain and when Pete picked up her ankles and held them like the handles of a wheelbarrow and began to vigorously fuck her she pushed back to meet his thrusts. Pleasure radiated from her bruised pussy and she wriggled a little to change her position so that Pete's pubis pressed on her clitoris.

They fucked in silent bliss, the room filled with thwok, thwok, thwok sounds as Pete's groin slammed against Alena's buttocks as he slammed his cock in and out of her cunt, Alina's grunts as Pete's phallus drove deep inside her, and Pete's gasps every time Alina's cunt gripped his cock when he shoved it inside her.

Pete dropped Alina's ankles and grabbed her skinny hips, dug in his fingers and pulled her ass back against him and drove his cock inside her as far as it would go and ejaculated. Alina thought that Pete was going to split her open and she could actually feel his member as it pulsated, spurting his semen deep inside her. His pubis pressed on her clitoris and an orgasm blossomed from her tender bud and spread outward; the ripples of pleasure meeting up with the waves of delight radiating from her swollen vagina.

The orgasm surprised Alina; she seldom came with clients but there was something about Pete's awkward, fumbling fuckery that turned her on. She pressed back against him and wriggled her ass, draining him of his seed until Pete collapsed on top of her.

She let him lie on top of her until his cock slid out of her vagina and she felt runnels of semen cascade from her battered pussy.

"Ok. Was good for me too now get off," Alina squirmed out from under Pete and knelt on the bed and used the corner of the sheet to wipe her vulva, then pulled up her pantyhose and panties and lowered and smoothed out her skirt.

Pete hiked up his jeans, zipped and buckled his belt. He felt a little self-conscious now that the deed was done.

"Did I do ok?" he asked sheepishly.

Pete was usually drunk when he had sex and he no idea whether his performance was pleasurable to the recipient of his carnal needs.

"You did good. You make me come," Alina patted his cheek and kissed the other quickly.

They had just climbed off the bed when Olena Svetlana poked her head around the door.

"It smells like a breeding stall in here," Olena said caustically.

"Harlan wants you to fix us something to eat Alina, and Pete, he wants you cleaned up so he can get a better look at your wound," Olena fixed them both with meaningful stares: Harlan was the boss and she was his girl so best do as she says.

"Ok. I use toilet first then cook food," Alina lowered her head and made her way to the door.

"None of that shit from home either. There's steaks in the fridge, salads in the crisper and tatties under the stovetop," Olena called after her.

Olena prided herself on being Americanised even though she had only been in the country a little over three years.

Alina stopped briefly to pee and wash her privates in the toilet and then went downstairs to cook.

"Don't get too sweet on her Pete. She's here by accident and that money will buy you all the pussy you want," Olena talked to Pete like a schoolmarm to a taciturn child.

"I'm going to take a shower," Pete said morosely.

"I'll get you some clean duds from the stuff we packed in the car," Olena said brightly.

She didn't really like Pete. She knew that Pete wanted to fuck her and that Harlan wouldn't let him but now that Pete had Alina she might lose her control over him. She needed to keep the brothers on her side until they split the money.

"I'd come in and scrub your back but Harlan wouldn't like that," Olena let her hand linger on Pete's shoulder longer than she should.

They all showered before eating and changed clothes. Harlan, Pete and Olena had packed only one change of clothes because they didn't intend to spend long at the farmhouse. Alina had to make do with the clothes she had on but Olena gave her a new package of pantyhose and a clean pair of panties.

They ate steaks, potatoes and salads; all ravenous after their exploits. Harlan and Pete drank beer and the girls drank from a bottle of vodka which Olena had thrown in one of the suitcases at Supergirls before they left.

"The cops are all over the place. They've set up roadblocks on all the roads out of town. They were a lot quicker than I thought they would be," Harlan explained as he chewed a hunk of steak.

"We're north of Balwyn but I figure everybody is going to think we'd head south to the Mexican border. There's no reason for anyone to be looking for us up here. We wait until the roadblocks come down and then we hightail it south," Harlan sucked on his beer.

"What about the money? What about passports for Olena and Alina?" Pete asked.

"Alena doesn't need a passport she won't be coming. She has no Green Card or legitimate visa," Olena jumped into the conversation.

"She goes where I go! Don't you go thinkin' you're running this show Olena. Harlan and I are in charge; right Harlan?" Pete glared at his bother.

"No one is going to be left behind. We stay together until we are safe and divide up the cash," Harlan looked sheepishly at Olena.

"Why is she getting a cut? She did nothing except fuck a couple of Russians," Olena hissed.

"Ok. This was my job. I'll decide who gets what. There's plenty to go around," Harlan banged the table with the handle of his knife.

"The police are looking for two young Slavic women. They have your names and a description and soon they'll have pictures out for everyone to see," Harlan pointed his knife at the two women.

"They haven't identified me and Pete yet otherwise it would be all over the news. We wore masks and gloves so they can't recognise us. Tomorrow Olena and I will go into Menard and get some more clothes and supplies. I figure worst case scenario we'll be holed up here for a week," Harlan said.

"I've still my connections through the MC with the border guards on both sides of the border at Del Rio. If I pay them enough we can get across the border when the heat dies down. While we're in Menard we'll buy some burner phones. I only want to do this once. One shopping trip then we don't leave the farm until we're ready to leave for good," Harlan got up from his chair and went to the fridge.