To the reader: Any resemblance to any location, to any specific event or series of events, or to any person, living or dead, is coincidental. The opinions expressed in this story do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the members, administrators, or owners of this website, and they may not coincide with my own opinions, or indeed, those of any right-minded individual.
This story was started quite a while ago in answer to a writer's challenge. The idea was to write about "women for hire." That didn't necessarily mean prostitutes. People wrote about all kinds of women who use their sweat and their skills to earn a living. I went political. Since we're bombarded with hype about the up-coming U.S. elections, I decided to finish and post my tale now.
I'm known as The Fixer. I'm the head of a clandestine power brokerage agency. Our detractors say we're in the political "dirty tricks" business. I prefer to think of us as people who seek the truth.
Everyone sees the results of some of our work. If a person in power has no conscience, we help the media provide one.
Leaked sex tapes of the rich and famous? My predecessor invented them. Infidelity by someone influential? We're the ones who provide pictures of them and the slut to news networks. The people who pay well don't like you, Congressman? Prepare to see your career, reputation, and marriage crash and burn on the internet.
In some cases, our mark unwittingly provides all the incriminating evidence we need, meaning that all we have to do is observe and record. In others, we do a little creative manipulation of events. A few marks have claimed they've been the victims of entrapment, but the public doesn't care if the evidence is damning enough.
Not all of our work is displayed publicly. Some of our targets are smart enough to bow to the wishes of our clients. The dumb ones stonewall. A few, when confronted with the evidence we gather, try to buy us off, which is fine. They're digging their graves deeper.
My assistant and housemate is a brilliant and beautiful auburn-haired vixen. Her code name is Monica. She excels in the talents of her Clinton Presidency namesake, and will do whatever is required to successfully complete an assignment. You may have seen her in photos our favorite paparazzi sold to one of the British tabloids. That was her in the mask, with the black leather corset and boots, putting nipple clips on a Member of Parliament several years ago.
Me? Even Monica only knows me as The Fixer. That's all anyone needs to know.
We had a new assignment. The target was a vocal pro-life (anti-abortion) activist, Reverend John Doe. This televangelist was ready to come out in support of former governor Smith, a candidate for an important Senate seat. His backers were afraid that Smith's personal life wouldn't survive scrutiny if family values and choice/life debates became important in the campaign. They wanted to silence the flamboyant activist so Smith could distance himself from the man and his mission.
Doe was scheduled to speak at a large anti-abortion rally the following month on a university campus. Smith's people knew from sources inside Doe's camp that Doe was planning to endorse their man as a pro-life candidate, which was the last thing Smith needed. A pre-emptive strike was required.
I had the perfect operative to put up against this mark – Madame Butterfly. She's the granddaughter of a decorated Viet Nam war-era U.S. Army colonel and his war bride. Their son married a Swedish girl, and they gave the world the young woman I work with. MB, as we call her, has enough Asian blood in her veins to look exotic to political candidates, judges, and the occasional swing-vote holding corporate board member. She can look elegant enough to put on a designer suit and pick up her mark in a cigar-and-cognac lounge or innocent enough to be a convincing schoolgirl.
I phoned her, even though she was in the next office. "Are you horny?" I asked when she answered.
"Off your meds again, Fixer? You must be to ask such a crazy question," she giggled.
"Get your cute ass over here, sweetie," I said. "I have an assignment for you."
"Should I leave my panties here?"
"Since when did you start wearing underwear to the office?"
My door opened, and a pair of frilly black boy shorts landed on my desk. Warm ones.
"A woman never knows when she might want to at least pretend she's a lady," I heard her say, both on the phone and through the door.
"Come in, close the door, and sit down. I need you to do something for me."
MB model-strutted over to my desk. "Do you really want me to sit? Shouldn't I kneel?"
"We'll get to that, but right now, I need to discuss a new case with you."
"All right, boss," she said, adjusting her skirt to sit primly in the chair on the other side of my desk. "Who's the mark?"
"This guy," I said, pushing a set of photos over to her. "I'll send you the files when we're done in here."
"With the mane of white hair and the Armani suit, this has to be that fire-and-brimstone televangelist, John Doe," she said. "Colonel Sanders with a Bible."
"The Most Righteous Reverend John Paul Doe himself. 'The Rev' or 'John' to people who claim to like him," I said. "He's creating a problem."
"Do I need to know what it is?" MB asked, still studying the pictures.
"It's all in the file. He's holding a big rally next month where he's slated to publicly link his ministry to former Governor Smith's Senatorial campaign. Reverend John must be put in an embarrassing situation before that. Smith has things to hide, like they all do, and the thinking is that Doe has to go."
"What's my cover? Or should I come up with one myself?"
"You're a University student/political activist/pro-life groupie. The good Reverend apparently does private counseling with morally-troubled young girls."
"Are we going for pics of inappropriate cuddling? Or do we need the money shot?" she asked.
"The client is willing to pay for the deluxe package. Go see The Medic this afternoon and get a tune-up on your ear implant. We're going to want to be able to talk to you."
"Same acknowledgment as before when I turn my mike off? I'll scratch my nose to let you know I heard you?" she asked.
"That seemed to work well before," I said.
"Okay, boss. May I have my panties back?"
"You're going to have to work for them."
"I plan to," she said. She got up, walked over to me, hiked her skirt up to display her cute little pussy, and climbed on top of me on my chair. "I was horny anyway. I think maybe I want you to cum in my ass this time," she said as she took off my tie.
The next day, a young woman who called herself Mary "Cho-cho" Bennett went to her first revival meeting conducted by the good Reverend. Cho-cho, as the name tag stuck to her university logo t-shirt said, spent the afternoon working her way through the crowd, and was caught by one of Doe's crew cameras, her hands in the air and a rapturous smile on her pretty face. Whoever was manning the camera got a number of pictures of young girls that day, but zoomed in on Cho-cho's cute little belly button piercing and her uplifted breasts in her tight shirt. He also got some video of her ass in her "skinny jeans" as the crowd was starting to leave.
The trap was baited.
Reverend Doe was airing a commercial on late-night TV pre-selling his "Spring Victory Tour" DVD boxed set, which promised to contain "highlights of Reverend John's most inspiring sermons" and "the faces of real people like you and me whose lives are changing because of The Word." It was implied that only "three easy payments of just $19.95 (plus shipping and handling)" would bring you nearly as close to Salvation as listening to The Great Man speak live.
Apparently, Reverend John screened his own raw video footage, because he gave Cho-cho a grin of recognition when he spotted her in the same place in front of the stage two nights later at another gathering. The next night, it was a broad smile.
After that show, she waited for him near the entrance to the secure lot where his limo and driver were. The cameras and mikes in MB's bag and clothing worked perfectly, just like the equipment we had hidden nearby. "Silver Sinner is coming. Going to passive audio," MB said.
"Hello, child," the televangelist said as he got closer. He looked quite pleased to see her.
"Reverend John, may I speak with you?"
He waved his staff away. "Of course, my dear. Is something troubling you?"
"Not so much any more. I've been to a few of your sermons, and you've really helped. I feel better about some things I never heard anyone talk about in church back home or in any of my college religion classes."
"The Word and the Light have helped. I've just shown them to you in a new way. I've seen you at some meetings. You stand out from the crowd."
"I don't get many Asians at my sermons. Especially not as beautiful as you. You've been blessed, my dear," Doe crooned.
She grinned broadly. "I'm so thrilled to meet you. You're going to be speaking at my University next month. I've been asking around, and it doesn't sound like they're really doing much in terms of providing you with a campus guide, so I thought I'd volunteer. I'm Mary Bennett. My friends call me 'Cho-cho'."
He took her offered hand in both his meaty paws. "Like the character Cio-Cio San in Madame Butterfly?"
"Yes!" MB giggled.
"Well, Cho-cho, that's a very generous offer. I accept."
"Really? I'll do whatever I can to make you and your wife feel welcome," she said with girlish enthusiasm.
"My wife doesn't come with me on the road much anymore. With the ministry growing, someone needs to stay home and mind the shop."
"You must get lonely doing all these speaking engagements."
"You're never alone if you keep the Lord with you, and my work brings me the sleep of the blessed, so I'm okay. But thank you for your concern. Sometimes I do wish I had a like-minded mortal person in the room with me to talk to."
"I could talk to you. In fact, I'd love to talk with you. I think I could learn a lot."
"Would you like to get some coffee?"
"My driver can take us anywhere," Doe said.
Our team was able to follow them easily, since she talked the entire time they were in the limo. We had a surveillance van in the back parking lot of the store next door by the time Doe and Cho-cho got to the coffee shop. We also got three different camera angles of the good reverend's hand brushing her ass as they walked back to his car.
"Shall I take you back to where you parked?" Doe said when they were settled inside.
"I think I'd like to talk some more. I have some questions about morality."
"I'll try to answer any questions you might have, my dear," Doe said.
"Can we go someplace to talk? I drove here from school, so I'm like an hour from campus."
"We can go to my suite. I have research materials there that might help you."
We already had a team staking out his hotel. Our equipment was in place everywhere in The Rev's rooms. This was going to be easy.
It was surprising to see how blatant Doe's sexual moves were. We might have been able to make him squirm with the surveillance pics we already had. No one watching the elevator video would be able to deny that he brushed his hand against her breast twice.
Once inside the suite, he excused himself to "freshen up," inviting Cho-cho to do the same in the guest powder room. She spoke to the team from there. "How far do you want me to go with this creep, Fixer? How much do we need?"
"What's your comfort limit?" I asked.
"I'm surprised you have to ask me that. You're the director of this little skit, so direct me."
"He's got a lot of money behind him. We need enough so that he knows he can't buy his way out of this."
"Done deal," she said, as we heard the toilet flush. The indicator for active transmission went off on her voice feed. We were in voyeur mode again.
The Rev came out of his room in a blood red dressing gown, and, it appeared, nothing else.
"Reverend!" MB exclaimed, "I've never seen you in anything but the white suits you wear."
"You've never seen my video sermons at my ranch? I think I look quite dashing in my cowboy hat and overalls."
"But Reverend! I'm, uh,... well, I'm surprised."
"I've been in a suit, vest, and tie since six this morning, and those new shoes I had on today are going to charity. I needed to get comfortable. Would you like something to drink?"
"Perhaps some champagne?" he said, moving to the small wet-bar in the corner of the living room.
"I had that once when I was little at someone's wedding. I remember it tickled my nose. I don't think I liked it."
"I don't have much here in the way of mixers. Maybe a rum and cola?"
"I've had them before. But should I be drinking in front of you? I'm not quite twenty-one." Cho-cho giggled.
"God's rules trump man's rules, my dear. There's nothing in Scripture about an age limit for the responsible consumption of alcohol."
"The Rev's putting something in one of the drinks," one of the technicians said over our open feed. MB scratched the bridge of her nose with her little finger, our agreed-upon sign to acknowledge a teammate's warning.
Doe brought the glasses to the couch, and invited Cho-cho to sit with him.
"One of my questions is about pre-marital sex," she said, accepting her glass and raising it to her lips, but not really drinking anything. "A lot of kids on campus see nothing wrong with sleeping around."
"That's a tough one, my dear. It seems temptation gets stronger for every generation. It was bad when I was a kid. It's worse now. Wanton sexuality is everywhere." He took a swallow from his glass. "Is your drink okay, dear?"
"It's fine," she said, taking a tiny sip. "How can I convince my friends to be chaste?"
"Let me ask you something, and I hope you'll give me an honest answer."
"Of course, Reverend."
"Have you ever had sex?"
She shuffled her feet and looked down. "Yes."
"More than once?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Did you enjoy it?"
"You're going to hate me if I answer that."
"My dear child, no, it would be wrong for one of God's creatures to hate another."
"All right, but you'll judge me."
He moved over on the couch and put his hand on her knee. "If I were not a sinner myself, perhaps I could judge you. But we're all sinners, Cho-cho. I'm a man, sometimes weak, like everyone else. Trust me, sweetheart, I would be the last man to say it's not okay if you enjoyed it. The Lord gave us the ability to experience those sensations for a reason."
"Why?" she asked, turning to face him.
His hand fell casually between her knees. "To ensure the continuation of the species. 'Go forth and multiply.' If it feels good, He knows we'll do it."
"But what about sex where you hope you don't get pregnant, or where you use protection?"
"We have been granted the intelligence to produce methods to prevent conception, where that birth would be unwanted or dangerous, or the child would be born into a bad situation. I would never say this in public, but contraception prevents a lot of evil in the world. An out-of-wedlock baby is the devil's spawn."
"Isn't abstinence the answer?" she asked, again wetting her lips on her glass.
"Let me counter your question with a few questions of my own. Do you trust me?"
"Of course, Reverend."
"Okay, then please call me John. The reason I ask if you trust me is that I trust you. I'm saying some things to you that many people could misconstrue. The Lord brought you to me for a reason. He wants me to be honest with you."
"What happens in private conversation stays private," she said. "I wouldn't want people to know some of the things I'll probably say to you."
"Okay, wonderful, Cho-cho. Now, second question. If you're not a virgin, how is it that you're not a mother?"
"We used condoms."
"Good. You used the brainpower God gave you. But what would you have done if a condom had broken? That happens, you know."
"You mean if I had gotten pregnant?"
"Yes, darling," he said, edging closer to her. His one hand was now gently caressing her knees through her jeans. He was playing with the long black hair draped over her shoulder with the other.
One of the techs said, "Great video, if you like perverts."
"I'd be a mommy now," Cho-cho said, scratching her nose.
"Would you have married the boy so your child would have had a father?"
"I would have, if he hadn't turned out to be a creep. He was messing around with another girl while he was dating me."
"Would single motherhood have interfered with your life's plans?"
"You're right, my dear. You would have had to take time off from college just to have the little bastard, and you would have been stuck with the labor and expense of raising it alone. The child would have begun its life at a horrible disadvantage, born of sin, and God's plans for you would have been thwarted."
"I guess I could have given it up for adoption."
"A very noble thought, Cho-cho. That might have been the best solution, assuming that the pregnancy, birth, and subsequent separation would not have affected your physical, mental, and emotional health, and also assuming the child would have been given to a couple prepared to try to rescue the spawn of an unholy union."
"What other alternative would I have?" she asked.
"I think you know the answer to that."
"But,... but,... isn't that the very thing you speak out against, John?"
"It is. That's why I wanted to know if I could trust you. The Lord will forgive your sins if you repent. You know that, don't you?"
"Some sins are worse than others. Cold-blooded murder is a grievous sin. The destruction of a mortal enemy, however, is sometimes the only course of action available. God will forgive a man who kills someone who is attempting to kill him or do him permanent grievous harm. In some situations, I believe that extraordinary measures can be forgiven to prevent the growth of an enemy. People don't understand the distinction, which is unfortunate."
"John, are you saying that sometimes it's okay to have an abortion?"
"Not okay, no. But it can be forgivable in some circumstances."
I spoke into the open feed. "That may be enough, MB. It's time to leave. You're going to get a phone call."
She barely had time to scratch her nose before her phone rang inside her purse.
"My roommate," she said, picking up her phone. "Hi, Stacey! ... Yeah, I know it's late. ... He did? ... Oh, then I guess I'd better not miss that class. ... No, you sleep like the dead anyway, so I won't wake you up. ... Okay, bye!"
"Problem?" Doe asked.
"Not really. There's a new post on my department chairman's blog about penalizing kids who cut his eight a.m. class too often. He's going to start giving pop quizzes that we can't make up if we're absent, so I'd better go."
"At least finish your drink."
I said, "Spill some of it on you. Maybe we can get a chemical analysis."
She scratched her nose and then picked up her drink. Just as she raised it to her lips, she faked losing her grip on the glass, spilling the drink onto her shirt. Even on the tiny monitor I was watching, I could see her nipples harden from the cold liquid. "Oh, I'm such a klutz!" she fumed.
"Here, darling, let me help you with that." Doe quickly grabbed some napkins from the bar and began blatantly blotting at her chest.
"What a sleazeball," one of the techs said.
She scratched her nose as she allowed Doe to paw at her for a second. Then she politely pushed his hands away and stood. "I feel so stupid," she said. "You must think I'm an idiot."
"Not at all, my dear, not at all. Accidents happen. You can't wear that wet shirt home. I'll give you a Victory Tour t-shirt." He bustled out of the room, returning a moment later with a plastic-wrapped white shirt. "Here you go, dear."