The Vance Venture Ch. 02

Author's Note:

This chapter is much longer than the first, as we start to set up the main plot line. There's quite a tale to tell, but fear not, we'll get down and dirty wherever possible. Choosing a category for this part was no easy task, as there's a lot going on here. I hope you'll find it to be an Erotic Coupling indeed.

For our hero, it's just another day at the office...

o

THE CLIENT

Jack Action pulled his Porsche 911 into the tight parking lot behind the midtown offices of A.I., drove past the two vehicles waiting there, a gleaming black Hummer and an old rusted pickup of indeterminate make, and parked in his usual space. It was a vibrant, sunny Wednesday morning in May, and Jack was in a damn fine mood. Not bothering to raise the top on the silver Carrera, he climbed out and strolled toward the back entrance.

On the outside, the building was little more than a featureless two-story commercial structure on one of the slower streets in midtown Metro City, flanked by a used book store on one side and a strip club on the other, at the corner. The street side façade was glass, unlike the brick standard of its neighbours, and boasted a wall of fifteen-foot windows fronting the entire width of the building, all black. And unlike the reasonably tasteful, but simple signage proclaiming soft-covers and softer skin on either side, this building discreetly made known its contents with only two letters, elegantly embossed in smoky white on the oblique wall of tinted glass: A.I. Double glass doors allowed entry beneath the simple moniker, and were printed only with ACTION INVESTIGATIONS in small white print.

Out back, three large windows overlooked the parking lot from the second floor, and a single steel door was set into the wall below, flanked by two more, larger windows. A security camera stared down upon the rear entrance. Jack smiled up at it as he approached the door, pulling from his pocket a coded key card. He swiped the card through an unmarked slit on the wall, and when his hand fell on the knob, it turned easily.

Inside, a hallway led straight ahead to the reception area out front, with a door to either side standing open on large conference rooms. Jack noticed both were unoccupied as he quickly strode past, out to the cavernous atrium.

The reception area was huge, open to the ceiling twenty feet above, its soft earth tones brightly illuminated by the massive windows fronting the building. It was dominated by a semi-circular reception desk of slate and mahogany, centred in the space, facing the front entrance, around which were cast several comfortable leather lounge chairs and small glass tables, most round, some square. A curving set of stairs wound up both sides of the wide room to the second floor gallery, adorned with an exquisite balustrade of dark wood interspersed with glass panes that continued as a railing along the open upper floor, where laid the upper offices. The place had an air of subtle sophistication and discretion.

It also had an air of emptiness, for not a soul inhabited the place.

Jack checked the desk. His receptionist was running a little late, he knew, but he had no problem with that. These things happened. It looked like there had been no calls this morning anyway, though the computer and security displays were all on. It looked as though Cy had signed in already—hours ago, in fact, as expected. So where was he now? Sleeping it off in one of the offices, perhaps?

Jack looked at the clock. Nine fifty. The prospective client was scheduled for ten.

He took the stairs two at a time as he hurried to the second floor, where he found two of the doors open. The centre one, which led to more of a staff lounge than an office, was closed. He stepped to the door and was about to swing it open when a sound made him pause, his fingers inches from the doorknob.

He waited a moment, his ears devouring the silence. Then he heard it again: a soft sigh, almost a moan, coming from beyond the door. Jack grasped the knob and gently turned. It made no sound, and he eased the door ajar, peering through the crack.

This room was smaller than the other two offices, but no less tasteful and immaculate. He could see the long leather sectional that dominated one corner, the glass coffee table, and the oak dinette beneath the window and its accompanying chairs. He would have to open the door further to see the other half of the room, which contained a small counter top and sink, two cupboards, a small fridge and microwave, and behind the door, a table and chairs to match those beneath the window. All the trappings of a luxurious, comfortable staff room.

And as he noiselessly eased the door open further, poking his head curiously into the room, he found not one, but two of his staff hard at work.

Jack could see the back of Cy's dark-skinned, hairless head, his massive shoulders, his broad, heavily muscled back as he knelt on the carpet before the sink. Cy was easily the biggest man in Jack's employ, at six-foot-six, and was a towering behemoth of Olympian form, his entire frame carved as though by a classical Greek sculptor. His head was moving slowly, his neck muscles tense, his face buried deep between a pair of long, slender white legs.

Perched on the edge of the counter, not so much working as enjoying the fruits of Cy's labour, was lovely Lena Lang, her head thrown back, eyes closed in soothed satisfaction, long sunset red curls cascading across her shoulders. She tensed and held her breath, smiling at some unseen motion from Cy, and then released a contented sigh. Her red blouse hung open, teasingly revealing only one generously rounded breast, the pebbly nipple of which she toyed with, gently rolling it between her fingers, pinching it occasionally to send a visible quiver through her upper body. Her black skirt and lacy underthings lay discarded on the floor atop a heap of Cy's clothes, but her heels remained on her feet, at the ends of long legs languidly wrapped around Cy's manoeuvring head.

Jack watched in silence a few moments, a part of him twitching to life at the sensual sight of the beautiful redhead massaging her breast while being tenderly attended to by the talented tongue of the Adonis on his knees before her. Lena dropped her hand to Cy's head, gently rubbing his naked pate, coaxing him further with a soft moan as she rolled her hips back to allow him deeper access to her excited centre.

Jack adjusted himself quietly, moving a stiffening sensation into a more comfortable position. He wished he didn't have to interrupt. Hell, he wished he had the time to join in. Reluctantly, he withdrew his spying self carefully from the room and softly closed the door. He took a deep breath, shook his head to clear it, and then rapped three times on the door. After the briefest pause, he opened it and stepped casually across the threshold.

Cy was still naked on his knees, but Lena had slipped off the counter and was now standing before him, her waist hidden from view behind his wide shoulders. Cy's hands were also hidden from view, presumably grasping her taut buttocks.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jack apologized as he entered the room, unable to hide his smile. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No need to apologise, Jack." The look of wary caution that had briefly tensed Lena's features relaxed into a grin as she exhaled with relief. "We both know you don't mean it."

Jack's smile only widened as he cocked an amused eyebrow. He certainly couldn't argue with that.

Cy rose as Lena moved to rescue her skirt from the floor, making no effort to cover her beautifully clean-shaven, saliva soaked pubis. When the big man turned, Jack saw the deadly hand cannon clutched in his left hand. He cocked an eyebrow at the sight of the giant handgun, which Cy must have held concealed in the sink beneath Lena's pretty posterior.

"Always prepared for anything, right?" Jack asked, turning his gaze up to the massive mulatto's stern face.

"I'm a boy scout."

One side of Cy's mouth twitched and turned slightly, briefly cracking his stern visage. Jack knew this man well, however, and recognized his smile when he saw it, which was rare. Cy's face was chiselled muscle and sinew, just like the rest of his body, its lines firm and its angles hard. He looked incapable of humour, but Jack could see a subtle mirth flickering behind the cold blue gaze of his one human eye.

Cy's other eye, the right, was his most arresting feature, and when he was without sunglasses, it revealed his unique nature. Though it appeared in most respects similar to a glass eye, it was vacant of pupil and iris, both replaced instead with a tiny lens that looked simply vacant, but could at times be seen to glow in low light. This eye, along with many other processes and functions of Cy's body, was neither animal nor vegetable nor mineral, but cybernetic. Due to his involvement in a highly classified, now defunct military operation, a misguided experiment in bio-enhancement and super-soldier engineering, Cy was no longer entirely human.

Before Cy turned away to collect his clothes, Jack caught sight of the big man's only other outwardly identifying characteristic: two narrow rings of faintly luminescent steel banded the base of his penis, like a pair of silvery cock rings. Jack had some idea as to what they were for, and knew that they were yet another of the unique advantages to being Cy—like being able to see in the dark, or take a small calibre bullet to the head and not only live to tell the tale, but walk away from the wound with little more than a splitting headache.

Jack waited until she had pulled her slinky skirt up over the smooth curve of her hips before he addressed Lena.

"I wouldn't have interrupted you, but I've got a high-profile client meeting," he glanced quickly at the clock, "in five minutes."

"Ah," she nodded knowingly as she looked him up and down. "Nice suit."

"Thanks. So why are you here so early?"

Lena glanced briefly over at Cy, and then re-buttoned her blouse slowly as she answered.

"Cy called me when he got in this morning. He needed a few stitches, nothing serious. When neither you nor Sonya showed up at nine," she paused to flash a coquettish smile at the big cyborg as he pulled on his jeans, "I offered to help him pass the time until you arrived."

Jack could only grin at the mischievous smile that parted the generous lips of Dr. Lena Lang. She was a brilliant surgeon whose talent had once attracted the attention of a certain black bag government agency that had paid her exceptionally well to pioneer many of the new processes that were used in the creation of such super-soldiers as Cy. Her intellect and ability had been invaluable to Jack countless times over the nearly three years since she and Cy had joined him. He counted himself lucky to have such a talented, not to mention beautiful doctor in his employ.

"So how'd it go last night?" Jack asked, turning his attention back to Cy as the big man pulled a white tee shirt on over his head. It was a big shirt, yet it stretched across his massive chest to a taut extreme.

"No problems," Cy replied in his baritone voice as he holstered the cannon at the small of his back, where it could be concealed—at least on a body his size—relatively easily.

"And the stitches?" Jack asked seriously.

Cy glanced down as he turned his left forearm, revealing a long, rough gash expertly closed with seventeen stitches.

"An underestimation on my part." When he looked up, his gaze was cold and steady. "And a lesson learned."

Jack nodded in silent understanding. Cy had let his guard down, and had paid for it. At least that proved he was still human, after all.

Jack rubbed his jaw absently for a moment in thought. "Have you checked your gear yet?"

Cy shook his head no.

"Alright. Head over to the Compound and unload your stuff. That'll give me time to set up with this new guy." He turned to exit the room but couldn't help adding, with a sly smile, "And maybe give the good doctor here a chance to get some work done."

As he descended the stairs, Jack saw an immaculate Lexus pull up alongside the curb out front. Though the tall glass windows were tinted to a near-opaque finish on the exterior, from the interior one could see clearly, if a little dimly, everything occurring on the street outside. The car was long and black, and as he watched, a burly fellow in a dark suit and wraparound sunglasses emerged from the driver's side. He walked around the rear of the pristine vehicle, his head turning this way and that, assessing his environment, before opening the rear passenger door.

Another dark suit emerged from the black Lexus, this one filled by a man of obvious status. He was thin, but not frail, and carried himself with distinguished poise. He looked to be in his fifties, perhaps, with salt-and-pepper streaks of grey creeping from his temples back into his thinning black hair. His stern, but handsome face was lined with experience, if not quite with old age.

Jack opened the door just as the man's bodyguard was reaching for the outside handle. Behind him, he heard the heavy footfalls of Cy coming down the stairs into the atrium.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Jack greeted the two men as he held the door open and motioned them in. The guard entered first, scanning the agency as he stepped inside and to the right, out of his employer's path. When the gentleman entered, Jack offered his free hand.

"Mr. Vance, I presume."

Mr. Vance retained his stern manner, but shook Jack's hand. His grip was firm, but polite.

"Mr. Action."

"Please, call me Jack." He gestured toward one of the two conference rooms on the ground floor. "If you'd care to step into my office..."

Mr. Vance glanced disinterestedly down the hall, flanked by huge mirrors beneath the upper floor balcony, then at the reception desk, and then up to the second floor as it overlooked them through the elegant banister of wood and glass. Casting his gaze about the assemblage of furniture in the reception area, he motioned to a pair of deep, comfortable chairs facing each other across a small glass coffee table.

"Would this not suffice? You seem to have few employees who might overhear. I have so far seen but one and I think he just left."

"Slow morning."

Jack led the way to the pair of indicated seats, near the front, one with its back only a few feet from the big windows, the other facing them. He stopped when he reached the leather furniture, allowing his guest to select first. Mr. Vance chose to face the window. Jack took the opposite seat, where he had a clear view of the entire atrium, including the stairs and the open second floor above.

"The man you saw leaving was Cy," Jack began. "One of my best."

He observed openly while Mr. Vance's bodyguard made his way across the room, where he took up a leisurely, but attentive stance behind the reception desk.

"Don't worry about Felix," Mr. Vance assured, watching Jack's eyes follow his man. "He won't disturb anything." His voice was soft, but commanding. Here was a man used to getting whatever he wanted.

Jack nodded in acceptance, though he still maintained reservations about this man Felix. He was stocky, overweight, his shiny hair greased back from his oily forehead. His suit was cheap, though he must be paid well in the employ of such a man as Vance, and he very simply exuded a hostile, belligerent air. He looked like a greaseball, a thug; the kind of guy who takes candy from a baby, then gets pissed at the infant for crying about it.

Jack forced his attention back to the affluent man before him.

"Mr. Vance," he began, pausing to allow the older man to jump in with a 'no, no, please call me so-and-so', but no such offer was made. He was not surprised. "Perhaps we should begin with you telling me exactly why you're here."

In his peripheral vision Jack caught sight of a door opening on the second floor. The gallery up there was not wide, and from his angle below, he could see the top third of each door through the clear glass panes in the ornate balustrade.

Mr. Vance nodded as he made himself comfortable on the couch opposite Jack, the sun streaming in through the tinted windows lighting his face, but not irritating his eyes.

"Indeed. But first, you must understand that this is a very delicate situation. For me." He looked Jack sternly in the eye. "I must have your assurance that our business together will remain... discreet."

Lena stepped out into the gallery above, leaving the door open behind her. Jack kept his gaze on Vance as he spoke seriously.

"Mr. Vance, client confidentiality is of the utmost importance to us here at A.I. Discretion is our business, and we're exceptionally good at it. We don't advertise, so I have to assume you're here because someone's already told you this. So why not just level with me, and tell me the problem."

Lena was now standing primly near the banister, watching the meeting, though she probably couldn't make out what they were saying. When Vance dropped his eyes to consider Jack's words, and after flicking his eyes to Felix, who had apparently found something on the desk worth reading, Jack stole a quick glance up at lovely Lena. Her long red hair fell loosely about her shoulders and her blouse was still two buttons shy of being done up. He could see the smooth curve of her calves, her knees, and her thighs as they disappeared beneath the hem of her dark skirt, all through the clear pane of glass under the polished railing before which she stood. She dropped her eyelids sultrily and pursed her lips to blow him a silent, sensual kiss. Jack felt the corner of his mouth turn up slightly, but he quickly schooled it as his eyes returned to Vance.

"I'm a businessman, Mr. Action," Vance began. "My business will be taking me out of the country for a few days, and I need someone to look after my daughter while I'm away."

Action Investigations was no baby-sitting service, and this man surely knew that, so Jack simply waited patiently for Vance to continue, to reveal the catch. There was always a catch. Vance looked away again, pulling a deep breath, perhaps pondering what to reveal, and how much.

Jack took the opportunity to glance up again, to where Lena now leaned forward, forearms perched on the rail, her sunset locks tossed to one side, cascading past her cheek, her shoulder, her full breast. Her blouse was still partially undone, and Jack's eyes were drawn to her deep cleavage as it pressed eagerly between her arms. When his eyes returned to hers, she was smiling sexily, having caught his wandering gaze.

He checked Felix again, who still looked to be absently perusing something behind the front desk. Jack wondered if Lena was yet aware of the greaseball who stood but ten feet directly below her. He wondered if Felix could read. He refocused his attention on Vance, who returned his eyes to Jack's and continued.

"Some of the people with whom I am currently transacting business are... rash, unpredictable." Vance began calmly enough, but his voice slowly climbed in anger as he continued, "I have grown tired of their unreliability, their insolence. I will put up with them no longer. I am sick of their bullshit!"

He stopped himself abruptly before his frustration got the better of him, and then closed his eyes to take a deep breath, a man trying to control his fury. There was definitely a story here.

Jack looked to Felix, who had raised his head at Vance's exclaimed expletive, but was already returning his attention to the desk, like this was nothing abnormal. Jack couldn't stop his eyes from roaming to Lena, and his eyebrows almost jumped involuntarily at the sight of her.

She had dropped her blouse from one shoulder and her breast was now exposed over the silky fabric. With the tip of a finger she traced small circles around her nipple, occasionally flicking the erect tip with her sharp fingernail, while the rest of her breast she cupped tenderly, caressingly in her palm. Her face was the teasing visage of a siren, coy and crooked smile, bright hazel eyes alight with mischief, one eyebrow cocked up alluringly. Jack had to fight almost as hard to pull his eyes away from her as he did to keep his face a serene attentive mask as he looked back at Vance.