Tai Anne Roper 2
by Nicole Sutter
FOR MATURE READERS ONLY
Chapter 5 - "The Fabulous Puma Sisters"
It had been a long, exhausting journey, but Drew Thrasher was finally home.
Home was a two story townhouse in East Central London near Hyde Park. She paid and tipped the cabbie who had picked her up at Heathrow and slung her battered and bullet torn kit bag over her shoulder for the final leg of her journey up the steps and past the threshold..
She sighed as she closed the door behind her. Her last few weeks in America had been eventful to say the least.
Drew Thrasher was a tall, almost willowly woman in her mid-thirties or so. She had dark brown hair styled into a short bob cut that framed a pretty face with light blue eyes. She was casually dressed in a trenchcoat over dark knit slacks and a silk blouse. She wore a pair of comfortable Sketchers.
She was also an anchorwoman and journalist for the BBC. Not that she had seen much airtime in the last few weeks.
She dropped her kit bag on the floor, her mind on the ancient bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch in her study, when she heard the clicking of high heels on the polished, parkay floor.
She froze. Coming into the foyer was Tai Anne Roper. She wore a cruelly cinched leather corset of polished black that gave her an impossible wasp waist and forced her to walk with an exaggerated sway.
A thick, polished strap leading down between her legs and between her bottom cheeks was buckled tight and hurt just to look at, while another strap went up between her plumped up breasts and was buckled to a padlocked, black leather posture collar about her neck.
More straps forced her shoulders back, and her full, exposed breasts seemed to be begging to be touched.
She wore knee-high boots with six inch heels --at least-- that were locked on, with a chain running from one ankle to the other so her steps would be kept short and mincing. There were also straps at her wrists and elbows.
Drew Thrasher looked dumbfounded as Tai Anne kneeled before her, palms open and on her tanned thighs.
Welcome back, Mistress," Tai said, keeping her eyes lowered. "How may your slave serve you?"
"Tai?" Drew looked at her like she was the Ghost of Christmas Past. As far as she knew, Tai should've been back in San Francisco at Paige Torne's Brickyard. How she got inside her house --beating her back across the Atlantic even-- was beyond her.
"Yes, Mistress?"
"What in blue blazes are you doing here?"
"Well, I was just polishing the silverware..."
"No, I mean, what are you doing in my house?"
Tai Anne looked up at her with those big, puppy brown eyes of hers, her long hair shining like black satin. "I am your slave now, Mistress Drew."
"Nonsense!" Drew passed her and went into her study. All seemed in place, including the bar. She poured herself a tall glass of the Glenfiddich, neat and without a hint of ice. Her hand shook as she sipped it.
"Would you like for me to take your luggage upstairs, Mistress?" Tai asked.
"No. Get in here and sit down!"
Drew sat down in a comfortable upholstered leather chair, while Tai kneeled at her feet.
"No, I meant sit over there, in a chair!"
"Slaves aren't allowed to sit on the furniture, Mistress!" Tai whispered.
"The hell with that!" Drew snarled. "Look at me, Tai! Now what is this game you're playing at?"
Tai looked at her. "No game, Mistress. You desired me as your slave... and now here I am."
"Listen," Drew said. "A day ago... we were both taken captive by Fiendly and Wenche. We were forced to... say, and --ahem-- do certain things because we were their captives."
"I love you, Mistress," Tai Anne said gently.
"And I have feelings for you too, Tai," Drew replied, realising that her face was flaming, and her belly was full of butterflies. "You are my dearest friend, and in a way... I love you too."
Tai groaned and kissed Drew's sneakers, her warm, soft lips tracing kisses up her ankles that caused her to melt.
"But, I am not a... lesbian," Drew said in a ragged voice. "I have no desire for... other women."
"Yes Mistress."
"Stand up." Tai did so. "Turn around and let me release you from that... contraption."
Drew gasped as she how tightly the strap running behind her lifted and separated the firm round hams of her bottom. it was locked in the back with a padlock.
"Where is the key to this, Tai?"
"You have the only key, Mistress."
"I do... not..." The key was in her hand. And she suddenly remembered another time, cinching Tai Anne into her corset until she cried. Keeping her a well bound, and properly cuntstrapped slave.
"Tai Anne..." Drew turned her around and gently brought her to her knees before her. She looked into those deep, loving eyes and then kissed her long and deep.
"I do love you, and I do so want you to be my slave," Drew groaned. She pulled back to see Tai smiling.
"Would you like for me to pleasure you, Mistress?" Her eyes were dark and mischievious as she licked her lips with her long tongue.
"God, yes," Drew said simply. Tai grinned much wider and quickly unbuckled Drew's pants, soon they were off her ankles along with her shoes and Tai had her face burrowed hungrily between Drew's thighs, her tongue deep inside the folds of Drew's recently shaved cunt.
Drew moaned and slipped deeper into the leather chair, crossing her ankles behind Tai's back as she squeezed Tai's head. "Yes... thats it... my slave."
Suddenly there was a metallic ding-ding above Drew's head and a disembodied man's voice spoke to her; "Pardon the interruption, but this is your Captain speaking... We are only 45 minutes away from landing in Newark International Airport, again I want to apologize for any discomfort or inconvenience you might have suffered while flying with Northwest Airlines..."
Drew frowned as Tai's bobbing head disappeared from between her legs. She looked around and realized she wasn't in her home in London, but was back in the First Class section of a Northwest 747 enroute from Detroit to Newark.
She licked her lips as the dream slipped away and reality reared its ugly head.
Yes, she had started out from San Francisco early this morning, to catch a British Airways Concorde in New York that would get her back to the BBC studios in London.
First there had been a three hour wait on the tarmac in SF, while a man who had slipped past a security screener in the terminal was rounded up.
Once airborne, an innocent East Indian man spent too long in the lavatory and had to be wrestled out, that led to an emergency landing and five hour layover in Kansas City, Missouri.
Then the plane had to stop at the Northwest hubcity of Detroit to have the engines checked and be refueled. Another long wait occurred.
Drew looked bleary-eyed at her Rolex. It was now 3:14 am, American eastern standard time. She had lost her connecting flight to England, and was looking at another long day at JFK, assuming she could get some transport from Newark.
Supposedly BBC America had arraigned for a driver to meet her at the gate, and then a limo ride to a Manhattan hotel suite where the BBC put up visiting VIPs --of which Drew was certainly one-- there she could get some sleep, before starting the trans-Atlantic portion of her journey tomorrow.
She wiggled in her seat, almost wishing she didn't have to stay another day in the states. It was more than the fact that she had a hot story to tell about Saudi mercs attempting to kidnap Americans in San Francisco at the behest of the Saudi Royals. It was also about Tai Anne Roper.
She had left San Francisco without even saying goodbye, and now she desperately regretted that. Not after all they had been through together as bound prisoners of Fiendly and Wenche.
Drew closed her eyes. Images of being bound in skintight latex and leather... of being forced to sexually pleasure The Wenche... and allowing Tai to become her slave, if only for a few hours.
She thought about contacting Tai once she made it to New York. But what would she say to her?
How about, I love you.
Drew shook her head and rang for the stewardress. Best to forget such nonsense. Get on with your job. Before its too late...
"Yes, Ms. Thrasher?"
"Double scotch, neat," Drew replied. "Glenfiddich if you have it."
***
"I bet you boys thought I had forgotten about you."
Detectives Sam Johannsen and his partner Pete Carter both grinned as Sue came down the corridor rolling a cart with a coffee pot, cups and assorted yummies to nosh on.
"Bless you, Redheaded Sue!" Sam replied, pouring himself a cup. He looked over at his partner and saw that Petey was on his cellphone. "Wassup? Your wife again?"
"Nope, that asshole Spinelli is on his way up from the basement with a couple of girls... for Cundalini."
"Our tax dollars at work," Sue remarked.
A few moments later the elevator arrived at their floor. It opened to reveal Detective Sergeant Sal Spinelli arm in arm with two, six-foot tall, amazon call girls who were busy giggling at one of his stale jokes. Both wore scarves and trenchcoats as disguises.
"Hey, Susie Q!" He leered at her. "Whachoo doin' here? Dey close da lez bars early?"
Sue flipped him the bird. There was no love lost between the two of them. Spinelli worked the Major Case Squad same as Sue, but resented her the way he did any female cop. He figured they were all either ball-breaking dykes or fashion divas afraid to break a fingernail.
As for Sue, she resented the hell out of the fact that Hodges had given Spinelli a gold shield, despite that she had scored higher on the last sergeant's exam and had a better arrest and conviction rate.
Spinelli was a tall, broadshouldered, good looking Italian hunk who let everybody know it. The call girls continued to paw over him as they exited the elevator.
"Hey, Sal, wanna introduce us to your new friends?" Sam asked.
"Sure!" Spinelli grinned. "Boys, meet the fabulous Puma Sisters!"
The two women whipped off their scarves and trenchcoats. They appeared to be identical twins, early twenties as best, both with long manes of blonde hair, startling blue eyes and supermodel faces.
Their bodies were perfection wrapped in skintight fetishwear. Full, thrusting breasts in shiny black latex, corsetted, wasp waists in black leather and mile long legs in thigh high, black leather bitch boots with skyscraper heels.
"This is Ana Puma... and Una Puma!" Spinelli said indicating one sister and then the other.
"Hey," one of the sisters growled. "I'm Una! That's Ana!"
"Yeah!" the other smirked. "I'm the smart one! She's the airhead!"
"Fuck you!"
"Bitch!"
"Dyke!"
"Girls. please!" Spinelli said. "Your Prince Charming awaits!"
"Not so fast," Sue said. "You frisk these two?"
Spinelli grinned. "Not yet!"
"Ladies?" Sue looked at them.
"Ohhhh... we love a woman's touch too!" Ana cooed as both she and her sister spread their legs, threw their shoulders back and placed their hands on their blonde heads.
"Touch-a touch-a touch me!" Ana sang.
"I wanna feel dirty!" Una continued.
"Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me!" Back to Ana.
"Creatures of the Night!!!" Both finished.
Sue gritted her teeth, wishing she had a pair of latex gloves to slip on before she ran her hands over the bodies of these two. No telling where they had been...
"Oh! Lower please!" Ana said as Sue frisked her.
"Do me too!" Una whined.
"Hooookay..." They were both clean... well, at least neither were carrying any weapons. Sue saw that both women were carrying large, black leather duffle bags. "What's in those?"
"Just toys!" Ana and Una zipped open the bags to reveal virtual pornucopias of sextoys. Dildos, whips, paddles, harnesses, gags, rings and things...
"See anything you like?" Spinelli wobbled a rubber dildo at her.
"No, do you?" Sue turned to the sisters. "Okay, we're done."
"Hey, why don't you escort 'em in?" Spinelli asked. "Cundalini might like that."
"Sorry, procuring women for mobsters wasn't in my job description."
"I can make that an order, Susie," Spinelli said.
"You can also eat shit and die, asshole." Sue looked him in the eyes. "Don't push it. Or me."
"C'mon, girls!" Spinelli walked arm and arm down the hall with the pair of tall, giggling blondes, their thrusting, wiggling bottoms making a grand show as they departed.
Sue Kaminsky gave them a one minute lead and then followed. She reached the door of the suite in time to see the Puma Sisters enter the bedroom of Vinnie Cundalini, while Spinelli was whispering to the other cops in the room. They all seemed interested in what he had to say.
Sue started towards them and got intercepted by Jerry Lambert.
"Yo, Sue," Jerry said. "look, why don't you go ahead and get a few hours sleep... nothing's happenin' now anyways."
Sue looked at him. "Lemme guess, after the Puma Sisters finish with Cundalini, you and the other guys are gonna have a little party. Right?"
Lambert grinned sheepishly. "Gimme a break, Red. I got three ex-wives, two ingrate kids and one empty apartment to look forward to. Let the old man have some fun, 'k?"
Sue sighed. "Be careful, Jerry."
"Hey, if I wanted to be careful, I'd have joined the fire department."
Sue smiled at the old joke, and walked out of the room and into the empty suite across the hall, locking the door behind her.
The bed looked nice and soft and downright luxurious. When was the last time she had actually slept in a bed? Awhile. She pulled off her leather jacket and unlaced and kicked off her boots. She pulled the covers down and snuggled into the bed, placing her 9 mil Glock under the pillow.
She was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the same pilow.
***
In the pre-dawn darkness, the concrete and steel canyons of lower Manhattan are a deserted netherworld where nothing living seems to exist.
Val Corder looked out of a window of some nameless highrise, sipping a cup of strong, black coffee. This meeting was important and mandatory, and by the very nature of their business had to take place while the rest of the city slept.
"Val? They're ready," Linda said.
"Right." Corder looked at her reflection in the black glass to make sure her makeup was perfect and went into the conference room.
Most of the the others had already either sat down at the long, teakwood table or were chatting among themselves.
They represented the cream of the slaver community. There was Mr. Mistoffelees, 'the conjuring cat' and leader of the Snowden crew. Headmistress Sofronia Strong who ran a 'finishing school' in Minnesota for wayward abductees. Tom Quinn out of Texas. Trent Maddox, aka Badboy out of California...
A half dozen more Corder knew only by reputation, except for her good friend Samarkand, who wore a white ice cream suit and his trademark red fez on his head.
He smiled and walked casually over to Corder. "How did things go in Montreal?"
"Not well," she whispered back. "Just play dumb."
"I can do that," he replied.
Why not, you've had years of practice! Corder thought.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let the meeting begin!" Tom Quinn said. "Allow me to introduce our chairperson for the evening... Morrigan the Huntress."
Morrigan stepped forward, a slight, unassuming woman in her mid-thirties with a gamin face and short, spikey red hair. She was dressed in a black blazer, black leather pants and a white, buttondown shirt with a euro collar.
She was a legend in the skin trade, specializing in hard to acquire speciality pieces.
But the one aspect of Morrigan that Corder could never fathom was her persistant rule that she wouldn't abduct anybody whom she didn't feel deserved it.
Maybe it was her adherence to such a quirky ideal that had gotten her elected as The Enforcer of their little group. It was her to duty to see that everybody played by the rules. Or else.
"Good evening all," she said in a slight Irish brogue. "Or should I say good morning?" There was a chuckle about the room. "Sorry for the delay, but there was a bit of unpleasantness tonight that I had to check out before we got started."
Corder nibbled her lip. Damn, were they onto Montreal already? It hadn't even made the news yet.
"First things first," Morrigan said. "And that would be... discussion of the proposed trade routes to Mainland China." Morrigan looked right at Corder. "Val?"
"Yes," Corder stood up. "As we all know, Mainland China represents an incredible potential for the North American and Euro skin trade, both in the acquistion and delivery of product..."
"How so?" Headmistress Sofronia Strong asked in her petite French accent.
"China offers us a vast, untapped wealth of clientele," Corder explained. "And caucasian females have an undeniable allure to the Asian people, as our dealings with the Japanese and Thai have proved."
Several of the slavers nodded in agreement.
"Simply put, we can increase our rate of abduction here in North America and in Western and Eastern Europe, with no increase of danger to ourselves," Corder said. "Simply because our product will be sent to the vastness of the interior mainland, where it will never be seen or heard from again."
"Indeed," Sofronia nodded.
"Conversely, we will be sent as many beautiful, young Chinese women as we wish... all at bargain basement prices." Corder smiled. "I am sure you all know of the allure the Asian female has among us decadent westerners?"
Another appreciative chuckle about the room.
"Our best chance to see this plan through, is to engage in a trade agreement with the San Yee On Triad. This criminal cartel operates in every city on the Pacific Rim, and has major contacts with both the military and civilian authorities in Beijing, Shanghai and Hong Kong," Corder said. "The Shan Chu --or boss of bosses-- is a man named Lo Pan, who is headquartered in Vancouver."
There was a groan in the room at the mention of Vancouver.
"Isn't this Lo Pan already sweating some serious Canadian Federal indictments?" Badboy asked.
"Presently, yes."
"Hmmmm... I really don't feel like going into business with a guy who might start singing like a bird the second the mounties put the cuffs on him," Mister Mistoffelees said, stroking his beard.
"I am forced to agree," Sofronia said.
"Look, lets quit dancing around the subject," Corder said with anger in her voice. "We all know the real reason every one of you is scared shitless of starting this operation."
Silence at the table.
"Qwan," Samarkand finally said.
"Yes," Corder hissed. "Detective Chief Inspector Michelle Wei Qwan of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police... currently assigned to the Asian Gang and Organised Crime Bureau in Vancouver."
"She's already taken down two other west coast triads," Badboy said. "What makes you think she won't eventually add your buddy Lo Pan and the San Yee On to her collection?"
"Oh, she will," Corder said. "If we allow her to continue to operate."
There, she had said it. For better or for worse. The room was silent again.
"Surely, you aren't suggesting we take out Qwan?" Morrigan asked.
"I think it's something that should be discussed," Corder replied. "And don't call me 'Shirley'."
"As a former police officer myself," Badboy said. "Allow me to tell you all that killing a cop is one of the more transcendentally stupid things anybody can think of doing." He looked around the room. "A police officer is part of a vast Brotherhood, that includes every other cop in the world. Past associations, bribes, payoffs... won't matter anymore. They will eventually come for you and kill you."
"Also factor in that Qwan is very well-known and liked," Tom Quinn said. "Her death --or disappearance-- would be as well reported as the Chandra Levy case, and any clues would be the lead story on the news. I, for one, do not wish to become the new Gary Conduit and see my face on CNN every night of the week."
"As slavers, we all enjoy the luxury of operating 'under the radar' of everyday life," Mr. Mistoffelees said. "Most people think of white slavers as something that disappeared with Sax Rohmer and 1930's pulp fiction. I say we keep it that way."
There was general agreement from around the table.
"Then we have a consensus of opinion," Morrigan said. She looked at Corder. "Agreed?"
"Of course," Corder said.
"Coincidentally," Morrigan said. "I just got word that an attempt on Inspector Qwan's life was made just a few hours ago in Montreal. You know anything about it, Val?"
"News to me," Corder replied.
"Seems the attempt was made while Qwan was laying in wait for Samarkand." Morrigan looked at him.
"Hey, I'm staying stateside for at least a few more weeks!" Samarkand said. "And I know nothing about anything going down in Montreal! Honest!"
"Actually, I believe you, boyo," Morrigan said. "First reports from the Montreal PD say that local Quebecois mobsters were behind the attempt."
"There, see!" Samarkand grinned.
"But that does bring us to the next subject on the agenda," Morrigan said. "Specifically, the events that took place in San Francisco last weekend..."
"Now that wasn't entirely my fault..." Samarkand began.
"And what --pray tell-- happened in San Francisco?" Sofronia asked.
"Seems that several well-monied, well-connected men all desired a young girl named Jessica McClintock," Morrigan said. "So they all hired a cadre of supposedly professional slavers to abduct her, and they proceeded to fall all over themselves like the Three Stooges!"
"Now I can explain..." Samarkand said.
"There was Fiendly and Wenche... Will Tanner-Hyde... Samarkand and The Marquis..." Morrigan looked at Samarkand. "Where is The Marquis anyway? I haven't been able to get hold of him lately."
"Probably laying low in Bunnyville," Samarkand replied.
"As well he should be!" Morrigan growled. "You collective idiots tore the town apart for this girl. And who the hell was the bloody idiot who called in a Saudi mercenary squad?"
"I think Fiendly did that," Samarkand said.
"Oh, I'm sure!" Morrign smirked. "Your antics not only brought down the wrath of the local police, but also the FBI, CIA and even Interpol... in the form of the afforementioned Inspector Qwan who arrested you after she beat the shit out of you!"
"I did manage to escape," Samarkand said defensively.
"We've just discussed the value of maintainng a low profile," Morrigan said. "I don't want to see this kind of lunacy again. Remember, I am The Enforcer, duly elected by all of you to see that the rules of our organisations are upheld."
Everyone nodded.
"Now next on the agenda..."
Corder tuned out the rest as she looked at her watch. The Puma Sisters should already be on site and carrying out their mission. If all went well, not only would Donia Lucrezia's problem be solved, but so would Corder's. At least a certain redheaded one...
***
"You've been a very naughty girl!" Vinnie Cundalini said as he balanced Ana Puma over his knees and pulled down her leather panties.
"Ohhhhhh... spank me good, daddy!" Ana Puma whined while she wiggled her tan rump at him.
"All in good time, but first, daddy's lil angel needs to be good and clean!" Cundalini said. "Inside and out!"
"Shall I administer the enema now, daddy?" Una Puma asked. She wore a white latex smock and held a full, two quart rubber enema bag, complete with hose and a long, slender nozzle. She hooked the bag onto a portable IV stand beside them.
"Daddy, no!" Ana cried.
"Daddy knows best, sweetpea!" Cundalini said, wondering if he could hold out on the raging hard on that was about to spray jism all over the insides of his boxers. "Stick it to her, Nurse! And let it flow!"
"Okay, daddio!" Una grinned and grabbed hold of Cundalini's head with her left arm, while with her right hand she jammed the enema nozzle hard into his left ear canal. There was an odd crunching sound as all six inches of it went deep into his brain.
"This'll clean you out... shithead!" Una laughed as Cundalini convulsed and shook all over. Ana tumbled off his lap and onto the floor, laughing as well.
Una squeezed the sealed rubber bag as whisps of smoke came out of Cundalini's ears and nostrils. He finally collapsed onto the bed with a long groan.
"Geez Louise!" Ana made a face. "Whaddya use on him?"
"A little hydrochloric acid."
"Well, sayanara, suckaaah! Ana said as she got up. She looked at her sister. "Now what?"
Una smirked. "Now it's time for the floor show!"
***
Just outside the bedroom, Detective Sergeant Jerry Lambert made himself another corned beef sandwich, wishing he had a cold beer to wash it down.
He and the rest of the cops in the room --some who were dozing in chairs-- turned as the doors to the bedroom burst open and music blared out into the living room. The Puma sisters came dancing out to the tune of ZZ Top's Legs, which was coming from a small CD boombox.
They danced in circles for the cops, flashing tits and ass to the music...
She's got legs, she knows how t' use 'em!
She never begs, she knows hot to cooze 'em...
The cops whooped and formed a circle about them, the Pumas then moved in close and began kissing and licking each other to the beat.
She's got hair, down to her fanny!
She's kinda jet set, try undo her panties!
Everytime she's dancing, she knows what to do...
The girl is alright... she's alright!
The cops groaned and yelled for more. The Pumas turned, suddenly back to back to each other and holding the silencered Glock pistols that Spinelli had given them after Sue's frisk, and that each had removed from the other's corset.
They were quick, firing fast and double tapping each cop in the face. One cop rushed them, and Ana snapped his neck and then shot him.
Jerry Lambert hit the floor and managed to get his trusty .38 Colt snubbie out. He got two shots off before the Pumas blew him away.
***
"Huh?" Sue Kaminsky sat up in her bed as the gunshots woke her up. She could also hear the music from the other room.
"Fuck!" She grabbed her piece from under her pillow and rolled onto the floor. She pulled her cellphone out and dialed 911.
Nothing. Just a static hiss.
"Shit!" She pulled on her boots and with gun in hand went to the door of her suite. She opened it and peered down the hallway. Nothing, not even Sam or Pete.
"This ain't good," she muttered to herself. She moved into the suite across the hall with her pistol before her in a two-handed grip, not really knowing what to expect.
What she got was every cop's worst nightmare. A goddamned massacre. A roomful of dead cops. She turned in a circle and counted seven dead, most from head shots at close range. Including her friend Jerry Lambert.
She entered the adjoining bedroom and saw Cundalini's body. His whole head was a smoking ruin.
She moved back into the living room, keeping her back to the wall. Despite her best efforts to keep focused, Sue felt herself zoning out, like she was in a dream that she couldn't wake up from.
"Looking for us?"
Sue Kaminsky turned at the sound of the voice, bringing her Glock to bear on one of the Puma sisters who was casually leaning against the doorway to the suite. The Puma yelped and ducked as Sue unloaded five rounds at her and the wall she had ducked behind.
Damn she's fast! Sue thought, her ears now ringing from her gunshots. Too damn fast. I should've been able to cap her!
Just then a giggling Puma appeared from the other side of the doorway with a pistol in each hand, aimed at her.
Sue ran across the room, firing her Glock and knocking open the door to the adjoining suite, as the Puma fired back at her. Sue bit her lip to keep from screaming when she saw Sam and Petey laid out on the thick carpet, both dead.
And where the hell was Hodges? Or even that rat bastard Spinelli?
She tried a telephone but wasn't too surprised when the line was dead. Somebody had planned this out to the Nth degree.
She checked the clip to her Glock and saw she was down to a few rounds. She dropped the clip to the floor and snapped in a loaded magazine.
Gotta think. Gotta move. Gotta get off this floor and report this...
She eased open the suite's door leading to the hallway. She kicked it back on its hinges and swept the corridor with her Glock. Nothing and no one.
Ana Puma dropped down on Sue from the ceiling. She hit the floor with Ana on her back, left arm around Sue's neck and her right hand twisting the Glock out of Sue's grip. Sue found out the hard way that the Puma Sisters were impossibly strong.
Ana laughed, grabbing Sue by the back of her belt and flipping her a good ten feet down the corridor.
She cocked a hip, picking up Sue's pistol. "Y'know, people who can't hold onto their guns oughta carry two of 'em..."
Sue Kaminsky rolled to face Ana, pulling her .38 S&W snubbie from her ankle holster. She aimed and banged off two shots, knocking Ana onto her ass, before Una came up behind Sue and cold-cocked her with a punch to the side of the head. Sue saw a flash of stars and then it was lights out.
"Ana! You okay?" Una Puma cried.
"Errgh..." Ana sat up and looked down at herself. "Fuck! I haven't been shot in years!" She squeezed her bloodied DD left breast and watched a bullet pop out into her hand. "Goddamned lil bitch shot me in the tittie!"
"Is that it?"
"Noooo..." Ana hissed as she stood up, rubbing her leather corsetted side. "She also got me here, but it feels like the bullet just bounced off my ribs."
"Well then hurry up, dammit!" Una said as she dropped their two, big leather duffle bags next to the unconscious Sue Kaminsky, "We don't have all fuckin' night!"
"Bitch."
"Ho!"
"Skank!"
The two sisters worked fast. They relieved Sue of her cellphone, wallet, badge and other incidentals. Then they yanked off her boots, her NYU sweatshirt and her tight jeans to leave her in her jogbra and her panties.
"Nice ass!" Ana observed.
"Nice tits!" Una replied.
"Bet they're fake!"
Una gave them a squeeze. "Nope!"
Then each Puma took a fat roll of wide, shiny black tape out of the bags. This was known in the trade as bondage tape, because it would stick only to the tape itself and not the skin of the person being wrapped up in it.
Sue's arms were brought behind her. Palms and elbows forced together as the tape was wrapped about them tightly.
Then Ana went to her legs to wrap Sue's knees and ankles, while Una cradled Sue's head in her lap and inserted a huge, but squishy, black rubber ball into her mouth. She wound the tape around her lower face to keep it there, then wrapped the tape over her closed eyes.
She liked the way the shiny black tape contrasted with her long, red hair.
They flipped Sue over onto her belly just as she was groaning and beginning to wiggle a little. Ana taped Sue's bound wrists to her bound knees, while Una pulled Sue's calves over her bound arms, taping her ankles to her elbows so she was drawn back into a strict hogtie.
The sisters then emptied the contents of one duffle bag into the other. Ana held the now empty bag open while Una picked up the compacted Sue Kaminsky and dropped her head first inside the leather bag.
They then tied off the top and buckled heavy straps at the sides to further compact their prisoner. Ana stuffed Sue's belongings into the other duffle, except for her Glock, which she kept in a gloved hand.
"What da fuck you hoes playin' at?"
The Pumas grinned at each other and watched Lieutenant Duncan 'Do-nutz' Hodges lumbering out of one of the suites. They hefted their duffle bags over their shoulders. Una carried Sue Kaminsky's 130 pounds with ease.
"Hey. bitches! Ah be tawkin' atcha!" Hodges continued. "You takin' Kaminsky? What the hell fo'?"
Hodges was confused. The deal he had cut was that he would be the sole survivor of the massacre so he could give a bogus description of the shooters.
"Change of plans, lardass!" Ana said. "Now we make her the patsy. Since bullets from her gun --with her fingerprints still on it-- are gonna be found in your body!"
Hodges stopped. "In my whut?"
Ana raised Sue's Glock and shot Hodges in the chest six times. Una put her hands over her ears as the shots echoed down the long corridor. Hodges bounced and convulsed on the floor, while Ana put a couple of more rounds into his face.
And dropped the pistol between Hodges' Italian loafers.
"That's a bit much doncha think?" Una asked. "Leaving the piece..."
"Don't underestimate the stupidity of cops," Ana replied. "Ya gotta spell everything out for 'em! Now let's beat feet!"
***
Sue Kaminsky struggled within her black leather prison, bound too tightly to even be able to twitch. She felt herself being bounced around upside down on Una's back as she and Ana took the elevator to the basement, followed by the route up to the street that Spinelli had shown them.
The Pumas walked the deserted sidewalk fronting Central Park South, right up to a parked PT Cruiser. They dumped their bags in the back, got in and took off, turning south onto Fifth Avenue, heading downtown.
Across the street in Central Park, Detective Sergeant Sal Spinelli got up from a park bench and walked to the front steps of the Plaza Hotel. It was time for him to make the horrible discovery, and as the first detective on the scene, to guide the investigation the way he wanted.
***
The slaver meeting finally broke up a little after 4 am. Val Corder left the conference room, and silently joined up with Linda Hansen and Debbie Watson. In a few minutes they were in the comfort of their Lincoln Navigator stretch SUV, heading uptown.
So far, nobody had said a word.
Linda got a call on her cellphone. She clicked on. "Yeah? So how'd it go?"
She listened.
"How'd the meeting go?" a nervous Debbie Watson asked Corder.
"Could have gone worse," she replied. She looked at Linda as she clicked off and folded up her phone. "Well?"
"Good news and bad news," Linda replied. "The Pumas whacked Cundalini and all the cops that were there. No witnesses. They even framed our redheaded pest as the fall... girl."
"So what's the bad news?"
"Our Redheaded Sue just tried to escape the Pumas... Ana had to kill her."
"Damn. Make sure they at least properly dispose of the body."
"They're headed for the rendering plant in Chinatown," Linda said. "She'll be Kibble 'n Bits by morning."
"Too bad," Corder said. "I was actually looking forward to adding her to my collection."
Linda shrugged. "Que sera sera..."
***