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What Kind of Girl

By Lawrence Kinden All Rights Reserved ©


What Kind of Girl

Something was off. Something was wrong. Something was just out of place enough to make him just that much more on guard. And he was always on guard these days.

He hesitated in the doorway of his hotel room for a moment, not looking or listening for anything in particular, but feeling for a difference. After a moment more, he flipped on the light, closed the door, and took off his coat like nothing was wrong. He made as though headed for the bathroom, and from the edge of his vision, saw a slim figure steal from the ajar closet door.

He spun and pounced and was upon her before she could do anything more than gasp with wide eyes. He slammed her against the door and pinned her there with his weight and an arm across her chest, ready to pressed against her throat. He drew his gun and pressed it firmly under her left breast.

"Who sent you? Was it the yakuza? The FBI?"

She shook her head, eyes going even wider. "It wasn't Houston, was it?" He tensed on the trigger. If Joe Houston had found him out, he was sunk.

"No. It was Donna."

He eased off the trigger. "Donna? My Donna?"

"Yes, your wife. She hired me to investigate whether or not you're cheating on her."

He blinked at the girl. His body rushed with relief. He lowered the gun.

She was a bare slip of a girl, short and slim with curly red hair and jade green eyes.

"You're a private investigator?"

She nodded. "I've been following you all week. You've been very naughty, Mr. Bic."

He tensed again. She knew his real name, and she been following him all week. "What do you know?"

"I know you've been meeting with Sakura Michiko and Lylah Houston. You're not just cheating on your wife, you're cheating on your mistresses too. I tried to get pictures for proof, but…"

He relaxed again. "You saw Sakura and me at the sushi restaurant."

She nodded. "And you with Ms. Houston at the whisky bar."

He chuckled and stepped back.

"So, you're admitting it?"

"Hmm? Oh yes. I've been fucking other girls for, oh… nearly a decade now."

She planted her small fists on her tiny waist. "And aren't you at all ashamed?"

He set the gun on the nightstand, and chuckled. He went to the table where he had a fifteen-year Cognac and a pair of glasses. It paid to be prepared. He poured a pair of drinks and downed one.

This girl had followed him for a week and really knew nothing. After two years of working for Houston Tech, of earning the trust of Joe Houston, learning his trade secrets, all in preparation to sell to the Nezumi Yakuza, now he was being scolded by a girl playing detective.

This was going to be fun.

He offered the other drink to the girl, who shook her head.

"How old are you, girl?"

She blushed and looked away. "Twenty five."

She'd make an awful poker player. He down the second drink and set both glasses back on the table. He fixed the girl with a stern look and she squirmed.

"Bullshit," he snapped, using the tone that always made Donna jump. "Don't lie to me."

Rather than shrinking away, the girl smiled at him. "Nineteen."

The way she smiled stirred his loins. He walked to bed and sat.

"Come here, girl."

She came to him and his took hold of her wrist, pulling her tight against his right thigh. She gasped and her lips parted, her eyes shining.

"When was the last time your daddy spanked you?"

She blushed again, looking away. "I don't know, eleven or twelve maybe."

Holding her wrist with one hand, he swatted her sharply with the other. The tight grey slacks she wore were thin and smooth. She jumped.

"Didn't I tell you not to lie to me?"

"Um… When I was seventeen. I wrecked the car."

He nodded, smiling. He'd though she might be one of those bad girls who needed a firm man to keep them from doing something stupid.

He swatted her again and she yelped.

"Do you know what I'm going to do now?"

She nodded, biting her lower lip.

He swatted her. "Say it."

"You're going to spank me. You're going to pull me over your lap, pull down my little pink panties and spank my bare ass until I can't take it anymore. Then you're going to throw me down on this bed, rip off my clothes and fuck me even though I beg for mercy."

He spanked her hard and fucked her harder.

She gasped and screamed.

And when he was done, he lay back with a satisfied sigh, thinking about the exchange tomorrow, about how rich he would be, about how he could quietly slip to some tropical island never to be seen again. He wouldn't miss the suburban neighborhood, the obsessively maintained lawn, the constant nagging of his wife.

He chuckled, putting his hands behind his head.

The girl stood with a sigh, probably headed to the bathroom.

It really would be good to finally leave his wife. Aside from being a nag who spent all his money on shoes and handbags, she wasn't particularly bright. After all, she'd hired a girl to follow him. What did she think this little girl was going to be able to do?

"What kind of brain-dead woman hires a girl private investigator?"

"She didn't," the girl said.

"Hmm?" He'd thought she'd gone to the bathroom. He turned his head to look at her, smirking, and found her, nude and smiling, by the nightstand where he'd left his…

"I'm not an investigator. I'm an assassin."

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