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Date Posted: 16:36:15 05/03/02 Fri
Author: Repost Fairy
Author Host/IP: 64.193.19.25
Subject: Chapter 65 (quite a bit of bad language)
In reply to: Genevieve 's message, "Burden of Proof - Chapter 55 onwards..." on 16:10:02 05/03/02 Fri

~*~*~*~*~

Eight o’clock. Saturday morning. Dave Fanning was nursing a massive hangover and a horrible suspicion that he’d managed to fuck up the Vachek job. He downed another glass of water straight from the kitchen tap and ran his hand through his hair, wincing as last night’s events came flooding back. Shit.

He had planned to do her apartment first, then her office. But thanks to her neighbours on both sides having late afternoon drinks on their balconies, he hadn’t been able to get into her apartment. So he’d changed his tactics. He’d do her office first, then her apartment. Hell, it was Friday night, and he figured that a stunner like that would have plans. If she hooked up with that blonde boyfriend of hers, she’d probably be out for hours. Easy.

But it hadn’t quite worked out that way. He hadn’t been able to get into the Wirth & Wirth office until much later than he anticipated. He’d sat waiting in his car until after nine o’clock, when the old man, the geek and Blondie finally left.

Getting in had been no problem, but the telephone system was a fucking joke. Wiring an ancient PABX switchboard, in dire need of an overhaul, was not one of his specialties. It had been after midnight by the time he got to her apartment.

And she’d been home. With the old geezer and the geek. Christ, why the fuck hadn’t she gone out with lover boy?

So he’d decided to wait them out. They’d have to leave sooner or later, Blondie would go to bed and he’d sneak on in. After her office, wiring her home phone would be a piece of piss.

So far, so good.

It was when he’d been waiting that it all turned to shit. Sitting in his car outside her apartment, he’d started to catalogue Blondie’s finer attributes. It was a hobby he’d taken up ever since he first photographed her. Legs that would take forever to crawl up, but definitely worth the climb. Tight little ass that would fit into his hands just nicely. Tits that jiggled just enough, and pointed exactly in the right direction. Long hair you could get a good grip on, and a mouth he could quite happily imagine sucking the living daylights out of him.

If you had to be stuck in a goddamn car, it wasn’t a bad way to pass the time. Unfortunately, after a particularly pleasant fantasy featuring that pretty blonde head of hers buried between his legs, he was hard as a rock and had an itch that needed urgent scratching. He’d looked at his watch. The hippy and the nerd were still inside, and he’d have to give Blondie a good hour or so before he even thought about paying her a visit.

So he made a quick (and very bad, as it turned out) decision. The Red Garter Gentlemen’s club was only fifteen minutes drive away. He could spend a cosy hour or two with Miss Lisa, get his rocks off, and still have time to get back to Blondie’s apartment and get the job done. Not even Vachek would expect him to do his best work when he had a raging boner.

He’d been wrong. Oh, the lovely Lisa had been very pleased to see him, and had wasted no time in showing him just how pleased she was. He’d spent a very pleasant hour banging that silly little giggle right out of her. She was a great little lay, but Christ, that incessant babbling of hers… At the time, he remembered thinking the management definitely needed to school its girls a little better in the art of pleasing a customer, by keeping their traps shut.

No, it wasn’t the roll in the hay with Lisa that had fucked up his evening. It had been the rum shots afterwards, in the downstairs bar that did him in. He’d lost track of time, and the next thing he knew his pager was buzzing madly. He’d wanted to ignore the summons, but he still had some of his wits about him. He wasn’t so far gone that he’d forgotten that to ignore a page from Mischa could be very bad for your health. Wanting to get away from the thumping music before answering the page, he’d stumbled out of the Red Garter. The cold night air hit him like a slap in the face, instantly sobering him up. Or so he thought.

He’d been calm and coherent on the phone, but Mischa had not been pleased. Why, he’d asked icily, had they not heard from him? Had the job been completed or not?

Fanning had quickly relayed his story about the neighbours being home, the office being occupied, the switchboard being shithouse, and Blondie having company. It all sounded pretty convincing to him, and he was feeling pretty good about things until Mischa cleared his throat and spoke.

“I assured Mr. Vachek you were more than capable of carrying out this assignment. It would be a pity to have to inform him otherwise.”

He’d taken a big, gulping swallow as he felt rum-flavoured bile rise to the back of his throat. “No need to go talking to Mr. Vachek at this time of night. Come on, Mischa, you know me. I’m on it.”

“I certainly hope so, Mr. Fanning.”

So he’d driven like a goddamn bat out of hell back to her apartment. Thank god there hadn’t been any cops around. Happily, when he’d arrived and crept around to the back of the apartments, her partying neighbours were all tucked up safe and sound in bed. Their security measures had been practically non-existent, and it was boringly easy to climb up onto the balcony next to hers, and then jump across.

For a woman living alone, she didn’t seem to worry about security in any serious way. It had only taken him a few minutes to deal with the lock on the French doors that lead from the balcony into her apartment. You had to love those old buildings - olde worlde charm just meant ‘easy to break into’ as far as he was concerned.

Her apartment had been dark. Fanning had stood very still just inside the French doors, straining to hear any sound that might indicate she wasn’t tucked up in bed. After a moment or two, he’d picked up on the soft rhythmic sound of her breathing. She’d sounded well out of it, but he still crept around like the proverbial church mouse. As Mischa had promised, she only had the one phone line. The outlet had been in the kitchen, and doctoring it was a cinch.

But, as he split, he’d made his second big mistake. She had this funky split-level style apartment, with a little staircase leading up to what he assumed was her bedroom. As he was slinking past the stairs, he couldn’t help himself. He’d glanced upward, and was pleasantly surprised to find he could see straight into her bedroom.

And there she’d been. Fast asleep. And, his drunken libido had reasoned, probably not wearing very much at all. All he’d have to do was creep up those stairs and take a peek. She’d never know. Vachek would never know.

A shudder of horror went through him now as he realised the risk he’d taken by listening to his dick instead of his brain. Reaching for another glass of water, Fanning groaned and rubbed his eyes. Christ, what was I thinking?

That was the problem. He hadn’t been thinking at all. Operating on autopilot, he’d let his cock talk him into walking up those stairs and standing in her doorway.

Even now, despite his panic, the hazy memory of what he’d seen was making him hard. Fanning was beginning to suspect, given the chance, he’d have walked up those stairs even if he were stone cold sober. Christ, what a body. She’d been lying on her back, the covers tangled around her legs. Her singlet top had ridden up, baring a luscious expanse of belly. Her nipples were small and tight, clearly outlined underneath the thin material of her shirt, her shirt pushed up high enough to show just enough breast to make his mouth water.

He’d been tempted to hook a finger under the elastic of those cute little black leggings and find out if she really was a natural blonde, but he managed to restrain himself. He’d told himself that he already pissed Mischa off once this evening. Twice, and he’d be looking for a new mother lode, if not floating in the Thames. Having the target wake up to find him in her bedroom wasn’t on the agenda, even if he was pretty sure he could make her forget her objections after a few minutes.

He’d given her one last look, adjusted himself, and blown her a silent kiss. One day, Blondie, you and I are going to do some serious messing around.

He’d been back on the balcony, just shutting the French doors behind him, when his pager went off again. To his horror, he realised that he had forgotten to reset it to vibrate after he left The Red Garter. He’d been operating under the influence of a skinful of rum, and during his frantic efforts to pull the beeper from his belt to silence the little fucker, he tripped on an uneven tile. He’d stumbled against a wooden table, and to his horror, it tipped over, the dull thud followed by the sound of smashing glass or china, or something. He’d sworn loudly, and quickly headed for the edge of the balcony.

Two minutes later, sweating despite the cold, his heart nearly tearing a hole in his chest, he’d reached the shadows behind the apartment blocks, where he stood, waiting. It hadn’t taken her long to react to the disturbance he caused. In less than five minutes, the outside light had come on and she opened the French doors. Fanning had watched, hardly daring to breathe, as she walked out onto the balcony, slowly surveying her surroundings. She’d stood for a moment, looking down at where he knew the table lay on its side. Finally, she’d wrapped her arms around her upper body and walked quickly back inside. The light had stayed on.

But he’d gotten the job done, he told himself. That was the important thing. Just as he was thinking this admittedly optimistic thought, his cell phone began to ring. He snatched it up off the table and groaned. It was a number he knew only too well.

“Good morning, Mischa.”

As usual, the other man didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. “I assume I don’t need to tell you that your performance last night was less than satisfactory.”

What the…? For one terrible moment, Fanning was sure Mischa had somehow, god knows how, found out about his little mishap the night before. “Look, I can explain…”

Mischa cut him off. “Mr. Vachek didn’t appreciate having to wait several hours for the job to be completed.”

Relief washed over him. Of course Mischa didn’t know about his little peep show. How could he? “Yeah, look, sorry about that. Just one of those nights where everything…”

Mischa interrupted him again. “Mr. Vachek wasn’t pleased.”

Fanning swallowed. “Well, you can tell Mr. Vachek that it won’t happen again.”

“I trust you will be able to complete tonight’s task without a repeat of last night’s incompetence?”

“Oh yeah, yeah. You bet.”

“Good.” The line went dead.

Fanning flipped his phone shut, his head pounding violently, his gut heaving. Shit. As he rushed for the bathroom, he made an oft-repeated vow. He was never drinking rum again.

~*~*~*~*~

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Replies:

  • Chapter 66 -- Repost Fairy, 16:39:24 05/03/02 Fri
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