In the upscale wealthy village of El Rancho Grande, near the gulf shores of the sprawling metropolis of Spanish Point, the mall of malls was waking up. Piled high in the sky, like a modern tower of babbling richness, it boasted six levels of opulence. Meanwhile, on the ground floor level, the food court and main concourse, I continued my vigilance. Surveillance was invigorated by the recent sexual liaison with my friend Rosa, who owned and managed the exotic lingerie shop.
When her boyfriend arrived, I was already out of her and out of her store. Rosa's dark eyes, curvy shape and sensual smile sent me on my way. Neither employees, nor intimate partner were the least bit concerned. I was a sneaky deceptive son of bitch. One life is not enough to do it all, and no moment should be missed to embrace every breath of sinful delights. Not only that, I was also a contract killer. Most of the time, the U.S. government paid my expenses. Other times, freelance work kept me busy. I rationalized I only terminated the bad guys.
Today, for the local criminal justice, through a series of back channels, my private consulting brought me here. I was hunting a special kind of evil. My specialty was human predators who had a serious need to be out of the gene pool. As such, I chose my quarry with care. Sometimes my services were pro bono as public service. Usually, I relished in tracking the evil ones who got away with their crimes because they were above the criminal justice system. This generally applied to the wealthy, the successful, and the upwardly mobile, who committed more crimes and corruption in one day than the street criminals committed in one year.
On the issue of evil, all that means is the bad things people do to others and animals. To me, there's no such thing as the supernatural, the occult of any other bullshit related to magical doctrines of one sort or another. Precisely, its magical thinking, sometimes called stupidity. That's just part of the cover story people like to cloak their real intentions. Often, such are the proclivities for most of us, fuck or be fucked, feast, fight, and frolic, forage for the real meaning that haunts our temporal existence. I prefer the fucking to just about everything else.
Life is in the moment, as the quest for transformation offers options for the intrigue of free will. Naturally, there are caveats and consequences to exercising liberation and freedom of expression. Others will disagree, criticize and challenge the individuality of actions and perspectives. They, the proverbial them, clinging to the herd, the mainstream, the normalcy.
Stuck in their fears of nonconformity, they will oppose and betray you if they get a chance. But, like everything else, there are exceptions. When beliefs are threatened dangerous things happen, as hope springs eternal in the emotional neediness of immediate gratification for the vast majority of the flock. They are afraid so they act foolishly. To the endless array of foolhardy arrogance, sexuality becomes a weapon to do harm in a number of ways. Regardless of the social mantra, sex is the primal motivation for all human intentions for good or evil.
Speaking of an example of sexual weaponization, when sex becomes destructive, the quarry I sought appeared in the main concourse of the mall. A glance at my phone brought up a photo file. Right on schedule, his habits were predictable. Children's day at the mall. Here he was waiting for a target of opportunity. Rico Pequeño, aka Dick Small, retired congressman, local political activist, and pedophile. With cunningly clever lawyers, he'd escaped the system many times.
Although out of office, as a deacon in his church, he held significant political and commercial power at the local level. His name was the bronze plaque dedicating the mall. My beginning again would ensure his terminal retirement and a fitting place for his demise. So, the instrument of cure for his alleged affliction, as testified to by several practitioners in the pseudosciences, should be appropriate for his death. Let's see he's raped kids, he likes strangulation, handcuffs and torture. He has a knife collection. I'd already thought of that one.
"Hi, Mr. Lance," a sweet soft female voice whisper to me. Tall slim, blond, blue eyed and pixie cute, the young woman placed a cup of coffee in front of me. Angular features, a Swedish goddess so to speak, from a younger generation, she had quiet aggressiveness. "You're looking good."
"Thanks, Trixie," I said and nearly melted in my chair. We were briefly acquainted in the few times I showed up to visit my friend Rosa. And, Lance Spears was a cover name. She was a computer engineer major at the local college. "You're so good to me."
"You're one of my favorite customers," Trixie complemented, smiled, blinked a few times and gave me a once over that lingered at my groin. Her wide smiling adorability accentuated an air of warm sensuality. "Buy any lingerie this morning? Or, just looking?"
"Checking inventory," I said with a smile and risked going further. She was astute enough to pay attention to goings and comings of things around her. "How's classes?"
"Good," she added with a wink. "We're studying anatomy this term." Again, she batted her eyes that sparkled like a dew kissed morning in field of freshly pollenated flowers. In my fantasy, I could almost hear the bees buzzing. She added, "Dancing too, club work has been fun."
"You know, I really need to catch your performance," I muttered returning gaze for gaze, allowing a few seconds for artistic appreciation. "I bet you are amazingly talented."
"Oh, Lance, you betcha, use your imagination," she threw at me more boldly and leaned forward more closely. Resting her hands on the table, she made sure I got a good view of her very tight blouse. A couple of buttons were undone. The view was incredible. "Hope you enjoy your espresso," she playfully taunted and sexily walked back to the coffee bar. "Later."
"Well," I breathed out to myself with a hushed tone. Took in a long inhale and thought it over. "Twice in one morning, geezus, what are the probabilities?" I turned around and glanced at the coffee shop. "No one else around." I considered what might happen next.
Trixie was interesting, but not as older as I would normally prefer. However, life is too short to sweat over a few details as long as a particular legality about age stayed in the safe zone. To pay for college, she was a part-time stripper at a local club and worked part-time at the coffee shop. Well-endowed with ample adjustments, she was tall, slim and trim with long elegant legs. She had a hot, young smoldering anxiousness to experience life as much as possible.
