Perfect For Me 2

Perfect for Me

We rushed into the hotel room and quickly verified Anton was not there. His girlfriend, Crystal Jennings, stood still, trembling a little. She was a short thing, even balancing on high stiletto pumps. Her pink sweatpants clung to every enhanced curve, as did her sweatshirt. Albeit, the zipper lost its battle against her giant bolt-on tits that formed two perfect globes on her chest at a size that would make your average stripper blush. She was blonde, of course, with Botoxed skin and bee-stung lips, but her eyes were something else entirely. Yes, long, fake lashes and too much makeup, but they were genuinely beautiful and took up most of the residence available on her face, seemingly held aloft by round, rosy cheeks that formed adorable dimples when she smiled, and it seemed she always was. She was smiling through terror when I met her.

She stood in a lavish hotel room, bags packed, silent and smiling, awaiting instructions.

"Is he here?" I asked.

"Nope," she answered in her cute, perky voice, a tone reserved by most for talking to infants.

"Secure the baggage," I told the other two officers. Simmons and Darby took her bags.

"Ma'am, please give me your cellphone," I said quietly and calmly.

She did, and I pried it open with a tool to extract the battery and SIM card.

I explained, "These agents and I will escort you down to the lobby. Do not engage anyone in conversation. If your mother suddenly arrives to tell you your father died, ignore her and keep walking. If Jesus Christ himself steps in front of you and begs you to stop, you step around him and stride on out the door with us. No talking, no stopping...we clear?"

She nodded. "My parents are dead."

"What?"

"You said my mom...you know with the dead dad. They both died when I was young. Dad first, then mom. So, you know...no worries there."

I sighed, "Figure of speech, ma'am. The point is--"

She interrupted, reciting, "No talking, and no stopping."

I gave her half a grin. "You got it. Let's go."

We marched into the hall pushed the elevator button and I stood waiting for the doors to open with my hand on my sidearm. If those doors opened and her boyfriend, Angelo Anghelina, was there, he'd surely go for his. If he drew his gun, I'd shoot him dead and save the taxpayers' money. If not, I'd have to arrest him while the others got his bimbo girlfriend out of the building.

I knew a bead of sweat was drooling down my cheek when the elevator dinged. The doors slowly pulled apart to reveal an empty car.

"Go," I commanded, and we wedged in, the other agents, this plastic beauty, and me. The ride was long to the basement and the girl began to tremble.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"What?"

"About your parents," I clarified.

"Oh that," she whispered breathlessly. "That was a long time ago."

She smelled really good.

The car stopped, pausing briefly enough that Agent Darby whispered, "Oh come on, now, you shitbox!"

Finally, the doors slowly drew apart. A black Lincoln Navigator waited, idling by the elevator.

We helped Ms. Jennings into it then ourselves. Darby on the girl's left, me on her right. Simmons got in the front with our driver, Agent Lentz.

"Drive," I said, and off we went. Up a ramp and outside the hotel basement we were suddenly back in the daylight, albeit filtered by skyscrapers. Ms. Jennings put on her round sunglasses, framed in the same Barbie pink she wore from head to toe. As we rounded the corner, we saw Angelo step out of a limousine, fresh off a deal we listened to. Another, larger team of agents was in the lobby, waiting to arrest him for every crime known to man, it seemed, but mostly for drugs and murder, so many murders. He'd done it all: drugs, guns, sex slaves, torture, and whatever else it took to become the most notorious gangster in New York since Lucky Luciano. We had been waiting years for this day, and the attorney general's star witness was in our vehicle. I would be her chief bodyguard.

"Ms. Jennings," I began, "You did great. Thank you. I'm Agent Fellows, this is Darby, Simmons there, and Lentz behind the wheel. We are in charge of your safety for the next few days. We are taking you to a safehouse in New Jersey until the trial. We will remain with you for that duration. You will be provided food, TV, and any needed care until the trial. After you testify, other agents will collect you and process you in witness protection where you will be given a new identity and delivered to a home somewhere random in the country where Angelo's people will never find you. Any questions?"

"No," she said wistfully. "Maybe later."

"That's fine," I replied. "Anytime, just ask me."

She smiled and sighed, then started muttering a poem:

Because I could not stop for Death -

He kindly stopped for me -

The Carriage held but just Ourselves -

And Immortality.

"What?" I asked.

Darby turned to stare at her incredulously. "Emily Dickenson," Darby gasped. "My Aunt Patty read me her work when I was a little girl. My, my...full of surprises, aren't you, Ms. Jennings?"

Jennings smirked. "It settles my mind. Please call me Crystal. All of you."

"Poetry?" I asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "You know any?"

"No," I answered. It bothered me a little that I didn't, yet I had gone into my mid-forties without ever being asked. I certainly didn't expect it from some mobster's kept woman, some bimbette turning state's evidence.

"I'm more of a Frost guy, myself," Lentz said, his eyes in the rearview, hoping to see Crystal smile, or maybe just watching her tits jiggle with every bump. I was. I think we all were, even

Dick-Crazy

Darby, as her nickname described, couldn't believe her eyes. He recited:

Some say the world will end in fire,

Others say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I'll stick with those who favor fire.

But if I had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

She nodded appreciatively but chuckled. "Not bad Agent Lentz, but I think you changed a couple of words there. Still sounded good though."

"You know any Frost?" Lentz asked and she responded with that breathy voice:

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

The car was quiet then. I didn't know poetry, and I sure as hell knew Simmons didn't, but he

did know

a great place for pancakes coming up.

"Are you hungry, Ms. Jennings?" Simmons asked, finally speaking up.

"Starving," she answered. "I was too nervous to eat before. Now I'm dying."

"Lentz," Simmons said, "Get off the next exit on the right--not this, the next.

Mitzy's

right, Fellows?"

"You know it, Sim."

"You fellas are cute," Darby laughed. "When's the big day? Can I bring a plus one?"

Simmons grinned and so did I. Simmons taught me how to be a ball-buster because he loved to see it in other people. I was not a natural by any means, but I learned to tell when my leg was being pulled. I guess Darby was another like him.

"Stuff it, Irish," he smirked. "Fellows and I worked a long case around these parts about ten years back."

"Sixteen," I corrected. "Seventeen, come to think."

"Holy shit, your right. We were rookies doing the shit jobs. Anyway, we ate a lot on the company dime, so we learned where the best diners around were, and Mitzy's is

MWAH

!" He did the chef's kiss. "You'll love it, Ms. Jennings. Amazing pancakes, waffles...what'd I get that time, Fellows?"

"Eggs Benedict."

"Eggs Benedict. That's it. First time I tried it. Fantastic."

"Great coffee too," I added.

"Oh, thank God," Lentz said. "I got a lot more driving after this."

***

Mitzy's did not disappoint. Ms. Jennings had tea, and the rest of us coffee. Being tough federal agents, we all drank it black, but then Lentz said, "Ugh. You guys are nuts." He poured in sugar and stirred it with creamers.

"Well, if he's doing it," Darby announced, taking two creamers out of the bowl.

"Can I try some?" Ms. Jennings asked me. "Just a sip?"

I was momentarily thrown off, but answered, "Sure," handing her the cup. She held it under her nose while a little bell hung down among the many bangles on her wrist.

"Look at that," Darby remarked.

"Gift from Angelo," Crystal said, staring at the totem-like bell. "Just a few days ago."

"It's big," Darby remarked. "That much weight on my wrist would drive me crazy. I put one like this around my cat's neck to save the birds in my garden. I love it because I can always hear her, always find her when she gets stuck or runs off. This one doesn't ring, does it?"

Darby took the bell in her fingers and turned it up to look inside.

"We get it Darby," Lentz joked. "Just put it on your Christmas list and--"

"Crystal," Darby commanded, suddenly in officer mode. "I need you to remove that bracelet right now."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Tracking device inside the bell."

"Oh God," Crystal whispered, yanking off the bracelet.

"Shit. Too late," Simmons snarled.

I spun around to see Burlovski, one of Anghelina's men, and two others walking towards us.

"Get down," Simmons barked, drawing his pistol. Lentz joined him.

I grabbed Crytal and pulled her under the table with me just as shots rang out.

A shotgun sounded and the tabletop above us splintered with the buckshot. Simmons' limbs went limp with a heavy gush of blood that splattered everywhere. That would be the one and only shotgun blast, because Lentz fired a volley of bullets at the men who fired back, but he was a better shot.

Poor Darby gurgled and went motionless as the shots stopped. Patrons were screaming.

Lentz's bloody hand pulled the keys from his pocket and flung them towards me under the table. "Go," his weak voice commanded. "You're clear." I peeked out to find he was right.

"Come on," I told Crystal as we both came out of cover to the bloody fire door that I kicked open, setting off a blaring alarm.

"Stay alive, Lentz," I called to the young agent.

"You too, boss. Finish the mission," he replied as the girl and I exited the diner. Police and fire would be there soon, but I still muttered a prayer for Lentz and Darby. There was no hope for the headless Simmons. I tried not to think about the fate of my old friend.

Turning to the lot where we parked, a gunshot banged and I heard it whizz between Crystal's head and mine. A kid with a silver Desert Eagle in a black sports car was firing at us. There was nowhere to take cover and the whizzing bullets were getting closer, so I fired back. One shot to the head. The kid slumped and bled his brain out over the steering wheel.

"Oh God," Crystal said with a tight grimace. "This is all my fault!"

"Hold it together," I commanded, ducking down under the Navigator to check it for bombs or tracking devices. I swept a handheld sensor underneath it to detect any electronic signals. It said the truck was clean and I prayed I could trust it.

"Get in," I commanded.

"Wait," she exclaimed, tearing every piece of jewelry from her body and throwing it on the pavement.

With both of us inside the truck, I pressed the ignition button. The car came to life with no sign of trouble. We tore out of the lot and back onto the turnpike.

Crystal was white as a ghost but never screamed. She did begin to cry.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"Those poor people. They were so nice, Darby and Lentz and Simmo--"

"That's the job," I barked back. "Lentz may live. Maybe even Darby. And Simmons... well, Joe took pride in this job and was always ready to die for his nation. Cry for the kids that witnessed it all, not for him...not for them."

She fell silent.

Into the car's speaker, I said, "This is Fellows. I have Turtle Dove and am currently en route to Jersey Safehouse 4. Agent Simmons..." I felt a lump in my chest that robbed me of breath for a moment, then took a deep breath and continued. "Simmons is gone, probably Darby too. Lentz was breathing when I left him at Mitzy's Diner in Woodbridge, New Jersey. We need people there."

"On it. Good work securing Turtle Dove. Continue to Safehouse 4 and call in any trouble. Are you both uninjured?"

"Shaken, but uninjured."

"I'm sorry, Fellows. Hell of a thing."

"It's the job," I answered. "Anghelina in custody?"

"Yeah, we got him. I don't have to tell you, this whole thing hinges on Turtle Dove's testimony. Take every precaution."

"You know I will. Later, Watson."

The Navigator returned to silence save for the hum of the road until eventually Crystal broke it.

"

Turtle Dove

, huh?"

I answered. "We use code names."

"Hmm," she smirked while her hands trembled. "I guess I should thank you for not using 'Stool Pidgeon.'"

Her head sank as we drove another hour and a half.

***

A long, dirt road a sedan could never hope to traverse brought us to a small cabin in the woods. The birchwood house with a slate roof was well-kept despite its rustic nature, and although there was not a single wire bringing electricity to the place, there was plumbing, a propane tank, and radiators for heat. I unlocked the door and secured the place. It was surprisingly charming for a government safehouse. To my surprise, it was only three rooms: a bathroom, a bedroom, and the large den I stood in, with a wood-burning stove, sink, and cupboards in one corner near the bathroom.

"One bedroom?" she asked, appearing in the doorway.

I turned to face her, saying, "Your bedroom, Ms. Jennings. I'll take the couch."

"It's Crystal, Agent Fellows" she said. "Please don't make me feel like a stranger out here alone."

I looked at her standing there hugging herself with that plastic playground of a body. It would have been so much easier if that's all she was, but those eyes, her poetry. As a professional, I could put it aside, but she was under my skin.

"I'm Bear," I told her. "Bear Fellows. But if you tell anyone, I'll have to kill you."

"Bear?" she questioned. "Grandma would've called that 'a little too

on-the-nose

' For a big, tall hunk of man like you. Pardon me if I don't believe you, Agent."

"You think that if I made up a name for myself, I'd pick Bear? You know how much I was teased for it growing up? I'd have rather been a Jake or Jack or Rocco, or something cool and manly."

"

Bear

isn't exactly feminine," she replied.

I shrugged. "I suppose. You know how it is, nobody likes what they've got. Everyone wants different."

"Hmm. Think so?"

"Am I wrong?"

"Well, everyone wants something else, but some people get it and never look back," she replied settling into a chair and crossing her legs. "I wanted to be Bambi."

I was perplexed by that. "The deer?"

"The exotic dancer," she answered. "My father had a whole bunch of pictures of some stripper he was a fan of named Bambi. My mom died when I was five, and he was lonely. He worked all the time, so there was no time for any real dating, but every Saturday night he'd be at the Cheetah Lounge paying a stripper named Bambi God-knows-what for a thrill, probably head or something. My older brother found a collection of her lurid Polaroids in Dad's nightstand drawer and showed them to his friends. Hot stuff, you know. Tits out, fully nude, legs spread, not a hair out of place, beckoning the viewer to mount her like a beast. Dad was furious. It was the only time he beat my brother. I snuck in one day to check them out. I admired the power she had over the men in my life. She was like a superhero, her fake tits, teased hair, and heavy makeup was her costume. Her allure was her superpower.

Love Bambi

she wrote with a black marker, drawing a little heart. I decided that day to be Bambi. At eighteen, I moved into a crappy apartment and made a ton of money stripping. I poured it all into looking like this: breast enhancements, ass implants, Botoxed lips, skin treatments, cheekbone implants, brow lifts, nose job... By twenty, I was as much plastic as woman, and it paid dividends in tips. I was a professional bimbo."

"Hey," I interjected. "Don't be ashamed of how you want to look."

"I'm not," she replied enthusiastically. "Bimbo isn't a bad word. The bimbo lifestyle's a real thing. It's my thing. I embrace this. I like it. It turns me on."

"I get it, I guess," I shrugged. "It hooked wealthy, bullyish men, right?"

"Does it turn you on, Bear?"

I felt flushed. My dick got hard and I tried to hide it with my jacket.

"Don't get the wrong idea, Crystal," I warned. "Darby was supposed to be here with us. This isn't a date. Three agents could be dead right now. A car full of Russian gangsters could drive up this road any second to burn this place down with us in it. My job is to protect you, not...date you."

"I'm sorry," Crystal said sheepishly. "I'm just...I don't know. I was just trying to connect the only way I know how."

"No, I'm sorry," I sighed. "I'm edgy."

"Me too," she said. "That's why I... Oh, never mind."

I felt like a total asshole. Simmons would have chewed me out over passing that up, mission or not. He always told me I was the better agent, but it was usually as an insult in moments like this.

I called in our status, then brought in her luggage. She unpacked in her bedroom.

I hung up my uniform and put on a navy blue t-shirt and gray sweatpants I brought. There was a huge glass water bottle mounted upside-down on a cast iron stand with a silver tap that provided fresh water and I took a cup. Next to it stood an old-fashioned ice box containing a thick sirloin steak, a gutted hen, some sausages, and hot dogs. In the cupboards were boxes of pasta and cans of beans, cheap tomato sauce, and soggy vegetables. There was a box of Sam Adams there too. I winced at the sight of it. It was Darby's favorite. She must have arranged it. I put some bottles in the ice box. We were all set.

I turned to see Crystal. She wore a tight, white sweater that hugged her massive, perfectly round breasts, and black leggings stretched to their limit over her double bubble and thighs. She had pink heels that matched her thick, bubblegum lips. Her hair was tied in a messy bun that made me realize she considered this dressing down.

Goddamn, she looked good.

"Are there board games?" she asked, looking over the boxes of food in the cupboards.

"Usually," I answered. "There's at least one deck of cards somewhere. Chess, maybe Monopoly or something."

"You play chess?" she asked.

"No, not in years."

"I see," she replied. "Never mind that then."

"I can try," I offered.

She smiled. "I'm rated over 2600. 2580 Rapid. You wouldn't give me much of a fight."

I grinned. "Is that good?"

She giggled. "It's world-class championship level. How about Monopoly?

Ugh

, look at this shit."

She was examining the canned veggies and tomato sauce. "There's got to be a farmstand around here. Can we go, or is that against the rules?"

"We have to make do with what we've got. The first rule of not being seen is to not come out of hiding."

"We're out in the country, Bear. We drove hours. Even Angelo doesn't have anyone out here. I think we could hit up a farmer for some fresh string beans and carrots, maybe some corn...oh, and potatoes...maybe some peppers. Get a real dinner going."

She wasn't wrong. I heard Simmons in my head telling me to lighten up.

"Maybe tomorrow," I replied. "We should lay low today."

She sighed and walked around the den, strutting in her impractical heels. She opened a chest by the couch and sighed again, slightly louder. "No board games, unless they're hiding somewhere else." She was bent over at the waist, letting the massive mounds of her ass pull my eyes like magnets.