The big house that some referred to as the ‘pussy palace’ but the girls who lived there simply referred to as ‘home’ was a huge seven bedroom, five bathroom ranch house on the outskirts of Balwyn.

The house was set back from the road on a large property with manicured lawns a swimming pool and a number of detached buildings, one of which was set up as a recreation room with a full-size pool table, pinball machines, gaming consoles, a home theatre, wet bar and popcorn maker. Another was set up as a gym and another held gardening equipment.

When Jennifer Jones had taken over as Pakhan she had ordered similar changes be made to all of the dwellings where the trafficked girls were housed. Those girls who had been in-country long enough and could be trusted were allowed some liberty. Those girls who couldn’t be trusted or misbehaved were transferred to more austere accommodation and their employment was not quite as pleasant.

Jennifer Jones and Katya Kuznetsova had come up with the idea. The concept was to keep the trafficked girls as comfortable as possible and engender some trust. The girls were encouraged to contact friends back in their home towns and encourage them to seek out similar employment opportunities with agencies run by Katya Kuznetsova for Jennifer’s criminal organisation.

Jennifer was of a mind of using honey to attract bees rather than vinegar. The same applied to her other dealings in the complicated world of organised crime: it was better to offer silver rather than lead. But if lead was called for she had no hesitation about dishing it out.

Steve Edwards and Silvia Bickle had left Supergirls after interviewing Robert Sangster and drove out to the pussy palace after Steve found records relating to the domicile amongst the paperwork in Sandy Spiffle’s office.

Unknown to them Freya Krause, the house mistress, had been briefed by Pavel Ivanoff to cooperate with the police as far as identifying the girls who had been involved in the robbery but to say nothing else about the operation of Supergirls. Jennifer had advised Pavel that she wanted the Balwyn Police on the trail of the people who took her money because as soon as they found something useful it would be passed onto her through sources he didn’t need to know about.

Freya Krause was sweeping the patio around the small pool at the pussy palace when Steve Edwards and Silvia Bickle pulled up into the driveway. Freya could smell a cop a mile away. She plastered a false smile on her face and went to greet them at the pool gate.

“Hello officers, may I help you?” Freya held open the pool gate to let Steve and Silvia onto the property.

Freya spoke with a Germanic accent. She was in her late forties, tall and elegant with blonde hair with some grey through it. It hung to her shoulder and was immaculately coiffed; her makeup was perfect and she wore a tailored black long-sleeve dress, sheer flesh-toned nylons and black heels.

She might be the house mistress but it was obvious that she seldom did domestic work; the broom was a prop.

Steve and Silvia showed Freya their credentials and she led them into recreation room and offered them soft drinks. They sat at a card table drinking Diet Cokes. While Freya was busy putting ice in glasses and pouring the beverages Steve leaned into Silvia and spoke.

“If you’re ever thinking of taking early retirement you might wanna think about working at Supergirls; looks like these girls got it pretty good,” Steve surveyed the house and property.

“Yeah. Smuggled across the border in a shipping container or raped by coyotes, then spend two years working as a sex slave sending most of the pittance you earn back home. The swimming pool and recreation room really make up for all that,” Silvia said bitterly.

Steve knew when to shut up. He lived his life surrounded by women and drag queens all of whom had biting senses of humour and sarcasm with which he couldn’t compete, although he liked to try.

“You live here all alone?” Silvia asked when Freya returned with the drinks.

She looked around pointedly at the pool table, pinball machines, gaming consoles and home theatre.

“Oh no. The hostel is usually busy but right now all of my girls have found employment elsewhere and moved on,” Freya aimed her smile at Steve.

She played with the nap of her skirt so that hem rode up over her knee.

“Hostel? Is that what this place is?” Silvia asked pleasantly enough.

“Girls come in sponsored by an employment agency; mainly looking for domestic work. The agency owns the house; I’m just the house mistress,” Freya smiled sweetly.

“I just accommodate the girls and look after their welfare while they’re here,” she added.

“But they all work at Supergirls, a strip club in town,” Steve interjected.

“I’m not sure where they all work. A commuter bus picks them up for work and drops them off after,” Freya’s smile faltered a little.

“Picks them up just before lunch and drops them off in the early hours of the morning,” Steve said; it wasn't a question.

“They work funny hours,” Freya’s smile returned.

“Ok. Enough bullshit. We’re coming back with a warrant to search this place,” Silvia had had enough.

“Oh. I’m happy to cooperate. You can search the place and I’ll answer your questions without a warrant,” Freya showed no fear.

“Do you know either of these two women?” Steve held up the pictures of Olena and Alina.

“Oh yes. Olena Svetlana and Alina Kunis,” Freya tapped the photographs with a manicured fingernail painted blood red.

“Alina was living here until this morning when the girls all packed up and moved out. Olena lives in town; she has her own flat but she lived here for two years before that,” Freya rummaged in her handbag for cigarettes.

“Working off her contract,” Silvia said sourly.

“I know nothing of the girls employment contracts,” Freya shook the pack at Steve and Silvia and they both declined.

“I know… you're just the house mistress,” Silvia said sarcastically.

“Exactly,” Freya smiled at them through a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“Can we see Alina’s room?” Steve asked.

“Sure. It’s empty now of course. Oh! There is one thing that might help you. Olena Svetlana comes out here to visit some of the girls now and then. She sometimes rides pillion on the back of a motorcycle. The man she rides with has one of those sleeveless denim jackets with all the patches that you see on the TV shows… Sons of Anarchy was it? I liked that show; all those muscled bad-ass young men in denim and leather,” Freya winked at Silvia and smiled.

Steve and Silvia took a perfunctory look around Alina’s old room. It was bare. Freya Krause had packed up all of Alina’s belongings into a suitcase and had thrown it on the bus that had taken away the rest of the girls telling them to help themselves.

“Keep the door locked. We’ll send a crime scene crew round to process Alina’s room,” Silvia growled.

“As you wish. I’ll keep the room locked. I have a new batch of girls arriving soon but I’ll keep them out of there,” Freya gave Steve and Silvia a ‘fuck you’ look before she turned on her heels and walked away.

“Cunt,” Steve hissed under his breath.

“You’d fuck her,” Silvia smiled at him.

“So would you. She’s just your type,” Steve bantered.

“I probably would if she wasn't a psycho wrapped in stockings and a dress, to misquote an eighties rock band.

Steve and Silvia rendezvoused with the rest of the team in the Task Force office and updated Penelope who put the new information on her crime wall.

“So to summarize our hypothesis: Olena Svetlana and Alina Kunis are inside Supergirls providing entertainment for our two heavily tattooed, as yet unidentified, males. They are inside a room with no cameras and a reinforced steel door with heavy duty locks. Sandy Spiffle is taking delivery of suitcases full of either drugs or money and taking them to the room,” Penelope pointed at her wall as she spoke.

“Sandy had twenty thousand dollars cash on his person, which is quite a lot and we assume was given to him by the tattooed men, most likely for the use of his establishment and the girls.”

Silvia interrupted.

“But it wasn't his establishment. He was just the manager. We still don’t know who owns the place,” Silvia said.

“I’m doing my best to forensically analyse the financials. I’ll find out the parent company soon enough,” Alice Leasingham piped in.

Penelope continued.

“Olena Svetlana unlocks the internal locking bolts on the doors and our two intruders use a device to defeat the front door locks and a firefight ensues when they go upstairs. The two suits and Sandy Spiffle are killed and the two intruders and the two women leave with five suitcases.”

“We believe the suitcases were filled with money rather than drugs based on the scene of crime evidence.”

“We know the second accomplice is Alina Kunis, an illegal who also works at Supergirls and lived at the, ahem, ‘pussy palace’. We also know that the other girl Olena Svetlana was hanging around with a biker or wannabe biker.”

“We are assuming that the intel given to the two intruders came from either Sandy Spiffle or the girls, most likely Olena Svetlana so Steve was either collateral damage or he was taken out to silence him. The two intruders have some knowledge but they are amateurs who have access to specialised weapons.”

“Does anybody else smell a hit on an organised crime counting house?” Penelope asked the others who all nodded.

“The tattooed guys, the Slavic girls; this has Russian mob written all over it,” Penelope espoused.

She did not see Alice Leasingham turn away and blush with guilt.

“So where to next?” Penelope put down her laser pointer.

“The biker connection. We check out The Beast of Burden. They’d be stupid enough to pull something like this,” Steve offered.

“Also we matched all the blood at the crime scene to the victims except for one small patch. It might have come from one of the perps. I sent a DNA sample for analysis in the federal databases,” Alice chimed in.

“Ok tomorrow we get a warrant and a SWAT team and visit our biker friends at their clubhouse and Alice you keep working the forensics. I want to know who owns that club and who that blood sample belongs to,” Penelope looked exhausted as did the rest of the team.

“We got the Staties manning traffic stops on the main roads looking for a Ford F150 Raptor but they're a dime a dozen around here. I think that’s all we can do for now,” Penelope started throwing her belongings into her handbag.

They called it a night.

*****

Jaylene Foster was not yet thirty and Penelope Bishop was fifteen years her senior but the two women loved each other despite their differences. Penelope was a hard-nosed cop, recovering alcoholic, twice married, cynical and irritable.

Jaylene had been abandoned by her family when she came out as transgender and was an ex-prostitute who had walked the streets because it was the only way to pay her tuition at Balwyn College where she had studied fashion design. Penelope had rescued her from the streets and Steve Edwards had found her a job designing costumes for the drag queens at Ride ‘em Cowgirl.

Jaylene had only needed a little help to get on her feet and her career had blossomed. Jaylene knew that Penelope felt guilty because she thought that Jaylene only stayed with her with out of a sense of debt and gratitude. Jaylene went out of her way to make sure that Penelope realised that wasn’t the case. Jaylene acted independently and was her own woman and sometimes she was a little hard on Penelope but for her own good.

They lay snuggled in bed, both wearing satin babydoll pyjamas and sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose because it kept them warm but mainly because they both loved the feel of satin, lace, nylon and lycra on their flesh.

“Have you heard of a place called the pussy palace?” Penelope asked.

“No. Is it a strip club or a titty bar?” Jaylene looked puzzled.

“No. It’s the nickname for a house where some of the girls from Supergirls live,” Penelope explained.

“Oh,” Penelope could hear the hesitation in Jaylene’s voice.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t implying anything,” Penelope reached out and tentatively stroked Jaylene’s shoulder, afraid to be too intimate.

Jaylene rolled onto her side and pulled Penelope towards her so that they were facing each other.

“I’m not ashamed of my past Penny… but I’m not proud of it either. I did what I did to survive and because of you I was saved from a crazed killer and I have the job I always wanted,” Jaylene whispered.

“I sometimes think I took you prisoner. That you only stay with me out of guilt and gratitude,” Penelope whispered in return.

“That’s just your insecurities Penny. You carry so much baggage, so much remorse, so much pride. You project your hard, infallible, unbreachable façade to the world. You keep your feelings to yourself because inside that defensive wall you are vulnerable,” Jaylene stroked Penelope’s cheek.

“And that’s where the true Penny lies. The Penelope I fell in love with. The Penelope who I know will protect me, will cherish me, will forgive me my transgressions… the Penny I love so deeply that it hurts sometimes,” tears were running down Jaylene’s cheeks and Penelope choked down a sob.

Penelope pulled Jaylene into her arms and kissed her softly.

“I love you so much that I’m scared I’m going to lose you,” Penelope sighed.

“Never, my love. I am the burden you have to carry forever,” Jaylene smiled through her tears.

“You are no burden. You are the reason I live,” Penelope returned the smile.

Jaylene pulled Penelope closer and their breasts pressed together through layers of satin and their hard cocks ground together through their panties and pantyhose. They both growled with lust as they pressed their lips together and kissed, entwining their tongues.

The two trans-women rubbed their cocks together and kissed passionately, they freed their breasts and felt their nipples engorge as they stroked and kneaded each other’s teats. Rings of pleasure radiated from their bosoms and their cocks released waves or delight; their turgid members throbbing and engorged.

Jaylene pulled down their panties so that just two layers of silky, transparent nylon pantyhose enclosed their tender flesh. They rutted against each other, kissing, pressing their breasts together, rubbing cocks.

Penelope rolled Jaylene onto her back and Jaylene opened her legs and wrapped them around Penelope and pulled her close. They ground against each other, their breathing becoming ragged as they humped and slithered together, the silky pantyhose eliciting sparks of delight as their cocks began to leak pre-ejaculate.

Penelope put a hand down between them, her intention obvious. She was going to rip open Jaylene’s pantyhose and fuck her.

“No… just do this. It’s wonderful, it’s amazing, it’s intimate,” Jaylene gasped and slapped away Penelope’s hand.

Penelope drove her tongue into Jaylene mouth and thrust against her, driving her into the soft mattress as their cocks scooched together and their breasts clamped closely, nipples hard and sensitive, releasing rings of delicate delight; cocks more tender, the pleasure of them pressing together through their pantyhose almost agonising.

Jaylene began to shake and shudder violently and anyone who didn’t know her intimately might think she was stroking but she was climaxing. She clung to Penelope and her gossamer-encased legs scissored against Penelope’s satin-shrouded body. Their bodies lit up with pleasure as their satin and nylon sheathed torsos and limbs caressed each other, their cocks slithering against each other as Jaylene began to leak semen into her pantyhose.

Penelope held Jaylene down on the bed and rode her as she bucked and wriggled. She felt the warm, sticky efflux soak into her nylons as Jaylene’s semen seeped from her cock, soaked through their pantyhose and saturated Penelope’s cock. This triggered Penelope’s orgasm and her cock juddered and she spent her issue into her own hosiery.

Both women’s cocks were encased in sheer nylon, saturated with hot, slippery semen as they both continued to ejaculate. Their orgasms were a prolonged slow ride rather than violent and momentary. They clung to each other; Jaylene still convulsing and Penelope riding her, kissing her, caressing her.

Finally Jaylene stopped wriggling and lay still on the bed with Penelope on top of her. The last dregs of their issue dribbled from their cocks to mingle with the spreading, steamy, musky mess in the front of their pantyhose. Neither woman cared. They’d made worse messes in their sheets and still slept in them.

Jaylene put her arms around Penelope’s neck and smiled up at her. Even with her smudged lipstick and ruined makeup she was beautiful.

“Did I tell you that I love you Penny,” Jaylene sounded very girly and Penelope’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yes you did honey and I love you too; with all my heart,” Penelope leaned down and kissed the tip of Jaylene’s nose.

“Those girls at Supergirls. I never knew them. We moved in different circles. I worked the streets, which were often cold and dangerous, and they worked in a warm safe club with bouncers and security. They had nice rooms and they had customers who couldn’t stiff them. I’d sometimes see them arrive in their pussy-wagon; Sandy Spiffle herding them through the doors like prized cattle,” Jaylene sighed.

“Yet I still felt I had the better deal. I had my freedom,” Jaylene said with some conviction.

“And that’s all want to say about that,” Jaylene said with some finality.

“I understand,” Penelope put her weight on her forearms ready to climb off Jaylene.

Jaylene clamped her legs around Penelope preventing her.

“Where do you think you’re going? That Cialis is going to kick in again real soon and I haven’t finished with you,” she grinned up at Penelope salaciously.

“Why you hussy Jaylene Foster!” Penelope giggled.

“Shut up and fuck me grandma,” Jaylene pinched Penelope on the ass.

“Grandma is it? We’ll see who’s a grandma,” Penelope’s cock was beginning to engorge and she kicked open Jaylene’s legs.

“Don’t forget the lube. It’s on the dresser,” Jaylene chuckled.

“I’m not sure you’re getting any lube you cheeky bitch. I might just ride you dry,” Penelope grinned down at her lover.

Jaylene broke up with laughter but that didn’t stop Penelope from fucking her.

*****

There were ten girls staying at the pussy palace when the counting room at Supergirls got hit and as soon as Pavel Ivanoff found out he had two of his lieutenants pick up the girls in a twelve-seater minibus to take them elsewhere. The Madame-cum-housekeeper who chaperoned the girls, Freya Krause, said one of the girls was missing: Alina Kunis.

Freya told Pavel that Alina Kunis had been given overnight duty by Sandy Spiffle. It was not unusual for some of the girls to service clients in their hotel rooms and Freya had thought nothing of it. Freya knew nothing about the counting house.

This information was provided to Jennifer Jones by Pavel Ivanoff during the short limousine ride to the Balwyn Hilton after her private jet arrived at Balwyn airport. Pavel was sitting across from Jennifer and was distracted by her short skirt which showed off a lot of leg and the occasional glimpse of panty. Pavel had never met Jennifer Jones before but he knew that she was a cold-blooded killer and knew not to underestimate her. She was the Pakhan and she had taken that office by force from a man who was known to be ruthless and lacking any form of empathy or morality.

“We will go directly to the hotel. I need to shower and change; it’s been a long day. How is the police investigation proceeding?” Jennifer looked up from her iPad.

“They are still processing the crime scene at Supergirls. A Mister Sangster who worked for our manager gave up the location of the girls’ accommodation,” Pavel said, knowing that using the term pussy palace would likely earn him a rebuke.

“Sangster is a fool who knows nothing of our operation. I considered having him disappear but I think it is better to leave an idiot who can offer the police nothing in charge for now,” Pavel continued.

“Good call. Have the police been to the pussy palace yet?” Jennifer raised an eyebrow.

She was letting Pavel know that she knew the colloquialism that the men used for the girls barracks and that she very likely knew more than they thought she did.

“They interviewed Freya Krause. She’s the house mistress. She knows nothing about our businesses except for the sex trade,” Pavel replied.

Jennifer just grunted. Another change she and Katya made was to replace all of the men guarding the girls in their accommodations with women. Putting men in those positions was like putting bears in charge of the bee hives… they just can't stop stealing the honey. The precaution was made not so much to keep the girls happy. Jennifer didn’t care who fucked the girls, that's why they had been trafficked. It was more to do with the girls’ welfare. They needed rest when they weren’t working, just like any other employee.

“I have hired two vehicles as you requested. They are parked at the hotel,” Pavel said as the limousine turned into the Balwyn’s business district where the hotel was situated.

“Good. Give me an hour, then come to my room and you can brief me on the rest of what you know,” Jennifer put down her iPad and purposely crossed her legs, adjusting her skirt.

Jennifer had given Pavel the leg show and panty-peek to unnerve him and to see how he reacted. She had been thinking of killing him because he was the Bratok in charge of the counting house so it was his fault that it had been hit but he seemed competent enough. She’d see how things panned out and decide later.

Jennifer checked in, took a long shower and did her hair and makeup. She put on sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose a satin and lace bra and a knee-length white satin robe. After pouring a drink she made call on a secure line.

“Hello Katya darling, how are you?” Jennifer settled onto the chaise lounge, curling her legs under her.

“Hello Jennifer, how is Balwyn?” Katya Kuznetsova replied.

“I haven’t seen much of it yet but I doubt it has changed. Have you spoken to your friend in the police department?” Jennifer cut to the chase.

Katya had different priorities.

“How is Katerina?” Katya asked.

“She’s just peachy; but you already know that, you see her often enough,” a smile crossed Jennifer’s lips.

“Don’t be obtuse Jennifer; you know what I mean?” Katya’s tone changed, becoming chiller.

Katya and Jennifer had an entangled relationship. Katya had introduced Jennifer to the world in which she now dwelled and at one time had been her lover. Jennifer had later saved Katya from a life of misery and promoted her to a position of wealth and power; but in return Jennifer had used Katya’s daughter to bait a trap and then taken on Katerina as her Girl Friday.

“Katerina is working out wonderfully. She’s learning every day. She’s running things while I’m away cleaning up this mess in Balwyn,” Jennifer took a sip of her gin and tonic.

“I never wanted this life for my daughter. I kept her away from it for most of her life,” Katya sounded a little choked.

“I never wanted this life either Katya. But this life finds you; you don’t find it. Of course you had a lot to do with me finding this life,” Jennifer countered.

“You know that Uri and I were only doing what Donald Chase demanded,” Katya said coldly.

“Donald Chase. Now there is a name I haven’t heard in a long time. Which reminds me, my girl in France finally caught up with Mike Cole in Switzerland. You might be pleased to know that she said he cried like a baby and begged for his life before she dispatched him,” Jennifer said just as coldly.

“Don’t worry about Katerina. She’s doing very well for herself and I love her as much as I love you Katya,” Jennifer’s tone softened.

“You know they call you the skorpion suka,” Jennifer could sense Katya’s smirk even though she couldn’t see it.

“My Russian is improving. I know what that means and I quite like it,” Jennifer laughed into the phone.

“Ok. Penelope Bishop’s task force haven’t yet identified the two men who took out your counting house. They know who the girls are of course: Olena Svetlana and Alina Kunis. Forensic techs have identified the weapons used. Your men’s guns are untraceable as expected. Sandy Spiffle, the manager, was carrying a Glock he purchased legally at a gun show. The two intruders were carrying weapons fitted with suppressors. The guns were part of a shipment stolen by a biker gang in California,” Katya passed on what she knew about the weapons.

“The blood at the scene has been matched to the three deceased men but the CSI’s also found a patch from another person. They believe one of the intruders may have been wounded during the firefight. They are in the process of matching it and putting the blood type and DNA through the system,” Katya concluded her summary.

“Good work. How is Alice Leasingham by the way? You two still fucking?” Jennifer said a little snarkily.

“Alice is sweet. You know she is. I let her spend her vacations here and I treat her well. I’m fond of her and she has her uses,” Katya replied.

“I’ll say hello to her for you if I run into her,” Jennifer teased.

Katya knew Jennifer was joking. Katya and Alice’s love affair was a closely kept secret, encouraged by Jennifer because she liked to have eyes and ears in as many places as possible.

The door chime sounded and Jennifer checked her watch.

“I have to go Katya. I love you darling,” Jennifer said; the sentiment real.

“And I love you too Jennifer. Look after my daughter,” Katya replied and broke the connection.

Pavel Ivanoff had changed into a dark suit and looked quite fit and handsome. Jennifer never fucked the help except for Katerina but if she had an itch that needed scratching she might let Pavel scratch it.

Pavel was surprised to find Jennifer dressed only in nylons and a robe but appreciative of the view. He’d never been tempted by a transgender woman but Jennifer could possibly change his mind.

The thought was fleeting and ludicrous. Jennifer Jones was his Pakhan and a cold-hearted killer. Pavel knew the fable of the scorpion and the frog and Pavel had no intention of becoming the frog.

Jennifer offered Pavel a drink and curled up on the lounge again, Pavel sitting across from her in an easy chair. He handed Jennifer the keys to her hire car and Jennifer shared with him what Katya had told her.

“The thing about the suppressed weapons being stolen by bikers in California is interesting. The bikers would likely only sell the weapons to other bikers because the weapons were too hot to sell on the streets. Freya Krause said she had seen Olena Svetlana in the company of a man wearing a biker jacket,” Pavel rolled his glass in his hands, clinking the ice.

“They call them colours or something. On the back… She said it looked like a wolf,” Pavel frowned.

“How novel,” Jennifer uncurled her legs and stood.

Pavel couldn’t help looking at her legs; they were very long for a woman of such a small stature.

“I think we are a little ahead of Balwyn Police Department and tomorrow will be busy. Do we have Supergirls back yet?” Jennifer asked, leading Pavel to the door.

“The place is still a crime scene but we expect it to be handed back late tomorrow. I have let that idiot Robert Sangster think he will be the new manager and I have some new girls coming. Freya has the house ready for them and we still have a few girls working for us freelance,” Pavel said as they arrived at the door.

“We need to get someone local to manage the place; not some bald-headed muscleman with tattoos and a Russian accent. No offence of course but you stick out like dogs balls around here,” Jennifer said and Pavel blushed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll call you after breakfast,” Jennifer ushered Pavel out the door.

Jennifer took dinner in her room and worked until the early hours of the morning. She checked in with Katerina and a few of her Bratoks around the country to make sure that business was being taken care of the way she wanted it to be. She stripped down to a pair of lycra shorts and did some floor exercises and took a nap, setting the alarm for 2am when she woke, showered and fixed her makeup.

She went to her bedroom and slipped a pair of Lorna Jane black spandex leggings over sheer pantyhose and put on the matching long-sleeve sports top. She stepped into her black Nikes and laced them and took a hooded fleece-lined coat from the closet.

Jennifer took the magazine from her Walther PPS M2 9mm and inspected it and then slammed it back into receiver, jacked a shell into the chamber and checked the safety before putting it in her fanny-pack. She pulled a black ballcap down low on her brow and left the room. She took the elevator to the fourth floor and then the stairs to the underground car park where she pressed the button on the car keys Pavel had given her and looked around to see the indicators flashing on a black BMW X5.

Jennifer wanted to see the scene of the crime herself. There was something about actually being in the place where a crime had been committed: the bullet holes in the wall, the bloodstains, the smell, the ambience, illuminated her tactile senses.

The free zone was popping. All the strip clubs were open with hawkers beckoning the punters to come inside, the greasy-spoons were busy selling heart-stopping fat-filled, calorific, salty treats, the music from the nightclubs was raucous, hookers and dealers prowled the streets.

Supergirls was conspicuous for being the only dark building in a sea of light. Jennifer parked in a slot beside the Adult Store across the road from Supergirls and got out of the car. She adjusted her fanny-pack so it sat just above her ass, pulled down the brim of her ballcap and pulled the hood up and over her head. She locked the car and walked quickly across the street.

*****

Harlan Decker had given considerable thought about what he and Pete were going to do with the money once they had it. They knew that the money was untraceable and was bundled by denomination so there was no need to launder it but it’s not like they could just walk into Wells Fargo Bank and ask to deposit twelve million dollars in cash.

Harlan had rented a small farmhouse on the outskirts of Balwyn where they could hole up for a while and wait for the heat to cool down. He had relocated his bike there and put in some meagre provisions and essentials to last a day or two. The plan was to head down to Mexico and kick back. He wasn’t worried about the cops as much as he was the Russian mob. He had heard what they did to people who stole their money or fucked with them in any way.

Whilst his brother Pete was excited about the money, he was also excited that Alina Kunis was virtually his prisoner. She had been at the scene of the crime and would be a suspect in the murders but more importantly he’d seen how she’d looked at the money. She wanted some of that cash and she knew that the only way to get some was to continue to hang with Harlan, Pete and Olena. She also knew that Harlan and Olena were ambivalent about her. She was a liability as far as they were concerned.

Pete knew that Alina knew that Pete was her only ally.

Harlan handed out tasks to his three accomplices. Olena was directed to park the Raptor in the workshop at the back of the farm alongside Harlan’s ride, Harlan was going to monitor police channels, the TV news and online news services to see what the cops were up to and Pete and Alina were to take the suitcases and the canvass carryall with the weapons cache upstairs and put them in the attic. They would figure out a better hiding place later if need be.

Pete continually pestered Alina while they did their chores, putting his hand up her skirt when she went ahead of him on the stairs, pressing against her at every opportunity and generally pawing at her. Alina finally gave up. She needed to be left alone so she could think.

When they climbed out of the attic after putting the last suitcase up there Alina pulled Pete into one of the bedrooms. She pulled Pete onto the bed and he pounced on her, kissing her sloppily and pawing at her clothes. He smelled of blood, beer, gunsmoke and sweat but she gritted her teeth and did what she needed to do.

“No time to play nice; the others are waiting for us. Do me quickly,” Alina slid from under Pete, her tube-top stained by the drying blood from his ripped t-shirt.

Alina helped Pete unbuckle his belt and yanked his jeans down to his hips. He winced at the effort but his cock was hard and ready, a filament of clear precum leaking from the glans.

“Ok, let’s do this,” Alina scooted around on the bed on her hands and knees and raised her ass.

Pete pulled down her pink nylon panties and cheap pantyhose and bunched them around her thighs. Her pudenda was shaved and the lips of her labia were swollen and protruded from her vulva. Both Russians had given her a good pounding in the counting room.

Pete was lightheaded from his wound, emotionally drained from the firefight in the counting house and sexually aroused. A combination of temperaments that disposed him with the need to vent his emotions and seeing Alina on her knees offering him her ass was the remedy he needed.

Alina felt the mattress shift when Pete scooched in behind her, pushing her legs open a little wider. He nestled his glans in Alina’s puffy vaginal lips and thrust.

Alina gasped as Pete’s organ filled her vagina. She was glad that her cunt was filled with Russian cum because Pete’s cock distended her bruised pussy. Surprisingly she felt a little tingle of pleasure through the pain and when Pete picked up her ankles and held them like the handles of a wheelbarrow and began to vigorously fuck her she pushed back to meet his thrusts. Pleasure radiated from her bruised pussy and she wriggled a little to change her position so that Pete’s pubis pressed on her clitoris.

They fucked in silent bliss, the room filled with thwok, thwok, thwok sounds as Pete’s groin slammed against Alena’s buttocks as he slammed his cock in and out of her cunt, Alina’s grunts as Pete’s phallus drove deep inside her, and Pete’s gasps every time Alina’s cunt gripped his cock when he shoved it inside her.

Pete dropped Alina’s ankles and grabbed her skinny hips, dug in his fingers and pulled her ass back against him and drove his cock inside her as far as it would go and ejaculated. Alina thought that Pete was going to split her open and she could actually feel his member as it pulsated, spurting his semen deep inside her. His pubis pressed on her clitoris and an orgasm blossomed from her tender bud and spread outward; the ripples of pleasure meeting up with the waves of delight radiating from her swollen vagina.

The orgasm surprised Alina; she seldom came with clients but there was something about Pete’s awkward, fumbling fuckery that turned her on. She pressed back against him and wriggled her ass, draining him of his seed until Pete collapsed on top of her.

She let him lie on top of her until his cock slid out of her vagina and she felt runnels of semen cascade from her battered pussy.

“Ok. Was good for me too now get off,” Alina squirmed out from under Pete and knelt on the bed and used the corner of the sheet to wipe her vulva, then pulled up her pantyhose and panties and lowered and smoothed out her skirt.

Pete hiked up his jeans, zipped and buckled his belt. He felt a little self-conscious now that the deed was done.

“Did I do ok?” he asked sheepishly.

Pete was usually drunk when he had sex and he no idea whether his performance was pleasurable to the recipient of his carnal needs.

“You did good. You make me come,” Alina patted his cheek and kissed the other quickly.

They had just climbed off the bed when Olena Svetlana poked her head around the door.

“It smells like a breeding stall in here,” Olena said caustically.

“Harlan wants you to fix us something to eat Alina, and Pete, he wants you cleaned up so he can get a better look at your wound,” Olena fixed them both with meaningful stares: Harlan was the boss and she was his girl so best do as she says.

“Ok. I use toilet first then cook food,” Alina lowered her head and made her way to the door.

“None of that shit from home either. There’s steaks in the fridge, salads in the crisper and tatties under the stovetop,” Olena called after her.

Olena prided herself on being Americanised even though she had only been in the country a little over three years.

Alina stopped briefly to pee and wash her privates in the toilet and then went downstairs to cook.

“Don’t get too sweet on her Pete. She’s here by accident and that money will buy you all the pussy you want,” Olena talked to Pete like a schoolmarm to a taciturn child.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Pete said morosely.

“I’ll get you some clean duds from the stuff we packed in the car,” Olena said brightly.

She didn’t really like Pete. She knew that Pete wanted to fuck her and that Harlan wouldn’t let him but now that Pete had Alina she might lose her control over him. She needed to keep the brothers on her side until they split the money.

“I’d come in and scrub your back but Harlan wouldn’t like that,” Olena let her hand linger on Pete’s shoulder longer than she should.

They all showered before eating and changed clothes. Harlan, Pete and Olena had packed only one change of clothes because they didn’t intend to spend long at the farmhouse. Alina had to make do with the clothes she had on but Olena gave her a new package of pantyhose and a clean pair of panties.

They ate steaks, potatoes and salads; all ravenous after their exploits. Harlan and Pete drank beer and the girls drank from a bottle of vodka which Olena had thrown in one of the suitcases at Supergirls before they left.

“The cops are all over the place. They’ve set up roadblocks on all the roads out of town. They were a lot quicker than I thought they would be,” Harlan explained as he chewed a hunk of steak.

“We’re north of Balwyn but I figure everybody is going to think we’d head south to the Mexican border. There’s no reason for anyone to be looking for us up here. We wait until the roadblocks come down and then we hightail it south,” Harlan sucked on his beer.

“What about the money? What about passports for Olena and Alina?” Pete asked.

“Alena doesn’t need a passport she won’t be coming. She has no Green Card or legitimate visa,” Olena jumped into the conversation.

“She goes where I go! Don’t you go thinkin’ you’re running this show Olena. Harlan and I are in charge; right Harlan?” Pete glared at his bother.

“No one is going to be left behind. We stay together until we are safe and divide up the cash,” Harlan looked sheepishly at Olena.

“Why is she getting a cut? She did nothing except fuck a couple of Russians,” Olena hissed.

“Ok. This was my job. I’ll decide who gets what. There’s plenty to go around,” Harlan banged the table with the handle of his knife.

“The police are looking for two young Slavic women. They have your names and a description and soon they’ll have pictures out for everyone to see,” Harlan pointed his knife at the two women.

“They haven’t identified me and Pete yet otherwise it would be all over the news. We wore masks and gloves so they can’t recognise us. Tomorrow Olena and I will go into Menard and get some more clothes and supplies. I figure worst case scenario we’ll be holed up here for a week,” Harlan said.

“I’ve still my connections through the MC with the border guards on both sides of the border at Del Rio. If I pay them enough we can get across the border when the heat dies down. While we’re in Menard we’ll buy some burner phones. I only want to do this once. One shopping trip then we don’t leave the farm until we’re ready to leave for good,” Harlan got up from his chair and went to the fridge.

“And of course we will need more beer,” he chuckled and the others chuckled with him.

He’d broken the tension.

*****

Jennifer stood in the dark outside Supergirls. At 2am the free zone was in full swing but the taped off area around Supergirls was dark and quiet. Jennifer was invisible dressed all in black. She spun her fanny-pack around and checked the Walther and took out a key and penlight then zipped it closed but left it hitched low on her belly.

She used the key to open the front door, stepped inside, closed the door and waited in the dark for her eyes to adjust. The place was silent and smelled of stale cigarette smoke, sour beer and cheap perfume. Penelope switched on her penlight which had been fitted with a shade that allowed just a pinhole of light.

She shone the light on the deadbolts being careful not to illuminate the glass doors. One of the girls had unlocked the bolts to let the robbers into her establishment. She crept around the ground floor but found nothing interesting, just the detritus left by the crime scene people.

Jennifer made her way to the bottom of the stairs where the faint smell of gunsmoke and drying blood lingered. The stairs creaked a little as she climbed them slowly. She shone the torch on the hallway carpeting and saw more blood and the numbered plastic orange triangles marking where the shell casings had landed. There was no chalk outline of Sandy Spiffle’s body like you saw on old cop shows, just an evidence marker.

Jennifer approached the counting room. More triangles, the smell of gunsmoke and blood was heavier along with the stench of spilled vodka. She thought she could smell an undercurrent odour of sex but wasn’t sure. She shone her penlight around and played out in her mind what she thought had happened in the room.

Her men were partying while counting and bundling the money when it arrived in the suitcases: fucking the whores, drinking booze and snorting cocaine between deliveries. They’d paid Sandy Spiffle twenty grand to provide the whores, booze and coke and to keep his mouth shut about their extra-curricular activities.

One of her counters had gone to the door to investigate the gunshots when Sandy got shot and had been pulled into the hallway and got shot himself. The other counter had been shot in the room but not before he’d tried to defend himself. As far as she knew the girls hadn't been involved in the shooting and given how they were dressed in pleated micro miniskirts, tube-tops, sheer pantyhose and black high heels it was unlikely they would have been able to conceal a weapon.

It was a clusterfuck! All of the protocols she had put in place had been broken. The girl’s should not have been in the room nor should there have been any booze or drugs. Just her men and the money, delivered by Sandy; the door closed and locked after every delivery and not opened until the money had been sorted, counted and bundled.

The two intruders had been lucky but their luck would run out soon. Jennifer knew who the girls were and the boys were stupid enough to hang onto them. They should have killed the girls, leaving no witnesses and no liabilities.

“Men are so stupid,” Jennifer said to herself.

“But they sometimes have their uses,” Penelope Bishop stood in the doorway.

She snatched on the light switch almost blinding Jennifer who snatched her Walther out of her fanny pack and pointed it at Penelope.

“Is that the same gun you pointed at me in the warehouse after you shot Reznik and Yakovich?” Penelope had a wry smile on her face.

“The very same,” Jennifer smiled back.

Penelope had her own weapon out, pointing at Jennifer’s midriff.

“Is this what they call a Mexican Standoff?” Jennifer’s wry smile became a grin.

Jennifer appraised Penelope. She was wearing almost identical clothing: a black spandex two-piece bodysuit under a black topcoat and training shoes. The shoes were Nikes but the bodysuit was a generic brand rather than the fancy Lorna Jane Australian fashion label that Jennifer was wearing.

“The last time you pointed a gun at me you came away on top and left me holding the bag,” Penelope’s gun never wavered from Jennifer’s midriff.

“Oh bullshit Penelope! You got kudos for taking out Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich; the most wanted Russian mobster in the USA,” Jennifer countered.

“You know the Feebs took most of the credit and of course the DOJ,” Penelope kept her eyes glued on Jennifer’s.

“But you were and still are the local hero or should I say heroine. I’ve followed your career. You're slated to take over from Gary Rasmussen soon.”

“Yeah. There’s a promotion. Chief of Detectives in the Balwyn PD. The pay rise will pay for all the nylons I’ll snag sitting behind a fucking desk watching my ass get fatter,” Penelope huffed.

“I'm surprised a girl with your record hasn’t been offered a job with the Staties or the FBI,” Jennifer countered.

“Too old. Anyway, why would you recommend the FBI; they didn’t want you, did they,” Penelope scored a low blow.

“Sorry granny. I keep forgetting how old you are; you’re not in bad shape except for that expanding ass,” Jennifer quipped.

“You're the second tranny today to call me granny. I might just have to kick your ass,” Penelope bristled.

“I oughtta kick your ass for calling me a tranny,” Jennifer spat.

“Takes one to know one. Put down that faggot piece and I’ll take you up on it,” Penelope countered, her eye’s squinting.

Jennifer carefully put her pistol down on the table and took off her jacket and put it on the bed. Penelope entered the room, holstered her weapon and took off her shoulder rig and placed it on the bed beside her topcoat.

“We can’t fight in here it’s a crime scene,” Penelope said.

She left the room and entered one of the bedrooms further down the corridor, Jennifer following.

“This should do us…” Penelope never got finish the sentence as Jennifer lashed out and jabbed her in the jaw, rocking her on her heels.

“No face hits you bitch. I have to show up to work looking professional,” Penelope hated that she sounded whiney.

“Stop bitching,” Jennifer raised her foot and kicked Penelope in the midriff and the air shot out of Penelope’s lungs and she staggered back against the wall.

Jennifer closed in and kicked at Penelope again but Penelope caught her foot and twisted it and pushed Jennifer, who flew across the room and fell on the bed.

Penelope pounced on Jennifer and pinned the diminutive woman to bed with the weight of her body.

“Now I got you; you little princess,” Penelope kneed Jennifer in the groin.

Jennifer was able to close her legs before Penelope made contact and she began to struggle. She might be small but she was strong and supple and Penelope was losing her grip on Jennifer’s wrists.

“That’s dirty fighting,” Jennifer huffed but she too raised a knee and tried to knee Penelope between her legs.

Penelope slid sideways avoiding the blow but that allowed Jennifer to flip Penelope over on her back and straddle her.

“I always prefer being on top with another woman,” Jennifer gasped, making light of the situation.

“I seem to remember that I was on top last time,” Penelope tried to free her wrists from Jennifer’s grip but couldn’t.

Their faces were mere inches apart and they were both panting from the exertion even though it hadn't been much of a fight.

“You going to say uncle?” Jennifer struggled to keep Penelope pinned to the bed.

She had to press her body against Penelope’s to keep her down.

“No fucking way,” Penelope wriggled and writhed beneath Jennifer.

“You bitch! You're not tucked!” Jennifer smiled down at Penelope.

She could feel the girth of Penelope’s penis through the layers of spandex. Penelope’s cock had come away from between her legs during the struggle.

“Who the fuck tucks when you're going out dressed in tights at fucking 2am?” Penelope struggled harder under Jennifer.

“Well I didn’t either,” Jennifer’s cock had also come away from her perineum and was lying pressed against her belly, held there by her lycra tights.

“Don’t you get hard on me bitch!” Penelope pushed her groin upwards, ostensibly to dislodge Jennifer but Jennifer pressed down harder on her, trying to pin Penelope to the bed.

“Give up Penelope,” Jennifer grinned.

The fight was no longer serious; they were just two girls wrestling on the bed.

“No way. And you are getting hard, you dirty bitch,” Penelope smiled up at Jennifer.

The only light in the room came in through the doorway, thrown from the overhead lights in the counting room. Penelope’s face lay in a bar of that light and once again Jennifer realised how beautiful Penelope was. Penelope had grown graceful and demure as she had entered middle age, her eyes were icy green just like her own.

Penelope gazed at Jennifer, who reminded her of a younger, smaller version of herself except with exotic red hair.

Both women were in full makeup and their eyeliner and mascara had smudged during the short fight. The dark grungy makeup made their eyes more attractive rather than detracting from their looks. Both women were wearing red lipstick which they tasted when their lips softly pressed together.

The kiss lingered and their tongues entwined as they both became engorged, their cocks trapped in the sheathlike fabric of their tights.

“Did you come here just to fuck me?” Jennifer grinned down at Penelope.

“No. I came here to fuck you up,” clouds crossed Penelope’s face as she realised that Jennifer was mocking her.

Penelope began to struggle again and Jennifer allowed her to wriggle free but then spun her over and pinned her face down on the bed and held her there, pushing down and gripping her wrists to hold her still.

Jennifer pressed her body against Penelope, her hard cock encased in the slinky lycra nestled the valley of Penelope’s seamless tights; she thrust it between Penelope’s lycra-clad cheeks. The tights were sleek and fitted like a second skin and Penelope could feel the girth of Jennifer's cock through the smooth elastin fabric. Jennifer gripped Penelope's hips and humped away at her smooth, tight ass. Penelope screamed silently into the bedclothes.

“Stop it you bitch. I don’t want this!” Penelope’s cries were smothered and Jennifer thought that her protests were faux.

Penelope heard Jennifer moan with pleasure as she moulded herself to her body. She released Penelope’s wrists and Jennifer’s hands slid under her body and found Penelope’s breasts and stroked them through the slinky, figure-hugging material. Jennifer didn't grope or paw; she caressed the firm globes and stroked Penelope’s nipples with her thumbs. Jennifer had also stopped rutting at Penelope’s bottom long enough to free her cock and was slowly thrusting herself between Penelope’s buttocks; enjoying the feel of the soft, slippery leggings on her cock.

Penelope's body was involuntary responding to Jennifer's ministrations. Her nipples hardened as Jennifer caressed them and she was enjoying the sensations of Jennifer’s hard cock stroking on her buttocks through her tights. Penelope felt a dewy droplet of precum leak from her cock.

“You know this rape,” Penelope sighed.

“It’s not rape if you enjoy it,” Jennifer whispered in Penelope’s ear then nibbled on her earlobe.

She felt Penelope shudder with lust beneath her and she smiled and caressed Penelope’s neck with her lips.

“That’s a good girl. You know when you’re beaten,” Jennifer whispered.

“Shut up!” Penelope hissed and wriggled her bottom invitingly.

Jennifer sensed Penelope’s compliance and she continued to stroke Penelope’s breasts. She tweaked Penelope’s nipples and felt them harden. Then to her delight she felt Penelope press her buttocks upward so that Jennifer’s erection rubbed directly in the crease of her buttocks. Jennifer heard Penelope moan with lust and she kissed the back of her neck and stroked her nipples a little harder.

Jennifer spun Penelope around and kissed her, crushing her lips against hers, her hands went back to Penelope’s breasts briefly before she lowered her face to Penelope’s firm globes and licked them, flicking her tongue across Penelope’s nipples, making her moan louder in the dark quiet room.

Penelope freed her arms and placed them over Jennifer's head so that she was locked in her embrace. Her silken-clad mound pushed against Jennifer’s cock and she could feel Jennifer’s erection through her leggings. Penelope raised her groin so that her cock was rubbing on Jennifer’s; pushing it hard into her silken tights. Penelope rutted against Jennifer and lifted her face so she could kiss her. As they kissed Penelope lifted her legs and wrapped them around Jennifer so that Jennifer’s cock was once again nestled in the crevice of her ass. Jennifer gripped Penelope’s thighs and met her thrusts, the slinky seamless tights the only impediment to Jennifer penetrating her.

Jennifer let go of one thigh and slipped her hand inside the waistband of Penelope’s tights. Penelope thought that Jennifer was going to pull them down but her hand snaked deeper and her fingers found Penelope’s throbbing cock. Jennifer stroked Penelope’s engorged phallus; squeezing little beads of pre-ejaculate from the glans.

Penelope screamed into Jennifer’s mouth but it was a cry of lust not anger.

Penelope bucked and writhed with pleasure as Jennifer forced her to enjoy carnal pleasures in the dark silence of the bordello bedroom. She wondered how many girls had been fucked on this very bed. How much semen had been spattered in the sheets on which they now rutted? It was wrong. Jennifer should have been Penelope’s arch enemy and it wasn’t that long ago that she had made love to Jaylene Foster but it was erotic, extremely stimulating, forbidden, wanton. All these words flew through Penelope’s mind as her cock quivered in response to Jennifer's ministrations. Confrontation had become resistance, which became reluctance, which became compliance, and had now become complicity.

Penelope wanted Jennifer. She kissed her and tasted Jennifer’s breath. It was fresh and sweet, her Dior Poison perfume was exotic, and the feel of Jennifer’s hard cock against against her lycra-clad buttocks was provocative, exciting and so very, very wrong.

Jennifer removed her fingers from Penelope’s cock and scratched her fingernail against the crotch of her leggings.

“You’ll ruin my tights,” Penelope whispered, her breathing harsh with lust.

“Cheap K Mart leggings. I’ll buy you a pair of decent fashion tights,” Jennifer teased, poking a finger through the elastin and lycra blend fabric.

Jennifer adjusted her position, looming over Penelope, her penis aligned with the hole she had made in Penelope’s tights. Penelope sensed what Jennifer was doing and she assisted, moving her buttocks until the glans of Jennifer's penis found the little hole she'd made. Penelope thrust upward and Jennifer bore downward until her cock popped through the hole and nestled in the bud of Penelope’s anus.

Penelope moaned as the tip of Jennifer's penis entered her. She wanted all of it inside her. Jennifer pushed down with all her might and the hole in Penelope’s tights ripped open enough to allow Jennifer's erection to slide all the way through and all the way inside Penelope’s anus.

Penelope locked her ankles behind Jennifer's back and she began to fuck her and Jennifer kissed Penelope, driving her tongue into her mouth. Penelope gyrated her hips and met Jennifer’s thrusts to ensure maximum penetration ensuring that her cock ground against Jennifer’s pubis to stimulate her engorged member. Jennifer held Penelope’s thighs and fucked her harder and faster, her mouth alternated between Penelope’s face and breasts, suckling her teats, nibbling them, biting them until she screamed with passion and desire.

They felt their orgasms approaching and Jennifer pushed Penelope down into the bed so she could drive her rampant cock all the way inside her. She kissed Penelope passionately as she ejaculated deep inside her, filling her anus with her hot seed. Penelope moaned as she felt her cock begin to pulsate and spent her hot seed into her tights, her anus spasming, gripping Jennifer’s throbbing cock in her tight channel, squeezing her issue from her.

The two beautiful trans-women twisted and ground against each other, stimulating each other to maximise their pleasure. They frantically fucked each other, gasping and moaning as they orgasmed simultaneously.

Their orgasms peaked and they began to descend from their bliss as Jennifer held Penelope pressed down into the bed. Penelope still clung to Jennifer and they kissed and nuzzled at each other tenderly like lovers.

"That was some fight," Penelope whispered.

“I kicked your ass,” Jennifer smiled down at Penelope.

“Yeah, I suppose you did,” Penelope sighed

“You knew I’d come here,” Jennifer said.

It was a statement not a question.

“Tattooed Russians, Slavic prostitutes, suitcases full of cash… it has your fingerprints all over it,” Penelope struggled out from under Jennifer who knelt on the bed and pulled up her leggings.

She followed Penelope back to the counting room where both women retrieved their weapons.

“So… did you see anything we might have missed?” Penelope asked.

Jennifer gave her a wry smile.

“Are we cooperating again?” she adjusted her fanny-pack.

“Not after the last fiasco. I think it’s best if we go our separate ways,” Penelope fiddled with the hole in the crotch of her tights, trying to close it.

“We’re likely to stumble over each other,” Jennifer pulled a package of cigarettes from her fanny pack and lit two, handing one to Penelope.

“I’m quitting,” Penelope said, taking a deep drag.

“You're always quitting,” Jennifer laughed.

“I like it when you genuinely laugh. You don’t do it enough,” Penelope pulled on her topcoat to keep warm.

“I’m in a serious business,” Jennifer abruptly stopped laughing.

“Well let’s make sure we don’t stumble over each other during our investigations,” Penelope said.

“No DOJ? No Feebs?” Jennifer fiddled with the zipper on her jacket.

“Nope. Just us local yokels,” Penelope ashed her cigarette into the palm of her hand and shook it out the door.

“You know what will happen if I find those men and those girls before you do?” Jennifer’s voice was dry.

“If you kill them and it’s not self-defence it will be felony murder,” Penelope voice was equally terse.

The two women locked eyes. They both had glacial green eyes but Penelope remained fascinated by the light bluish heterochromia in Jennifer’s right eye.

“Probably best if I leave first,” Jennifer said.

“Probably. I don’t want to be shot in the back,” Penelope looked for somewhere to put out her cigarette without contaminating the crime scene.

“Why would I do that? I just shot you in the ass,” Jennifer eased past Penelope and kissed her lightly on the lips before she disappeared down the corridor.

To be continued

Author's Note: As an internationally tolerated transvestite purveyor of pornographic literature I would appreciate your feedback and comments on my work if you have the time.