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Disclaimer: The characters in this story are entirely fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The following story involves graphic descriptions of sexual encounters. If such things offend you, please read no further. For everyone else, I hope you enjoy the story.
“She shoots, she scores,” whispered Alicia to herself after another successful pick. She had snagged both a wallet and pocket-watch of her mark after doing the old “accidental bump” ploy. It was a little ham-handed for a pickpocket artist such as herself, but it was getting late and she was getting hungry.
Alicia had been working that area of town since she was fifteen years old. At the time, she was a product of a child-fostering government system that had long since broken down. The foster family she had been placed with were a bunch of drunken louts at the best of times, and she had run away when she felt the father’s eyes undressing her everyday and his fingers started trying to roam.
So she had been living on the streets for six years now, and she had become one of the most successful pickpockets and cutpurses in the city. Thieves were a highly territorial bunch, and the ones that worked the streets all had areas staked out for themselves. Alicia liked her little corner of the world. She worked a street filled with restaurants and pawnshops. Most people assumed she worked the clients coming out of the shops. While she did lift from them occasionally, she preferred the restaurant patrons. This area wasn’t too upscale but neither was it a slum. This was the place uptown businessmen brought their lady-friends for lunch or dinner, but took off their wedding rings first. It was a place where small-time hoods could pretend to be big-time players. It was a place for people who weren’t likely to call the cops when their wallet wound up missing. As long as Alicia stuck to cash and left credit cards alone, people tended not to look too hard for the culprit.
Alicia’s favorite place to hang out was an Italian restaurant called “Luigi’s Place.” But people in her profession had taken to calling it “Alicia’s Place,” and then “Alice’s Restaurant.” This was the place where Alicia could always count on a good score. Cheaters, boozers, swindlers and the lonely came here, and it was easy for Alicia to get to any of them. The owner wouldn’t let her in the front door anymore, and all of the staff had been shown her picture. No matter how many times she changed her hair-color, they always recognized her and stopped her at the door.
At the moment her hair was shoulder length, and was purple on one side and green on the other. She wore torn up jeans or denim shorts most of the time, and neon-yellow fishnet stockings underneath. She had chosen the shorts today because of the heat. She was wearing a bright green, pastel tube-top that displayed her 36-inch, C-cup chest magnificently, and her knee-high stiletto boots gave her tight little ass just the right amount of swing. Even with her bizarre clothing, she was an attractive girl and she knew. She knew it, and so she used it. She used it to get close to the lonely and the lecherous ones. There was many an occasion where she had a forty-year old man’s hand on her ass while her hand was in his pocket. She would slap him for his affront, and then wander off with his money. And by the time he knew what had happened, she was long gone; back to her small apartment and her color TV and her cat named Seven. She had named the cat Seven because that was how many lives she figured he had left when she got him.
Alicia was sitting on the stairs of a shop that was closed, and was staring through the windows of her restaurant, planning the night’s heist. It seemed like the usual crowd with two exceptions. She had seen a woman go in alone. A man going in alone wasn’t unusual, but she didn’t see too many single women, particularly as beautiful as this lady was. She appeared to be in her early thirties and had a phenomenal body. She had an hourglass figure that made Alicia almost drool, and her red hair was pulled up in a bun. She had on blue jeans that seemed almost a size too small, and appeared to be wearing a snug white tee shirt underneath her jacket. Her jacket? It was a little warm for a jacket, however stylish. The woman just sat at a table for one, nibbling on her spaghetti and staring and the candle.
The other exception was a sleazy-looking though somewhat handsome man in his late thirties who was also sitting alone. He had hit on redhead as soon as he had walked in, but she was having none of it. So the man sat down in a corner booth with his greased back hair and seventies-throwback shirt and just waited. He just sat there. He ordered water and an appetizer. That was what was strange. If he wasn’t there for the food and if he wasn’t going to put more effort into prowling for tail, what the heck was he doing? Finally a man of oriental persuasion joined him. Suddenly the sleazy exterior was gone, and Alicia could illegal bahis see the man was all business. The two men exchanged something under the table, but she couldn’t see what it was. Then they got up and headed for the door. The man took one last lingering look at the redhead and then they walked out onto the street.
It was at that point that Alicia violated one of her primary rules, which was to always leave the oddities alone. She normally stuck with people who were so ordinary they wouldn’t be trouble. But something about that man offended her. She realized with a sense of embarrassment that it was how he looked at that woman in the restaurant like a side of beef. “She’s too classy for a prick like you.” Why had she said that?
Alicia decided to go for the old booty-grab play. She ran down a back alley that allowed her to get ahead of the man. She crossed the street, put one foot up on a doorstep and acted as if she were securing the laces on one of her boots. She made sure her shorts were pulled up so just a little bit of cheek was exposed underneath. As the man passed by, he did what all pigs did and gave her ass a quick grab. And as any “honorable” woman would do, she defended her honor. She rose up to slap him in the face. But this guy was surprisingly quick, and he grabbed her hand.
“You really, REALLY don’t want to do that, you little bitch.”
She became genuinely nervous, and she let it show on her face. He twisted her wrist a bit before letting her go and continuing on his way.
“Actually,” she said a bit smugly to herself as she opened up his stolen wallet, “I do.” She started moving down the street, sticking the wallet into her purse. As she was passing the alley right next to Luigi’s, she felt hands on her shoulders pulling her into the darkness. Suddenly there was an arm around her neck and a hand clasped over her mouth.
“Don’t move,” came a distinctly female voice. That was strange. Alicia realized this wasn’t a rape attempt and didn’t seem to be a mugging. What the hell . . .
Then she heard footsteps outside on the street, hard and fast like someone was running. The person behind her pulled her deeper into the shadows, and Alicia felt strangely complacent. Then she saw the man she had just robbed run by, and he looked furious. Worse, he looked dangerous. After he had passed by, the person . . . the woman who was holding her pulled a hand-held radio out of somewhere and talked into it.
“Okay guys, I need someone to get this guy calmed down and away from here. He didn’t make me specifically, but we have a new problem that just added itself to the mix.” Alicia got the feeling that “a new problem” referred to her. Then they heard sirens down the street, and the man wandered back by, oblivious to their presence in the alley. He seemed to be trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. An “all clear” message came over the radio, and she felt the hands around her loosen their grip.
A van pulled up and parked outside the alley and she was pushed gently but firmly inside. Once seated, she looked back and found herself face to face with the redhead from the restaurant.
“That,” started the woman with a very stern look on her face, “was monumentally stupid.” The woman took off her jacket and tossed it on one of the seats. There were two guys up front and another in the back, and all of them were looking nervous as the door closed and the van started up. Alicia had become very afraid. She looked back at the woman. Alicia realized her priorities were a little screwed up when the first thing that caught her eyes was the woman’s ample chest. It wasn’t quite as big as Alicia’s, but it was perfect on the woman’s rock-hard body. Then something really got her attention. It was a 9-mm pistol at the woman’s side.
“Who the hell are you people? This is kidnapping! I know my rights!”
“I suspect you do. You’ve probably had them read to you on a number of occasions.” The redhead pulled out what Alicia initially thought was a wallet. It wasn’t. It was a badge. “Agent Carrie King, FBI. You, young lady, just stumbled into something you really shouldn’t have.”
Alicia remained speechless for the remainder of the ride. They pulled up into what she thought was an abandoned warehouse. But inside were several vans, a large recreational vehicle, tons of equipment and dozens of people. The warehouse door closed behind them with an eerie sense of finality.
The van stopped and everyone, except Alicia, got outside. She was quite out of her element and didn’t like it one bit. She moved up to the front seat to get a better view. The redhead, Carrie, was talking to a balding man who looked rather officious. Carrie had her head in her hand and was just shaking it. The man had opened the stolen wallet, pulled out a piece of paper from its crevices and was madly waving it around. There was a heated discussion, then something Carrie said seemed to calm the man down. He pulled a wad of cash out of the wallet.
“Damn,” said Alicia. “I would have been set up illegal bahis siteleri for a week with that much dough. What a lousy score to lose!”
The man glanced angrily at the van, handed the wallet off to another person, probably another agent, and said something back to the lovely Carrie. Carrie headed over to the van, and she didn’t look happy.
“Listen, all I did was lift a fuckin’ wallet! I’ll plead guilty. What’s the worst that could happen? But you have to charge me with somthin’ or let me go,” she said as the agent opened the driver’s-side door and climbed inside.
“No, actually we don’t have to charge you with anything and we’re not going to. And as tempting as it is to shoot you, I don’t have the necessary forms filled out.”
Alicia was aghast. “You wouldn’t!?! That’s . . . that’s . . .”
“That was a joke young lady.”
“What’s ‘not funny’ is what you’ve gotten yourself into. Your life is now in danger, and that’s no joke.”
“In danger? Who was that guy? What would anyone want to kill me for a friggin’ wallet?”
“Because that guy works for a large drug cartel that is dealing with a new distributor in Asia. That wallet you stole contained a list of storage lockers and pick-up points for the cartel to acquire small quantities of a new narcotic which has become popular in Europe and is making its way over here. This shit is called De Sade, and it makes other date-rape drugs look like children’s aspirin. It pumps up the body’s normal state of arousal while simultaneously screwing with judgement and coordination. Even if they wanted to, the person drugged wouldn’t be able to fight back.”
“That’s so sick! People actually use stuff like that? Anyone who would use something like that . . . Someone who would use drugs or anything like that to control someone else . . . It’s just pathetic. So what are you mad at me for? If you know where the shit is now, just go get it. Hell, you should be thanking me.”
Carrie grabbed Alicia’s chin quite firmly and looked into her eyes. “‘Thanking you’? There are so many problems with that statement I’m not sure where to begin. First off, we’d like to actually be able to arrest Travis, the man you robbed, for something other than being an easy mark for a pickpocket. We were planning on jumping the members of his organization as they made the pick-ups. We could nab a couple dozen of them, but only if they ACTUALLY KNOW where to go. And if they don’t have the list . . . See where I’m going with this?”
Alicia gulped, then nodded.
“Good. And what do you think that the Asian group doing the smuggling is going to think when Travis and his group don’t pay for drugs they didn’t pick up because they didn’t know where they were?”
“Precisely. Travis will die first, which is no big loss for most people. But then the two cartels will start fighting, and a lot of innocent people get caught in the crossfire.”
Alicia was on the verge of tears. This was too much for her to handle. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was just trying to get one more score. I didn’t mean to get involved in any of this.”
“I know,” said Carrie, whose voice had become incredibly sympathetic. “You made the wrong decision with the wrong person at the wrong time. I get that, and it’s the reason we’re going to help you out. We’ve taken the cash out of the wallet and we’re going to dump it in a trashcan near where you stole it. He’s probably going to be back in the area in the next half-hour, now that the ‘police presence’ is gone. We’ll make sure he finds it, and I hope like hell he accepts that it was just another random robbery. Hopefully he won’t say anything to his superiors out of fear of looking like an idiot. But if either of those things doesn’t happen, we’re up the creek. Everyone involves disappears for a while, and we have to start again from scratch. And now we have to make sure he doesn’t find you.”
“Why would he come looking for me?”
Carrie sighed. “If you knew someone had looked through your wallet when you carried something like that around, wouldn’t . . .”
“Okay, I get it. So what do I do?”
“Well, you can’t go home. Do you live with someone? A roommate or boyfriend?”
“No boyfriend. Not big into boys.” Alicia noticed Carrie’s eyes widen a bit and saw a bit of longing there, which quickly dissipated. But Alicia took note of it. “But I do have a cat.”
“Yes. A small feline that chases mice. Never catches them, but certainly loves the chase.” Alicia slowly and elaborately crossed her legs, hoping the other woman could get a good look up her torn and baggy shorts.
“I know what a cat is,” said Carrie, showing no signs of her earlier bout of interest. “It’ll take him some time before he finds out who you are and where you live, so we’d better go get your cat and any essentials you might want. Clothes, identification, which should preferably be your own, and anything else you can conveniently carry that isn’t stolen merchandise.”
“That canlı bahis siteleri excludes just about everything. Except the cat.”
Carrie started up the van and Alicia directed them to her apartment. The cat was curled up on television, purring contentedly. Alicia grabbed the cat-carrier out of the closet and the spare kitty litter box. She grabbed a few cat toys that Seven liked and . . .
“Um, do YOU need anything? The cat’s ready for a nuclear winter, but . . .”
“I’m gettin’ to it.” She threw some toiletries into a backpack along with a few changes of clothes. By the time they were done, Alicia had three backpacks full of stuff, only one of which was for her.
“You spoil that cat, you know.”
“I do not! Now could you grab the cat bed over there? Ooh, and her favorite pillow and . . . “
Carrie’s boss got her on the radio and told her that the ‘civilian’ would have to stay with her that night. He proceeded to ignore her objections for about ten minutes before she acquiesced. They proceeded to Carrie’s apartment, where they were to remain until the situation took care of itself. Alicia smiled to herself. Alone with a hot redhead, she thought. There were worse situations to be in.
Carrie’s apartment was so sparse that it made a monastery look like a five-star hotel. The apartment was a studio, so everything was pretty much in one big room except for the bathroom. It had a bed, a recliner, a television set, a lamp and one of those BowFlex exercise machines. There were a series of cheap plastic shelves that held all of the woman’s clothes that weren’t in the closet. The floor was bare concrete. In Alicia’s mind, it screamed out that this woman didn’t have visitors over often, if ever. And it was immaculately clean. Carrie tossed her jacket onto the back of the recliner and took off her gun belt. She attached a gunlock to her sidearm before storing it. Alicia wondered if the precautions were because of her.
“Okay, you can take the bed. I pretty much sleep in the chair anyway. You can have anything you want out of the fridge.”
Alicia bounced over. “Great. I could really use a beer.” And if I can get you a little drunk, she thought to herself. But her plans were quickly dashed. The only thing in the fridge was bottled water, celery sticks and low-fat peanut butter.
“Sorry, but I don’t drink. Or cook. Take-out menus are on the counter. There is some ice cream in the freezer if you need something to tide you over. Butter-pecan I think.” Carrie eased herself down into the chair, fully clothed. “I’ve had a long day, so I’m going to get some sleep. I advise you do the same.”
“What? Aren’t you going to lock the door to prevent me from escaping? Or tie me up maybe?” That would be fun, she thought. She wondered if she was getting her interest through to the agent.
“Why? If you leave here, you’re on your own. With an entire drug cartel looking for you.” With that Carrie closed her eyes. “You’re a thief, but you don’t strike me as stupid. I’ll trust you not to prove me wrong.”
Alicia quickly locked the door and closed the blinds. Before all light was extinguished, she could have sworn she saw Carrie smirking. Alicia curled up on the bed, and Seven curled up next to her.
When she awoke the next morning, Carrie was nowhere to be seen. There was a note on the television saying, “Gone for breakfast. Back soon.” Initially Alicia was surprised that a federal agent would leave a known thief alone in her apartment. Then Alicia remembered there was nothing worth stealing. That didn’t keep her from snooping around though.
There was almost nothing of real interest in that place. Nothing cute or fuzzy, no pictures of family or friends. No indications that she had recently entertained a guy (or girl). Barren. Yes, that was the word. Barren. She found herself rooting through Carrie’s clothes. There was almost no variety. She had two different types of pants, dark blue-jeans and light blue-jeans. She had a variety of t-shirts, most of them white. She had a single dress skirt and jacket in a bag in the closet. Her underwear lacked personality as well. Cotton grannie-panties and sports bras. Nothing silky, satiny, lacey or daring . . . very boring. Did this woman every have sex?
Alicia did find one interesting item. Underneath a pile of t-shirts at the end of the shelves, she found a single picture on top of a black, silk slip. Alicia found herself wondering what the voluptuous Carrie would look like wearing the lingerie, and found herself getting a little wet south of the borderline. But the picture was interesting too. It was Carrie and another woman. The other woman was quite a knockout. She was a black woman, but her skin seemed lighter than a lot of the black people she had known. Possibly mulatto. Carrie had a smile on her face and her head on the other girl’s shoulder. The picture was a high quality job with a professional backdrop and everything. This wasn’t a casual snapshot, and Alicia got the feeling that they weren’t just friends. But considering how the picture was hidden, Alicia got a feeling that there was a story to be told. Alicia also realized that she would have to be careful how she brought it up.
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