He called out.
“Hello?”
There was only silence.
He was naked and on his bed. He shook his head, and try as he might he could remember absolutely nothing. He remembered the girl, or rather her beautiful body, but her face was a complete mystery.
He got off the bed, wrapping his robe around his portly body. He searched the house, but found no trace of her. Then he logged into his computer.
Under his list of friends there was one glaring omission, that of mamselle_la_belle. He tried searches of all his files and, to his shock, he found his hard drive had been tampered with. His computer had the most sophisticated security system he could devise, and still he noticed that many crucial files were missing.
He began to panic, so then he tried to access his bank codes.
The screen went blank, yet no matter how hard he tried, nothing happened.
Then a graphic appeared as a small white dot and got larger before his eyes.
It filled the screen; it was a beautiful female angel.
“I am the Avenging Angel. You have paid your debts,” she said. Her voice was devoid of any accent, and yet he recognised it for being very similar to something he had heard recently.
The screen cleared, and he was into his accounts.
His heart raced as he saw all his ill-gotten gains had been returned, with interest to the companies he had stolen from, together with a full confession.
He tried everything he could think of to reverse the actions, but to no avail.
The doorbell rang, and thinking it might be the girl, he stomped off and opened the door.
Two men in suits stood there.
“Mr Ryan Marcham? We are agents from the Treasury Department. We have reason to believe you have been involved in currency and tax offences.”
Ryan’s heart, not in the best of health, decided that enough was enough, and simply stopped. His last memory was of a beautiful woman, and she was smiling as he died.
“She’s in LA,” Kyle told his boss.
“When?”
“Right now. One of the guys at the airport rang in. She flew in two days ago and just disappeared. He had one of them black moments, so by the time he realised what had happened, she had gone.”
“Get the team, let’s go,” Jim said, and they left the office for the heli-pad. Jim was feeling low, as the DNA and fingerprints did not match with Sergeant Dunwoody. However, her DNA was unusual. The scientist stated that although definitely human, there were unique characteristics that he had never encountered before.
Jim focussed on the present.
“Has anything untoward happened in the last few days?” he asked.
“Not that we know of. Certainly the Police Departments have nothing unusual reported.”
“She is too clever for that. I don’t think we will get events like New York any more.”
“So what then?”
“I don’t know. Shit. This is tricky. She’s playing with us.”
“You still think she is the one?”
“Absolutely.”
They boarded the helicopter, as the rest of the team arrived with all their special kit.
Winston MacGilvary was a happy man. He had eight girls working for him now, and he had a good mile strip along Hollywood Boulevard staked as his personal turf. They were good-looking girls, and all were on the coke he thoughtfully provided. They were turning around $1000 a night, so he was also clearing a similar figure from his drugs sales.
His pink Cadillac was well known, and he even had a couple of cops on the take. He was receiving a blow job from Candy in the back of the car, when he saw a girl walk past.
She was a tall blonde girl. A very tall blonde - with a figure to die for and her short leather skirt made it look as if her legs went all the way to heaven. Now, Winston was an expert on girls, and he knew this was a high earner. But she wasn’t one of his, and she was on his turf.
Candy finished him off, so he handed her a small packet of rocks. She grabbed them with shaking hands and got out of the car. Winston got in the drivers seat and drove after the tall girl.
He found her standing a few yards up the road, so he pulled over.
His window lowered, but she still stood back, making no effort to approach his car. This meant she was an amateur, or she knew who he was.
“Hey girl, come here,” he said.
She slowly moved towards him, and he whistled. His first guess was way out, this was the real top stuff, so she could earn him a fortune.
He took his shades off and looked into her ice-cold blue eyes.
Officers Pete Simms and Howard Russo were cruising the Boulevard in their marked cruiser. The prostitutes smiled and waved, and both officers shook their heads.
“Goddamn whores,” muttered Pete.
“Hell, it ain’t them, it’s the damn pimps and the marks.”
They turned a corner and were met with a weird sight.
“What he hell?” asked Howard.
Pete put on the siren and lights, so the crowd dispersed, rapidly.
The officers got out of the car and made their way over to the focus of the crowd’s attention.
Winston MacGilvary was dressed in a little red mini-skirt, fishnet stockings, five-inch heels, and a boob tube. He had on a black lacy bra, filled with silicone breast forms, and a long russet wig on his head. His black face was heavily made up, and he was handcuffed to a lamp post.
“Blow job - fifty cents, lover?” he said to the officers.
Howard and Pete looked at each other. MacGilvary was well known as a crack dealer and pimp. He was a dangerous man, and was suspected to have killed several times.
“Hell, Winston, are you stoned or what?” Howard asked, staying back.
“Oh officer, I have to tell you everything. I been a very naughty girl,” he said, and giggled like a schoolgirl.
“Winston, what are you doing like this?” Pete asked.
“It’s my penance officer. The angel said I have to.”
“This is shit,” said Pete to his colleague.
“I killed four men.” Winston said.
He had the officers’ undivided attention
The officers took the handcuffs off, and then read him his rights. After the Miranda, Winston confessed to all the crimes he could remember. The bemused officers could not keep up, but placed him in the rear of the patrol car.
At the station, Winston continued his catalogue of felonies, and did not appear to be worried that he was going into a slammer dressed as a tart. His screams in the middle of the night signalled that whatever he was under had just worn off.
It made the news the following day, and Jim and Kyle were just setting up their base of operations in a hanger on the local US air base.
“Sir, you should see this,” said a black clad special ops man.
They watched the news of the detention and confession of a notorious pimp and crack dealer.
The scene cut to an orange suited Winston, arms and legs in chains, walking, somewhat gingerly, between two officers into court.
“Winston MacGilvary was detained by police when they found him handcuffed to a lamppost just off Hollywood Boulevard last night. He was found wearing women’s clothes, a wig and make up. As soon as the officers made themselves known to him, he is alleged to have confessed to so many crimes that the officers could not write them down quick enough. He was interviewed by detectives, having declined legal representation, and even told the officers where the bodies were buried. Literally.
“Four addresses were searched and several thousand dollars have been seized as well as drugs and weapons. However, during the night, he claims to have been brainwashed and tried to retract his statements. But the cases against him are just too strong, and no evidence of drugs or hypnosis has been found. This is a remarkable case, and the local police chief is delighted at having so many unsolved crimes detected in a single night.”