“C’mon, babe. Let’s get it on.” The man leaned heavily against Krissy. His words were slurred and his breath stank of liquor. His left arm was draped across her shoulders and his left hand groped clumsily for her breast. His right hand kept poking the keycard to his room in the general direction of the slot without ever finding its target. He was much too interested in sticking something else in another slot entirely to even notice.
“Don’t be silly!” Krissy giggled girlishly as she expertly diverted his left hand with hers. She took his right hand by the thick, hairy wrist. “Here, let me help you.” He let her guide him. The card slid easily into the slot and there was a click.
“See?” Krissy said brightly. “Now, when we get inside I’ll help you again, you big, clumsy man.”
He laughed, spraying more fumes of cheap bourbon into her face. At least he wasn’t too drunk to open the door once it was unlocked, but he was close to passing out. Krissy took most of his weight as they stumbled into his suite, deftly pulling the keycard out with her manicured fingertips before she kicked the door shut behind them.
It was dark inside. The only light came from a blinking neon sign that was bright enough to filter through the heavy curtains. The man made another attempt to grope Krissy’s breast, and now she let him fall heavily to the carpeted floor. He started laughing drunkenly and got up onto his hands and knees. Krissy put her foot to his backside and shoved as hard as she could. He fell forward onto his face and lay still. A moment later, he started snoring.
Krissy let out a sigh of relief. He was a big guy, over six feet tall, she guessed, going bald and going to fat. She’d been starting to worry that the combination of drinks and drugs that she’d slipped into those drinks wouldn’t have the desired effect in time. Now she could be reasonably sure that he’d sleep until sometime tomorrow afternoon. He’d be feeling pretty damned bad when he woke up. She smiled and gave his leg another kick. He didn’t move. Good. Time to get to work. She pulled a pair of surgical gloves out of her purse, pulled them on, and started going through his pockets.
His wallet yielded up a couple of hundred bucks in cash and two credit cards. She didn’t bother looking at his driver’s license. She already knew what he looked like, and he’d already told her his first name. She didn’t care to know him any better than she already did. She pocketed the cash and cards and stuffed the wallet back into his hip pocket.
It took a lot of effort to roll him over onto his back, but it was part of the job. She went through his other pockets, turning up some loose change that she left where she’d found it, another hundred bucks in twenties that he’d put in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and a nametag for a local convention. She let him keep the nametag.
The next thing to do was go through his luggage. That rarely turned up anything valuable, although there were occasional nice little items – and this time was no exception. She wasn’t even that surprised when she found a pair of handcuffs stashed away inside a sock. Had he been planning to use them on her, or have her use them on him? Well, it didn’t matter now. She put his luggage back in the disorder she’d found it and went back to him.
She didn’t really care for what came next, but it had worked for her pretty well so far, so she might as well keep on doing it. She unbuckled his pants, unzipped them, and shucked them down as far as she could. Then she pulled his boxers down too, baring his hairy crotch. When he woke up, even with the terrible hangover and headache he was sure to have, he’d probably think that he’d gotten lucky with the cutie he’d picked up at the bar after all. That could buy her a little more time. Now to muddy the waters, for if and when the police investigated. She doubted that it would be a priority for them. Out-of-town drunks getting rolled wasn’t as attention-getting as bank robberies or carjackings, but why take chances? Wiping the keycard came first.
She took a baggie out of her big handbag. Inside it were some long brown hairs she’d surreptitiously gathered at a beauty salon in a poorer part of the city. She dropped a couple of them on her mark and a few more she scattered around the room. That done, she put the baggie back in her handbag.
Getting the long brown wig off of her head took a moment. She had to do it carefully or her own shorter blonde hair would be disheveled enough for someone to notice. The wig went into her bag, but not until after she’d pulled out a folded blouse. It was a neutral beige color and a little bit too large for her. She put it on over the halter-top that drew men’s attention to her tits so that they didn’t pay all that much attention to her face. The guy on the floor probably didn’t even know what color her eyes were. She tucked the blouse into the waistband of her tan skirt. Last of all, she took off the strappy heels she’d been wearing, stuffed them into her handbag, pulled out the nice, comfortable running shoes she’d stashed in there and slipped them on her feet. There. The transformation was complete. Men might remember seeing a busty woman with long brown hair with her mark, if anyone asked them, but none of them would connect that woman with the shorter, less provocatively dressed blonde one who slipped quietly out of the hotel some time later. It was extremely unlikely that anyone would remember her handbag, either. She’d gotten it because it was a handy size for her work, but it was a nondescript, inexpensive, mass-produced thing that lots of other women carried.
She walked out of the hotel without being noticed or challenged. Another job successfully done, another lecherous, middle-aged man who got no less than what was coming to him. He hadn’t even tried to hide that fact that he was married by taking off his wedding ring before he’d started hitting on her.