She hadn’t told him yes, but she hadn’t exactly told him no either, and she’d made sure that her expression and body language told him that she was intrigued by his offer. She was fairly certain that he’d be there waiting for her at the appointed time, and for some little while after that, hoping to get lucky with the winsome, buxom ‘Lynn’. That was the name on the nametag she wore pinned so close to her cleavage that he had to at least pretend to look at it…repeatedly.
Well, ‘Lynn’ was not going to show up tonight. King Jackson would no doubt be very disappointed at that, but if she appeared as Lynn she’d be too easy for the police to put one and one together and come looking for her. Instead, Mr. Jackson was going to have to settle for the intriguing redhead with the syrupy Southern drawl, Amanda. She already had the costume laid out back at her apartment, right down to the green contact lenses. He was going to have to work for her, too. While Lynn was bubbly and girlish, Amanda was used to men hitting on her and much more reserved, though if you bought her a drink or two and turned on the charm she usually warmed up nicely. With a little more effort, you might even get her to come up to your room with you for a light late supper delivered by room service and maybe a drink or two more. She’d used the Amanda character more than once, but not always as a redhead. As Amanda, she not only spoke differently but held herself differently, moved differently, even had different facial expressions than Lynn. There would be no reason for King Jackson to make any connection at all between the two, and no reason for the cops to do so either, should Mr. Jackson go to them later.
The bus was just pulling up to the stop, and she scampered across the street to catch it. As she plopped herself down on an uncomfortable seat, she could already feel that old familiar tingling starting to spread throughout her body.
It was impossible to put into words how exhilarated she felt at the beginning of one of these high-value hunts. That’s what they were, hunts. She would stalk her prey even as her prey thought he was stalking her, and choose how and when and where she would strike. Actually, the ‘how’ was pretty much always the same, a little something added to a drink that would put her prey out until sometime the next day. The ‘when’ and ‘where’ did vary a little, but were limited by the fact that she needed her prey to pass out either in some private place or near enough to it that she didn’t have to drag him too far. There had been one overweight businessman who had suddenly collapsed in the elevator on the way up to his room. She’d checked to make sure he was still breathing before relieving him of his wallet, got out at the next floor and left that hotel in a hurry. The next day she’d nervously checked the paper to see if he’d gone and died on her anyway. He hadn’t, and she learned that in fact his collapse hadn’t been due to the drug she’d given him but to a mild stroke. Even so, the experience had been unsettling, and it was weeks before she could bring herself to go hunting again.
She hopped off the bus at her corner and hurried to her apartment. She didn’t dare waste any time tonight. She figured that she had about half an hour to get ready for business.
Just twenty-five minutes later, she emerged from her apartment building transformed, though much of the transformation was concealed under a long light coat. The wig she wore was a dark red, parted in the middle and falling straight to just above her shoulders, where the ends curved slightly inwards. The red heels brought her up to about average height. She made her way to another corner and hailed a cab. While Krissy always rode the bus, Amanda never did.
She was running slightly ahead of schedule when she arrived at King Jackson’s hotel. She knew every four- and five-star establishment in the city. This one fully deserved the five-star rating that it proudly, but tastefully, flaunted. The uniformed doorman saw her coming and opened the heavy door for her with a smile. She favored him with an answering smile and a hint of a wink as she swept on by. Amanda could get into any place she wanted, any time she wanted. She made her way to the lounge, skipping the coat check. Entering the hushed, dimly lit room she did a quick, unobtrusive scan of the place and spotted King Jackson sitting alone in a booth, trying to conceal his growing disappointment. The bartender looked at her and smiled as she approached. Men always smiled at Amanda, and she always smiled back. Then she made a small theatrical production of doffing her coat before she sat down on one of the richly upholstered bar stools. She knew without looking that King Jackson saw the move, as did every other man in the lounge.
Under the coat, she was wearing an expensively tailored dress just a few shades darker than her wig. It was cut low in front, and very low in back, with narrow spaghetti straps holding it up. The flared skirt ended several inches above her knees. It fit her snugly around her waist, and loosely above and below it. It showed off a great deal of her flawless, creamy flesh without being too suggestive. She settled herself onto the bar stool and when the bartender hurried over to take her order she leaned forward, propping herself on her elbows, and smiled again, sweetly.
“Ah’d just love one o’ those margaritas mah friend told me you serve here, hon’,” she said in her most syrupy, honeyed Southern drawl. “Do y’all suppose you could make one fo’ me?”
To his credit, the bartender tried to keep his eyes fixed on hers, though it was clear that it was a struggle for him. His returning smile, as he assured her that of course he could, was a bit glassy. Amanda leaned back as he hurried away. A Southern accent could do things to men’s minds and libidos, and she’d practiced hers with a helpful woman with whom she’d had a brief affair. Sally was a grifter between jobs, and often as they lay in bed together, she even helped Krissy polish and refine her Amanda persona. In the heat of passion, Sally didn’t sound very Southern at all, but Krissy never found out where she actually came from.