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Message-ID: <28347asstr$979146605@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat)
Subject: {ASSM} The Russians Are Coming 2/4 (MF oral mild bd)  
Date: Wed, 10 Jan 2001 12:10:05 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

"When?" 

"Today. You give address, OK?" 

"Not OK," Maytag said. "Explain some things first. What was the
shooting about?" 

"I am here to track criminals. They bring women from overseas,
sometimes against their will." 

"Like Nadia?" Maytag asked. 

"Nadia is with me," he answered. "She is not against her will.
She is very willful, no?" 

Maytag ignored the comment. "Is that why we were meeting? Did you
want help?" 

"Yes. Information. Help. Maybe you can arrest bad guy. Justice
here not so easy to buy." 

Stanton watched with interest, listening to half the
conversation. 

"Russian was waiting for me," explained Valerii. "We shot guns. I
chase." 

"You chased the gunmen?" Maytag repeated, to which Stanton raised
a finger. 

"I saw him run out of the hotel," Stanton said. "He was the only
one to flee. He wasn't chasing anyone." 

"When you left the building," Maytag said, "You weren't chasing
anyone." Let him chew on that thought for a moment, Maytag
thought. He doesn't know I have a partner. 

"He takes back way. How do you say...ollie?" 

"Alley?" Maytag prompted him. 

"Yes." 

"Who was he?" Maytag asked. 

"I don't know. Hired gun. Criminal is Pavel Smerov." 

"Do you know where he is?" Maytag asked. 

"No. Nadia does. I call her, yes?" 

"We'll call her together," Maytag said. Then he told the man on
the phone their hotel and the names to ask for at the desk. "When
will you get there?" 

"Today. I must be careful. Pavel finds me one time, maybe he
finds me again." 

Maytag and Stanton finished their meal, paid the bill, then left
to meet the man they used to call Ilya. Outside, two people sat 
in another car, watching the agents step into their sedan.
The driver of the other car put out a cigarette and gripped the 
wheel as Stanton put the car in reverse and began to leave. 

"Terpenie," said the passenger. He spoke Russian. The word was
'patience' and it was met with an uneasy sigh from the driver. 

"Don't fret, Nadezhda Ivanovna," he continued in Russian. "You
are an excellent driver. We shall catch up to them shortly." 

"And you are an excellent shot, Valerii Gregorovich," she
answered him. "But you missed him the last time. So you'll pardon
me for worrying." 

"Stop worrying and start driving," the passenger said. "They will
lead us right to him. So how does it feel going up against FBI
Agents?" 

Nadezhda piloted the vehicle away form the curb. "Ask me after we
have won," she said. 


THREE 

"We're being followed," Stanton said. 

"Are you sure?" her partner asked. 

"Not totally." 

"Do you want to dump them, Stanton?" 

"No," she answered uncertainly. "I'm kinda curious to see who
this is." They drove on in silence for a while. They were headed
north to the hotel. "Two cars back now," Stanton said as they
stopped at a light. 

Maytag looked at his partner. He wanted to put down the visor and
check the possible tail in the mirror. But that might have tipped
off their shadow that they had been made. Instead he trusted his
partner. 

The light turned green and Stanton moved through the
intersection. "The car turned," she announced. "Guess it was
nothing." 

"Maybe they're using more than one." 

"No, I only spotted one. There were no handoffs." 

Maytag shrugged his shoulders. "Nice work, though. Good to be
careful." 

Within a mile they made the turn for the hotel. Stanton nosed the
car into the parking ramp entrance. As they waited to get the
ticket from the machine, Stanton exclaimed "Shit! That was the
same car!" 

"What car?" 

"That tail. It just went down the street. They must have gone
parallel to us back when they turned." That indicated some skill,
especially if there was only one person in the car. 

"What do you want to do? Maytag asked. 

"We'll go in the hotel," Stanton answered. "You wait for the
call, I'll go down to the street to see if our friend is still in
the neighborhood." 

"Fine. I want to call the Russian Consulate and check up on our
friend Patrikov." 

* * *

"What now, Nadezhda?" asked the passenger. 

In response, the driver pulled the car to the curb in front of a
hydrant. "That was a hotel parking lot," she said. "I will wait
inside. You stay with the car." 

"What do you intend to do?" he asked. 

"The first time, this FBI man was distracted by the whore.
Perhaps I can repeat the feat." 

"There are two of them, you know." 

"Of course I know that. That is the only reason I said
'perhaps'." 

Nadezhda darted to the hotel. She ducked into the revolving door.
The lobby was grander than the other Chicago hotels she had seen.
A passing man in a suit gave her an approving appraisal, and she
smiled at him in turn. Then she took a seat in a plush sofa
facing the door. Within a few minutes, her targets entered the
lobby. 

Nadezhda was relieved when the dark haired woman said a few words
to her companion and then returned outside. That gave her a
chance. She stood and approached the man in his blue suit,
overcoat, and short brown hair. "Excuse me," she said in
carefully formed English. "I am friend of Nadia. I am supposed to
meet someone here." 

Maytag heard the accent that was becoming familiar to him: the
way the r rolled off the tongue, the flatness in the vowels. She
was older than Nadia, to be sure, and dressed to match. The
shoes, the hose, her jacket, were all more sophisticated than the
juvenile clothes Nadia had worn. Her dark hair was also in
contrast. "Did Valerii send you?" Maytag asked her. 

"Who?" she asked, surprised. 

"Ilya?" Maytag probed. 

"Oh, yes," she replied. "He uses many names, this one." 

"Yes he does," Maytag agreed. "My name is Gerry." 

"A pleasure," she said, turning the word to plehzher, which
certainly sounded like she enjoyed it. "I am Nadezhda." Aloud,
her name had the same velveteen quality that she gave to the word
pleasure. 

"We should talk," Maytag said. "Come with me." 

* * *

Stanton pulled a pair of sunglasses from her bag as she exited
the hotel. She put them on, and started walking down the street,
looking for the car that had followed them back to the hotel.
Holding her head still, she did her best to look out the corner
of her eyes in her scan of the street. It took a little while.
She went around one entire city block before she found the car
parked at the end of the block, with a man behind the wheel.
Stanton moved across the street and walked up the stairs to the
elevated train platform. 

Inside the car, the man behind the wheel cursed. He scribbled a
quick note for Nadezhda, then alighted and made his way to the
stairs. The man bounded up the stairs. He bumped against the
turnstile which refused to yield to him without paid fare. 

"Ebat kopat," he cursed again. He was sure he missed her now. He
hurried to the cashier, paid his fare and made his way to the
platform. Carefully, he moved down the platform, checking both
sides for the brunette woman. He could not find her. Then he
realized what had just happened. 

"Styerva," he muttered. The scoundrel bitch had dumped him. She
maneuvered him up the stairs, then back tracked to lose him. He
felt the fool. Dejected, he made his way down the stairs, and
back to his car. He slumped in his seat and sighed. He almost
jumped out of it again when the door flew open. 

"Looking for me," Stanton said. Her 10mm was out and trained on
the man's chest. 

"I should have known," he said calmly in excellent English. "Who
takes a train when they have a car in this country?" 

"Get out," Stanton ordered. "Hands first." She backed away to
leave him room. The man did as ordered. "Now close the door, and
put your hands on top of the car." 

"Have I done something wrong," he said. 

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Stanton replied. 

She patted him down and felt a bulge at his waist. Quickly,
Stanton reached under the man's coat and removed the gun from his
hip holster. "I hope you have a permit for this, or I just found
something wrong." Stanton pocketed the weapon. She continued the
quick frisk. 

"You are making a mistake," he said. "I can explain. If you will
just allow me to show identification." 

"Don't move," Stanton ordered. "Where's the ID?" 

"In my pants." 

"Then take them off and hand them to me," she said. 

"Pardon?" 

"You heard me. Give me your pants." 

"Please. This city is not Moskva, but it is still not the warmest
of towns." 

"Give me your pants!" 

"If you insist," he said. From the lined face, Stanton would have
guessed the man in his late thirties or early forties. When he
took off his pants, she was surprised to see that his legs looked
muscular. She was also surprised to see he wore briefs. And quite
brief they were. 

"I can see why you might be cold," she said. "I'll be right
back." 

"You plan to leave me here like this?" said the man, incredulous. 

"You're right," she said, throwing him her handcuffs. "Get in the
car and cuff yourself to the steering wheel." Stanton watched as
he did just that, and then she walked back to the hotel. 

* * *

In Maytag's hotel room, Nadezhda took a seat by the window. She
lit a cigarette and only afterward started looking for an
ashtray. There was none. "How uncivilized," she said. 

"Yeah, sorry about that," Maytag said. "Just use one of these."
He handed her one of the glass tumblers from the hotel courtesy
tray. "What can you tell me about Ilya?" 

"Why do you want to talk about Ilya?" Nadezhda had already taken
off her jacket. Now she crossed her legs in front of her. Her
short black skirt rode up her thigh. She tossed her brunette hair
over her shoulder and stared at him with large dark eyes. 

"He has information I need," Maytag said. 

"Nadia tells me you are more interested in her." 

"Nadia is mistaken." 

"Mistaken because she is not interesting?" Nadezhda asked, taking
a long drag on her cigarette. 

"Nadia doesn't even speak English," Maytag replied. 

"I speak English," Nadezhda said. "Does that make me
interesting?" She crossed her legs the other way, and the skirt
managed to move farther up her leg. The newly uncovered portion
of her hose looked darker, as if they were stocking tops, as if
she was wearing a garter. Maytag said nothing, and it was at that
point that Nadezhda knew she had him. "Is that bar?" she asked,
gesturing with her cigarette towards a cabinet on the other end
of the room. 

"Yes," Maytag said. "Would you like something?" 

"Is there wodka?" 

Maytag walked over to the cabinet. He ripped the cellophane seal
from the handles of the double doors, and then opened it. He
pulled out the miniature bottle of vodka, and held it up to show
her. 

Nadezhda laughed. "We have tradition in Russia. Once bottle is
open, you must finish. This one looks easy." 

"Would you like ice?" Maytag asked her. 

"Yes, please." 

As Maytag fixed the drink he asked her, "Where is Ilya?" 

"I don't know," she answered. 

"How did you know to come here?" he handed her he drink, and sat
on the edge of the bed, facing her. Now she had two glasses, one
for ashes that grew in time, and one with vodka that would
disappear. 

"Nadia," she said. "She said you could protect me. I expect her
soon. Maybe we three together could have easy time finishing
small wodka bottles." She took a sip of her drink. 

"What would Ilya say about that?" 

"He likes it more when we charge money. Is he coming here?" she
asked. 

"Soon," Maytag said. 

"Then we have little time," Nadezhda replied, sipping her drink.
She put out her cigarette. 

"Time for what?" Maytag asked. 

Nadezhda rose from her seat and crossed the short distance to the
bed. "Time for this," she said, before pressing her mouth against
his. 

-- 
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