Mickey leaned again the door and watched the hallway. The three gangsters she had shot lay in the hallway. They were quiet. She was pretty sure at least one was dead, maybe even two. She occasionally heard a low soft moan and that told her one of her enemies was still alive and wounded. Her police and military training urged her to go to the wounded and give first aid. Like all police and military members she was trained in basic and advanced life saving. However, she knew there were many more armed bandits in the building and she had no idea how long it would take her supporting tactical team to arrive at her location. Until they arrived she could not risk leaving the relative cover of the doorway she was in, or abandoning her prisoner, Philip Cardone, who was the objective of the entire mission.
Suddenly her eyes picked up the dancing shadows on the wall at far end of the hallway as at the same time she heard male voices coming up the stairs speaking in Spanish. Suddenly, just as the voices reached the top of the stairs they stopped.
Then she heard: "Que' diablos es eso?" What the hell is that?
"Mierda. Su Pablo y sus hombres." Its Pablo and his men.
Then she could clearly hear a strategy discussion between a group of men hidden from her by the stairwell. She recognized the voice of Mr. Juan DeSalvo, the owner of the Velvet Club and the cartel lieutenant who gifted her to Cordone. He was in charge, and he understood something had gone wrong and the cartel leader, Philip Cordone, was in jeopardy.
Mickey heard him order his men to pull the bodies in from the hall and back into the shelter of the stairwell. Mickey held her fire as she peeked out her room door and watched DeSalvo's men rush out into the hallway to retrieve their fallen comrades
She had no desire to use any more force than necessary and she hoped that DeSalvo would be in a position to render first aide to the survivors of the first group of security guards. Over the next few minutes she could hear but not make out a whispered exchange between DeSalvo and his men and she presumed the wounded men. Then two shots rang out. It took Mickey a few seconds to realize that DeSalvo did not want to be burdened with wounded subordinates.
As Mickey watched down the hallway suddenly a thug emerged from the shadows of the stairwell entry. He slowly proceeded down the hallway as the policewoman peeked out from her doorway. A few more steps and he would be halfway down the hallway and it would be impossible for him not to see her sheltering in the doorway. She didn't want to shoot him without warning him, and she didn't want to give away her position. She realized she had few options.
She yelled out down the hallway in Spanish "Detener donde se encuentre! Polica! No te acerques mas!” Stop where you are! Police! Don't come any closer.
Mickey ducked back into the room as the men who remained at the far end of the hallway sent a hail of bullets from their assault rifles into the wall around the doorway Chips of plaster and wood flew through the air as the heavy rifle rounds penetrated the wall and tore into the wood door frame. Mickey hugged the floor as the projectiles ripped the air above her head. When the fusillade stopped she peaked back out the door and saw that the loan gunman who had been in the hallway had retreated to join his peers. Mickey recognized that the entire foray was designed to determine who was guarding the hallway and where they were located. They now knew she was in Cordone's suite and they probably were guessing that there was only one of her. They also knew that their adversary was a woman.
One of the men replied from their covered position in the stairwell, "Que te jodan! Puta!" Fuck off! Whore! This group of hard core miscreants had no more respect for cops, especially female cops, than the three she had dealt with earlier.
Now that they understood the situation, Mickey could hear low voices in the hallway, presumably determining a plan of action. She couldn't makeout what they were saying but it didn't matter to her. She did not have many options except to do her best and handle whatever came at her. She soon found out what the plan was; and it wasn't very sophisticated. The three thugs, yelling at the top of their lungs in Spanish, bounded out of the stairwell and charged down the corridor blasting away at the doorway where Mickey was sheltering. Mickey kneeled low in the doorway. Again most of the unaimed shots passed harmlessly overhead while a few chewed into the hallway floor tiles. They were close though that she could hear and feel the air sizzle as the bullets traveling a supersonic speed passed within inches above her head. She ignored the shower of plaster and wood that erupted whenever a round tore through the room wall. The noise of the three automatic rifles cycling through 60 bullets in just a few seconds was also deafening. Taking a deep steadying breath, the petite undercover officer leaned into the hallway on one knee, raised the Beretta into firing position, and calmly returned fire.
The Berretta barked three times. Mickey centered the sights on her targets and pulled the trigger so quickly that the three reports sounded like one. Again, as with the first three assailants, the three bullets was all that was needed to send the three screaming firing men tumbling down to the floor of the hallway, adding their blood to the tile already covered by thick red stains.
DeSalvo peered from the stairwell and unseen by Mickey took careful aim. Mickey, kneeling with only her left side and the pistol exposed scanned for more targets. She spotted DeSalvo in a similar crouched firing position peeking out of the stairwell entry. He had not been one of the three attacking her in the open. Just as her brain recorded the new threat DeSalvo's Glock fired four rounds as quickly as he could pull the trigger. Three bullets whizzed passed Mickey harmlessly, but a fourth plowed through her upper left arm.
Mickey pressed the trigger on her Beretta as she was already hearing the booming of DeSalvo's automatic. Suddenly her body was vilently spun halfway around and she felt as though a hot poker was run through her left arm. A blazing white hot pain shot up from her arm as the force of the bullet and the blinding pain disoriented her and caused her to fall out of the doorway into the hallway. Another blinding shock of pain tore through her as she landed on her side in the hallway, her weight driving the wounded arm into the hard tile floor. She had to fight to remain conscious. The nerve shocking pain forced her to grunt in agony and her right hand dropped her Berretta.
For a few second she lay in the middle of the hallway stunned and barely conscious of anything except the burning fire in her arm that made it impossible to think. Slowly she was able to grit her teeth and force her mind to refocus. The first thing she was conscious of was hearing DeSalvo call for additional reinforcements on his radio. She forced her eyes open only to find the gang leader standing over her. Mickey shook her head and groaned in pain and at the realization that her Beretta has slipped from her grasp.
"Puta!" DeSalvo spat the word as he stood above her and stared down at her predicament, his handsome face twisted in fury. He held his big Glock automatic in one hand aimed steadily at her head. They both glanced at her gun lying a few feet away and came to the same conclusion: there was no way for Mickey to reach it before DeSalvo opened fire with his. Mickey looked up into his hard eyes as DeSalvo's ugly grimace slowly transformed into an evil grin.
------------------------------------- The 20th in the "Vice" series. Click below to see the start of the series or the previous installmentegining of the Story:
Previous Chapter 19:
See the folder in my gallery for the complete story so far, in order.(Let me know if you'd like to read and see more of Patrol Officer Mickey's adventures )
Eight weeks after the arrest of Philip Cardone Mickey left the County Sheriff’s office and the last of several award ceremonies organized in her honor. They were small unpublicized affairs as the details of the Cardone operation were too sensitive to make public. Still, within the law enforcement community her gun battle with the assault weapon armed thugs was quickly becoming legend. To Mickey it was still somewhat surreal. She considered all that had happened to her since the task force had relieved her of the responsibility of guarding the bound South American cartel leader and his guards. There was no doubt that the last two months had been the most interesting, fascinating, eventful and scary of her short life.
Cardone was in the custody of the FBI and the Federal District Attorney. Mickey had heard that he had taken a plea deal that exchanged the death penalty for life in return for every detail of the cartel’s financial holdings and organization. The result of his statements and the computers that Mickey had guarded were hundreds of arrests in the US and hundreds more around the world. The third largest global organized crime syndicate was destroyed. In addition, numerous leads into other criminal organizations were uncovered and undoubtedly would lead to future arrests.
The professional accolades showered on Officer Michelle “Mickey” Ramirez were numerous. She had just received the Federal Law Enforcement Medal of Valor from none other than the Deputy Director of the FBI. Earlier in the week the mayor of the city, the police chief, and the county sheriff stood behind her as the governor of California awarded her the State and City medals for valor. The Sheriff had, in addition, promoted her to the rank of sergeant.
Along with accolades and promotions Mickey had been offered a variety of new and intriguing job opportunities. She considered a position as a detective in either Vice or Homicide, but for the time being she had accepted a position with the Sheriff Department’s SWAT team. Both she and the Sheriff knew that it was likely temporary. Several government agencies, including but not only the FBI, had invited her to Washington D.C. for job interviews. Until she made a final decision, however, training with the SWAT team and occasionally going on missions was exciting and rewarding.
Professionally the undercover mission with the interagency Vice task force had resulted in fantastic career opportunities and Mickey was anxious to take advantage of them. Physically, a short stay in the hospital followed by a month of therapy on top of her own training regime quickly healed her wound and brought her body back into top shape. Her mind however was a different matter.
Mickey realized that the drugs and conditioning that she was subject to while under the control of the cartel had affected her. While she was completing her mission she was too busy to think or analyze how much. In the weeks since she had the time and was astounded at what she realized were profound changes in her personality and demeanor. There were aspects of the Starr personality that she could not control and had become a part of her. Many more aspects of the conditioning, of Starr, were there but locked in a mental file that she could search and access when she needed. It was a scary but exciting ability.
Mickey thought about those things she could not control. For the first month she tried to resist the urges, the uncomfortableness, and the habits that were not really habits. They had been implanted deep inside her subconscious and were impossible to isolate and control. Like the unconscious way she found herself in front of the mirror every morning carefully doing her makeup. Her entire life she had rarely worn makeup but now it was only with the strongest of will power that she could avoid putting it on every time she left her apartment. Even more annoying was the impulse to check it constantly throughout the day. After a month the impulses had not diminished but gotten stronger the more she resisted them. She was emotionally exhausted fighting them. She finally just mentally gave in. They were annoying, but harmless, and they came so naturally that after she gave up fighting them they had become her nature. Thus, now, her makeup was always perfect for the occasion. She wore skirts, hose and heels whenever it was remotely practical. Her hair, though again short, was always perfectly coiffed, and, though she returned to her natural brunette, she only felt comfortable with red highlights. One of the most annoying was the way she walked, talked and interacted with others. She no longer just walked, she strutted. She could not control the sway of her hips, the way she spun on her toes, or the way she smiled seductively and batted her eyes. She couldn’t control these actions because they were now natural and unconscious aspects of her behavior.
She had to admit that the changes in her personality were mostly benign. In fact, they really may have been for the better. She found herself much more social and much more popular with both men and women, and she enjoyed the company. She also enjoyed the admiring looks and compliments that she got from her friends, family, coworkers and often from complete strangers. She would not have a concern at all if those simple flirty girlie characteristics were the only after effects of the drug. She was still and expert marksman, and her newfound dancing skills even complimented her martial arts training. Unfortunately, there were still other changes that she couldn’t control, and they were much more consequential, and even troubling. So far she had been able to hide them.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The 22nd in the "Vice" series. Click below to see the start of the series or the previous installment:
Previous Chapter 21:
See the folder in my gallery for the complete story so far, in order.(Let me know if you'd like to read and see more of Patrol Officer Mickey's adventures ) ---------------------------------------- Daz3D->Reality->Lux render with a V4 model.
Mickey picked up her props and examined herself in the mirror with some satisfaction. It was the perfect costume for the evening’s activities –all of them. As she finished adjusting the hem of her skirt Ruth arrived.
“Oh Starr, its perfect!” Ruth gushed as she came into the dressing room eyes wide and smiling. “Turn around for me girl.” Mickey dutifully spun slowly on her toes showing off her costume. “Yes Perfect,” continued Ruth, “The boss will love it! The audience will love it! I love it! Strike a pose for me girl.”
Mickey immediately stared dramatically at the dance director and gracefully adopted a wide fighting stance. She saw Ruth’s breath quicken as the older woman’s eyes feasted on the young dancer. Mickey had no problem balancing in the black mary jane style heels. Though a full four inches high, the thick heel was shorter and much easier to balance on than her normal five inch stilettos. Still, they were of sufficient height to tense her calf muscles nicely, and perfectly formed her smooth toned thighs in their jet black stockings. Mickey could feel the cool air teasing her skin where the stocking tops stopped several inches below the hem of the short grey skirt of her Japanese school costume. Compared to what she had been wearing recently the scandalously short skirt and sailor style top was very conservative.
Ruth stepped forward and gently adjusted Mickey’s hair. Normally Mickey distained pigtails and thought they looked silly, especially on anyone over the age of six, but in this outfit she knew her wild red hair pulled into long pigtails and tied by two black ribbons perfectly complemented the grey sailor-moon type outfit.
But tonight, despite the outfit and hair, Mickey was not portraying the cliché innocent schoolgirl. No. With her black heels, black stockings, and grey suit, Mickey represented the dark and deadly innocent “Babydoll” from the movie Sucker Punch, and if her costume didn’t make that clear her props did. Mickey balanced two deadly realistic swords in her hands. In her left hand she brandished a Wakizashi –the traditional short sword of the Samauri. In her right hand she held its companion, the Katana –the long sword that ancient Japanese law permitted only the warrior class to carry. Together the matched pair, the Daisho, were a deadly combination in the hands of one trained in the deadly martial art of Kenjutsu –traditional Japanese swordsmanship. Holding the swords in a ready position, it was all that Mickey could do to act sultry and sexy and hide the quivering excitement that began burning inside her when she first saw the weapons.
When Mickey had opened the garment bag and saw her costume for the night, it was not the sailor outfit that had made her smile. It was the swords. Of Mickey’s four years in the US Marine Corps, she spent three years stationed at US Marine Air Station Iwakuni in southern Japan. There she had studied Japanese martial arts. Though Mickey was primarily interested in Karate, which she continued to practice as a fifth degree black belt because of its practical value to her career as a cop, she also practiced nitoryu –two sword swordsmanship. While in Japan she became fascinated by the artistry of the samauri swords themselves, and then as she learned karate she was introduced to the martial art of swordsmanship. Over the course of her three years of study she became proficient enough to master the major techniques and combinations of the sword. Now, finding the replica blades, merely intended as props for her dance, was nothing short of divine intervention. Though they did not have a cutting edge, in the hands of the someone who knew how to wield them, the movie reproductions could still be quite useful and dangerous –and Mickey had that knowledge.
All of Mickey’s considerable knowledge and skill was masked by the pleasing smile and somewhat vacant stare she gave Ruth as the dance director beamed happily over the Sucker Punch themed costume. She then had Mickey quickly demonstrate the major moves of the sword dance that was the basis of her stage act.
Satisfied with the dance knowledge implanted through the mind-control programing, Ruth took hold of Mickey’s arms and looked deep into her eyes. Mickey stood submissively, keeping her eyes somewhat glazed and her expression neutral. “You are very special Starr,” Ruth stated softly, her voice hinting at more emotion that the director normally displayed. “After you have finished entertaining Mr. Cardone I’m going to make sure we take special care of you.”
Ruth then leaned in and pressed her lips softly against Mickey’s. She meant it as a good luck kiss, but ever since being teased by the alluring redhead’s lap dance routine she had been tortured by images of the girl kneeling between her knees, and as she kissed her she felt a small flame burst into heat deep inside her. Without thinking, Ruth’s tongue quickly slipped past Mickey’s unresisting lips and she hugged the petite redhead close as the two shared a deep soulful kiss. Mickey’s eyes closed and she moaned softly into the kiss as she let her implanted programing guide her response. For several long monments the two were locked together, Ruth pressing her body tight against Mickey’s curves as her hands cupped the young patrol officer’s face.
Finally, Ruth broke the kiss. She couldn’t believe the effect this girl had on her. She took a deep breath to calm the fire that the innocent kiss started inside her. She had to be careful she reminded herself. “Good luck sister –break a leg! Now get out there, you have ten minutes!”
Ruth left the dressing room and Mickey realized all the other girls had also departed. She was by herself. She set the two swords down and looked in the mirror. For a few seconds she studied the glamorous redheaded vamp who stared back at her and marveled at the contrast with the short-haired brunette tomboy that was her just a few days ago. Then she smiled, twisted the ring on her finger that contained the tiny police radio beacon, picked up her swords and strutted confidently out the door. The sound of her heels clicking loudly in the empty room and following her down the hallway.
----------------------------------------- The 15th in the "Vice" series. Click below to see the start of the series or the previous installment:
Begining of the Story: Chapter 1:
Previous Chapter 14:
See the folder in my gallery for the complete story so far, in order.
(Let me know if you'd like to read and see more of Patrol Officer Mickey's adventures )
Mickey planned to just peck Julia on the cheek before she got in line for the security check at the airport, but as soon as she stepped close to the blonde doctor and looked into the pool of her deep blue eyes her thoughts of being proper in public disappeared. As she her lips touched her lover’s their two bodies instinctively melted against each other and Mickey’s nylon clad thigh slide naturally between Julia’s legs. Mickey lost herself in a long deep wet kiss, the feel of her girlfriend’s luxurious hair and the smell of her delicate perfume. Then with a supreme act of willpower Mickey broke the kiss. A few lucky passer-by smiled at the highly charged display.
Mickey stood inches from her girlfriend and bit her lip in mild frustration as she held each of the doctor’s hands in hers. “It will only be two months baby.”
“I know. But for the last year we’ve been together almost every day. I’m not sure I can take being apart,” replied Julia looking both pouty and sad.
“Sweetheart, we’ve been through a lot. You can take it and so can I. And, then we will be together again in D.C. I’ll have the house all set up and life will be perfect, “ Mickey soothed. Mickey couldn’t help but smile because she really was moving to a better place and she felt like the luckiest woman alive that Julia would be there with her.
“You’re right of course,” replied the gorgeous woman who might have just stepped off the cover of a surfing magazine. Doctor Greene's signature starched white blouse, charcoal pencil skirt and black stiletto pumps did nothing to hide her lush curves. “I am kind of excited about it, and the new research job I found is really a big step up for me too.” Her pout turned into a smile as images of Mickey and her relaxing by the pool of the new home they would be moving into flashed through her head. “And I am so looking forward to that pool.”
Mickey’s smile got even brighter as she flashed on the pool image as well, featuring Julia in a micro bikini. “Baby, we are going to do wicked things in that pool.”
Both women giggled as they shared one last hug, before Mickey picked up her briefcase and strode to the security checkpoint. She briefly turned back for a quick wave before going down a flight of stairs. A few minutes later the striking latina with the sharply cut short hair wearing a perfectly fitted Saint Johns’ skirt suit stood patiently in line and contemplated the new life she was beginning, unconsciously primping for many admiring glances of her fellow travelers.
She had interviewed for several government agencies after the Cardone operation. Her involvement, and particularly the way she handled herself in a dangerous and stressful situation, had garnered a lot of quiet attention. There weren’t many people, especially attractive females, who could have subdued three armed men single handedly, and then fought off seven more, all armed with assault rifles. That kind of unique combination of skill, intelligence, and coolness under stress was extremely rare.
So, after interviewing with the FBI, Homeland Defense, the Secret Service and the CIA, she had agreed to join the latter organization. There were several reasons for her choice, and they were all good ones. She was being hired by the CIA as an analyst. That was a nice comfortable nine to five job which they had agreed she would never actually work at. The analyst job was merely a cover for her real job which was as an operator. An operator was someone tasked to do a wide variety of dangerous intelligence related tasks around the word. She would be part of the agency’s Dagger Team. The Dagger Team was super-secret team of field agents who worked directly for the agency director and the President. Although she would drive to work each day as if she worked in one of the many cubicles that were the essence of the CIA ‘s Langley headquarters complex, she would never actually step foot into a cubicle or turn on a computer. Her daily job would be to hone the skills she needed to successfully conduct missions in very dangerous and hostile places around the world.
Mickey was impressed with the job. She would be involved in only the most critical national security issues, working with the best professionals in the world, and, as she had done in the Marine Corps and as a policewoman, serving her country. On top of that, the CIA knew all about her part time job working at the “4 Play” Club and her alias “Starr Sizzle.” And they were cool with it. In fact, to the CIA having an operative who moon-lighted as an exotic dancer was an encouraging bonus. The agency saw Starr and her dancing talent as an additional skill set that might be useful on missions. They also knew all about Mickey’s girlfriend, Doctor Julia Greene, and as additional incentive they had helped secure the doctor an incredibly lucrative research position in D.C. area. Compared to the rather conventional opportunities the other agencies offered, it was an easy choice selecting the job as an “analyst” with the CIA.
Mickey moved to the head of the line and was called forward by the TSA agent. She smiled to herself as she noticed the agent’s gaze travel the length of her body and linger at her dark hosed legs and the tight jacket closed over her breasts. She was used to be admired but it still caused a tingle to run down her spine each time she noticed it. That tingle was one of the many legacy’s of the “Perfect” drug and the cartel’s programing. Mickey turned on her smile and batted her long lashes at the young agent as she handed him her boarding pass. “Hi there,” she greeted him in a low throaty voice.
The agent was startled at the amount of suggestion Mickey was able to put into just those two words and quickly shifted in his chair to cover what had instantly become an uncomfortable condition in between his legs. He tore his gaze from the beautiful dark eyes of the woman standing in front of him and quickly marked her pass.
As he handed the boarding pass back to her, Mickey noticed the slight tremble in his fingers. She couldn’t help but teasingly run her nails over the back of his hand before accepting the pass back. She watched his face and noticed his pupils dilate as she touched him. She continued to bless him with a thousand watt smile.
“Have a nice flight Miss,” the agent croaked, his voice breaking as he looked deep into her eyes.
“Oh I will, thank you Sir,” Mickey flirted. “A nice flight and much more!” she spun on her toe and strutted to security making sure she the young agent got a nice view of her bottom swaying under the tight skirt.
I will be having a nice flight, and much much more she thought to herself.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The 25th and LAST Chapter in the "Vice" series.
Click below to see the start of the series or the previous installment:
Previous Chapter 24:
See the folder in my gallery for the complete story so far, in order. ---------------------------------------- Daz3D->Reality->Lux render with a V4 model.
Patrol Officer Michelle, “Mickey,” Ramirez, tomboyish former U.S. Marine and Iraqi war veteran, took her place on the street as “Trixie,” the new girl. She even had a pimp –a real pimp who owed the Vice Squad many favors and so put out the word that “Trixie” was his new star.
The first few days were very tense. Mickey, despite her decision to have fun with her new role, was really very uncomfortable in the crushing corset, nothing skirt, and stiletto platform heels. She felt vulnerable and exposed. Vulnerable because, despite her martial arts and combative training, the clothing, shoes, nail extensions, and big hair kept her unbalanced and made her feel awkward. Exposed because, although she had shown more skin on the beach, her posture and pose, though often unconsciously assumed, displayed her body in a wantonly sexual way that constantly embarrassed her, and, though she didn’t want to admit it, excited her.
Yet after three days she was somewhat of fixture in the downtrodden neighborhood. The other girls still gave her dirty looks, but Mickey knew that was mostly because they hated the young and fresh competition. Her “Johns” were all cops who picked her up on a regular basis and took her a flop house in the area where the squad had its base. Her “pick-ups” gave her a break to rest her sore feet, have a bite to eat, and compare notes with the squad who kept her constantly under physical and electronic surveillance. She chatted up the real johns as well, but made sure that her prices were high enough that they realized they couldn’t afford “a date” with Trixie. At the end of each day she hopped a metro bus and, after several changes, made her way back to the Sheriff’s building where she could change and go home.
Though she quickly got used to the language and feel of the street, the short walk through the sheriff’s building was always the most difficult part of the day. She could see the surprise and the lust in the expressions of the men who used to be her colleagues even though most were professional enough to try to hide it. She had worked so hard to fit in, be one of the boys, and excel in her police skills. But as she avoided eye contact and tried unsuccessful to keep her hips from swaying as she minced in the heels and tight skirt, she feared that the daily strut through the building was ruining years of work on her professional reputation.
By the end of the week Mickey was into a routine. She even had the gotten used to the bubblegum chewing and the occasional cigarette. She was a little frustrated that they had made no apparent progress to their goal. The plan was that she would attract the attention of one of cartel’s lieutenants. One of their jobs was to bring fresh “talent” to their boss, and the street where she worked was a known neighborhood owned by the cartel.
Mickey leaned into the red sports car and pretended to negotiate a “date” with one of the team members. As she absentmindedly popped her gum and flirted she didn’t realize that the next phase of the mission was soon to begin. She wasn’t just being watched by her team, other eyes with other plans had noticed the petite red head with the hot curves and killer legs. ---------------------------------- The second in the "Vice" series. Click below to see the previous render. (Let me know if you'd like to read and see more of Patrol Officer Mickey's adventures ) ------------------------------------
Mickey stared into the barrel of Juan DeSalvo’s Austrian Glock 17, 9mm automatic pistol. She knew the pistol well because it was the same pistol she carried as a uniformed officer in the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department. She also knew that it featured a standard seventeen round magazine, and she was certain that DeSalvo had not fired that many times. She would no be saved by an empty magazine.
DeSalvo saw the fear and calculation Mickey’s eyes and savored it. He didn’t know how the little bitch policewoman had managed to infiltrate his organization and not react to the drug treatment, but he didn’t care. All he knew was that things were fucked up, she was the reason, and she was going to pay. Juan DeSalvo’s only regret was that he couldn’t make her pay properly with a long slow rape and then an even longer, slower, and very painful death.
Suddenly Mickey’s fearful expressed changed, and her eyes grew big and wide with hope and surprise as she saw the tactical team burst out of the stairwell behind DeSalvo. The cartel lieutenant saw her reaction and spun on his heel with his gun leveled to deal with the new threat. As he scanned for nonexistent targets he grunted in pain as his left knee suddenly collapsed. He then screamed in agony as Mickey hammered the spiked heel of her pump into his right hand which was braced on the floor, holding the Glock. The thin stiletto heel, hitting with all the force and weight of her body, drove completely through the back of DeSalvo hand, crushing bones and ripping muscle as it went. DeSalvo’s right hand twitched in shock and the Glock went spinning across the floor.
DeSalvo barely had time to comprehend what was happening as he turned his head back toward Mickey and was met by a full force kick in the ribs. The kick sent him rolling away from Mickey and temporarily out of her reach. Unfortunately it was in the opposite direction from where his gun had gone. DeSalvo was a fighter, and a good one, but he was also shrewd and smart. Things had been going bad ever since his lookouts had reported the convoy of dark SUV’s and vans moving toward his club. Now, at least six of his men were down, the cartel leader Philip Cardone, was lost, and he just had a steel tipped heel rammed through his hand! It was time to cut his losses. As the kick sent DeSalvo rolling he continued the roll to put distance between himself and Mickey. Then quickly staggering to his feet and clutching his bleeding hand, he headed toward the stairs at a dead run.
Mickey stood awkwardly, holding one high heeled pump in her hand while kicking off the other so that she could balance herself. She watched DeSalvo sprint down the stairs and considered giving chase, but her analytical mind knew that her priority had to be the mission which was focused on Cardone who remained unconscious and bound in the nearby suite. She reluctantly retrieved her weapon and resumed her position guarding the door.
All was quiet for the next ten minutes as the petite redhead bound her arm to stench the increasingly worrisome flow of blood from the wound in her bicep. She knew she had lost a good bit of blood but she didn’t think any arteries were hit and hoped that with a little medical care it was not a serious wound. None-the-less, she was feeling light headed and the wound throbbed painfully. Any movement of her arm caused her to grunt in pain. Mickey fully expected another rush to retake the room by DeSalvo and his men. She thought it might be imminent as she heard quite a bit of gunfire echoing through the corridor from some distant part of the club complex. But then quiet returned and Mickey returned to her battle to remain focused on guarding the door and ignoring the increasingly acute pain in her arm.
The policewoman’s attention once again turned sharply to the corridor as she again saw the wavering shadows against the far wall indicating that someone approaching in the stairwell. Carefully she sited down the hallway with her Beretta, this time forced to hold the weapon in a less secure one handed grip. The shadows stopped moving and she could barely hear an indecipherable whispered conversation. She shifted her position slightly and tightened the grip on her pistol.
“Federal Agents!” a man’s voice shouted from the stairwell. “Identify yourself throw down your weapons!.” The task force had arrived.
Twenty minutes later the EMTs had just completed the initial treatment of Mickey’s arm wound and, though she was going to the hospital to have it properly operated on, the EMT’s declared it was a classic flesh wound and predicted a complete and rapid recovery. Juan DeSalvo, Mickey learned, had not been so lucky. Though he escaped down the stairwell he had tried to elude the Task Force by breaking through the police cordon along with several of his armed staff in a car. Spike sticks stopped the car and in the gun battle that ensued DeSalvo was fatally shot along with two of his guards.
Overall the seizure the club complex had been a huge success. The big target, Philip Cardone, along with several of his personal computers, was in the custody of federal agents. Combined with the evidence the feds had already amassed against Cardone, he would be in prison effectively for life. In addition, the computers were expected to yield the organization and financial details of the cartel which would make it a simple matter for the authorities to dismantle the entire network permanently.
The operation had been a complete success and most importantly, there had been little cost. In addition to Mickey, two uniformed SWAT team members had suffered gunshot wounds. Fortunately, like hers, both were minor. The cartel security force guarding the club was not so fortunate. They had resisted the task force and the several SWAT teams working with it, fiercely. And had paid a price. In their assault the task force arrested a total of fifty people including twenty armed gang members. Of the twenty gang members in custody six were wounded and four had been killed in battle with the police. An additional four had died in the hallway were Mickey was guarding Cardone. Two of the men she shot survived and would be imprisoned. She had wounded three others but they were later killed by DeSalvo with bullets to the head. Besides the twenty cartel members in custody, thirty other people were being detained by the authorities. These included bartenders, dancers, and various low level maintenance personnel necessary to keep the club operating. The raid on the club was only the first of several that were planned to break up the cartel.
Among the thirty detained personnel, were a dozen young women who were dancers at the club. A quick check of missing persons files revealed they were all from the west coast and had all disappeared over the course of the preceding year. Mickey quickly explained to her fellow officers the drugging and mind altering regime the club employed to make the women cooperative. The task force leaders immediately made calls and had both social workers and a psychiatrist flown in by medical helicopter to do an on the spot evaluation of the women. Without consciously intending to, Mickey left out all references to Doctor Greene and Ruth, the manager of the girls. She wasn’t really aware that she didn’t mention them until after she had finished orally briefing the task force commander. The commander informed her that all the major objectives of the task force were achieved and that he was extremely pleased with Mickey’s resourcefulness and bravery. He admitted that when they lost track of the limousine that initially transported her to the club they all feared that the mission was compromised and she was lost. As it was, he told her directly that her success brought the five year investigation of the Cardone Cartel to a successful conclusion.
Though EMTs were keen to get Mickey to a hospital, she refused to leave or take anything to reduce the pain until she talked to the police psychiatrist. Twenty minutes later she informed him of what she knew of the mind altering drug and the mental conditioning that the dancers were all subjected to. Mickey advised him that it was her understanding that the effects might be permanent. He nodded and took careful notes while asking a few questions about her own experience. She told the police doctor the complete truth; however, again, she left out any reference to Doctor Greene and Ruth.
Finally, after receiving assurances that girls who were held by the club with her were going to receive the best possible care, Mickey allowed the EMTs to transport her to the hospital. On the way to the hospital she borrowed the cell phone of one of the EMTs to call a friend to inform her she was safe and arrange to be picked up after she was released. She dialed the number from memory and waited only a few seconds until the phone was answered.
“Hello, Doctor Julia Greene speaking, how can I help you?”
“How’s my pretty baby?” Mickey whispered softly into the phone.
------------------------------------- The 21st in the "Vice" series. Click below to see the start of the series or the previous installment:
Previous Chapter 20:
See the folder in my gallery for the complete story so far, in order.(Let me know if you'd like to read and see more of Patrol Officer Mickey's adventures )
Michelle, “Mickey,” Ramirez, came into the bed room from the living room where she had been unpacking boxes from the recent move from California to Washington D.C.
“What’s up Jules?... Oh!...my God!”
Doctor Julia Greene sat on the floor surrounded by packed and unpacked boxes holding a framed picture of a young Mickey in her hand. She grinned at her lover and roommate, “A Hooters Girl, Michelle? Really?”
Mickey blushed speechless. The long forgotten picture from when she was named Hooters employee of the month, combined with Julia calling her “Michelle,” which she only did when she was in a certain mood, got her quickly flustered and warm. If she could have organized her thoughts she would have recognized it as a latent effect of the mind control process she had experienced months before.
Julia giggled at her friend’s discomfort. “And you told me that the Velvet Club was the only time you had ever dressed in costume! I think there was more to your star performance there than just what they did to you at the club!”
The usually self-assured Mickey blushed more as she remembered the summer after high school when she worked at one of the Hooters franchises in her home town of San Diego. She desperately needed the money and one of her girlfriends talked her into applying. She hated every minute of it. All that smiling and being bubbly and flirty was so not her. But, the money , specifically the tips, was so good! In fact, when she left the job to join the Marine Corps she took a significant cut in pay!
Mickey put on a frown to show her annoyance and to cover her embarrassment. “It was ten years ago, I needed the money, and it was only for four months. Okay? End of story!”
Julia stood up and walked up to Mickey with the framed photo in her hand. “Employee of the month, baby? You must have been a veerrrry good Hooters Girl.” The blonde doctor smiled seductively at her roommate as she moved close and put her lips to Mickey’s ear.
“This picture of you is hot baby,” she whispered. “It makes me hot. You look fantastic in long hair.”
She pressed her soft body against the toned body of her lover. Their thin shorts and tee-shirts did little to contain the heat that was quickly rising under their light summer outfits. Julia nuzzled Mickey’s neck and then lightly nipped her earlobe with her teeth as she continued.
“ I want you to wear that outfit for me baby. I want you to be my little Hooters Girl.” She kissed Mickey’s ear. “Will you do that for me Michelle? Will you be my cute little serving girl?”
Mickey moaned softly as Julia’s warm breath and sweet kisses caused her skin to goose bump and her body to literally tremble in anticipation. Both of them knew that calling her “Michelle” was almost like a trigger that made Mickey unable to resist doing anything and everything that Julia wanted. Just hearing that name sent shivers down Mickey’s spine. There was no question that if Julia wanted her to resurrect her Hooters Girl image she would do it.
“Mmmmmm…God Jules you can drive me crazy.”
“So you’ll wear the costume for me baby?” Julia cooed.
“Mmmmmmm… yes… whatever you want,” Mickey half whispered and moaned in response.
Julia giggled and jumped back from Mickey, “Oh wonderful,” The petite blonde smiled and skipped to her dresser to retrieve her purse and car keys.
“Where are you going Jules?” Mickey asked as her temperature dropped as quickly as it had risen. She watched as Julia slipped on her sandals, and then followed her to the door.
“I’m going to get us some lunch baby. You keep working on the unpacking and I’ll be right back.” Julia pecked Mickey on the cheek as she stepped out the door.
Mickey shook her head and smiled, she thought that old picture from when she was eighteen was long lost. It’s funny how you find things when you move everything you own across the country. Now that she thought about it, lunch sounded real good.
Julia meanwhile was driving downtown to get lunch. And, while she was at it, there were a few other things she needed. She knew exactly where she needed to go. A place that really had the best chicken wings…and probably some accessories as well!
Daz3D->Reality->Lux Render with a V4 model. Tee-shirt texture made in PS.
The only differences in these two models, aside from the uniform modifications, is the hair, make up choices and pose.
I actually seriously considered some type of format like this to portray the changes in Mickey after her return to the force --since several fans requested it I decided to follow through as a bonus render that is off the strict vice story line.
The fourth part of what I think will be about a twenty part Blue Vixen series.
"The Blue Vixen" is an illustrated novella about the super heroine Blue Vixen. It will be uploaded here as each part is completed.
The Story starts here: Previous: Next: :
Val looked at the blonde FBI agent and thought she detected a smirk on her face after she explained the plan to get access to the Marachi residence. It was more than a little irritating. She understood that she had just been subjected to fifteen minutes of subtle persuasion. She also thought that their plan sucked. It was more of a hope than a plan. She knew she didn't want any part of it.
She took a deep breath and then turned to MacNamara. “Sir,I told detective Ricardo that for personal reasons I didn’t want to accept this undercover assignment. I understand how important this investigation is, but frankly, I didn’t hear anything that would indicate that this assignment could not be handled by any of a dozen different women detectives, not to mention another female FBI agent.”
The assistant chief nodded. “That’s true DeGeise. I think we left out that Marachi’s business associate doesn’t speak English, and that Marachi specifically asked Agent Fortune to find him a dinner date who spoke fluent Italian. You, detective, are the only woman on the force who meets that requirement. The FBI has an agent that meets the requirement, Unfortunately she is their office in Rome and not available. Not to mention the “date” has to have certain physical attributes which you also fulfill very well,” he smiled and shrugged his broad shoulders .“As you can see, we are out of options Val.”
“Actually Chief, I don’t see it that way. You could adjust your profile for a non-fluent Italian speaker. That would probably yield a couple of options. You could forget the language thing entirely. You could borrow an officer from another department. I would be surprised if the State Police, not to mention the New Jersey cops don’t have women that “parlare italiano.” You could also go to our friends at the CIA, ATF and Treasury and see if they have any agents that fit the requirements. In other words, there are lots of other options. I have very strong personal reasons I don’t want to do this chief. I know the department regulations are on my side, and I know the union will back me on this one hundred percent.”
The assistant chief looked a Val with his mouth set in a hard straight line. All of the "we are colleagues" attitude was gone and he was in complete boss mode. He then looked at Inspector George, “Bill, how about taking our FBI friends down stairs for a cup of coffee while Detective DeGeise and I have a word in private.”
George, who was completely captivated by DeGeise’s ability to stand up to the deputy division chief snapped out of his reverie and scrambled to his feet. “Sure. That’s a good idea. Agents, would you mind joining me.” The two FBI agents got to their feet, Andrews with a firm scowl on his face, Fortune with a small knowing smile. Both followed Inspector George out the door.
Both MacNamara and Val remained seated watching the others leave. As soon as the door closed, however, MacNamra’s entire focus returned to his uncooperative female detective. “Okay DeGeise, you’ve had your say. Now let me lay it out for you in terms you will understand. You will go undercover and here’s why. First, it’s a one night operation, not an extended deep cover. Two, this is the biggest on-going case in the department, maybe in the nation, and its our job –its your job to make this happen. Three, closing this case will free up lots of man-hours and budget to put against other important projects. Finally, four, if you don’t cooperate I will make life hell for you and yours. You can forget promotions, you can forget bonuses, and I will make sure your annual evaluation is such that you will never be promoted in this department again. In fact, I will make sure you go back into uniform and you may have the title of detective but you will never be in plainclothes again. Christ DeGeise, we’re not even asking you to sleep with anyone! That bitch Fortune is going to be doing all the nasty stuff.”
Val didn’t flinch at all, as she had anticipated the chief’s tirade. “I completely understand Sir. And you should understand that I will fight each and every one of those actions through the Union and in court.”
MacNamara was well versed in department politics and he knew in a straight battle between him and the detective backed by the Union he might lose. That was not acceptable and so he responded by upping the stakes considerably. “That’s fine DeGeise. And you might want to advise your boyfriend and your brother to get together with the Union and their lawyers as well if they are wondering what happened to their promotions. And if you don’t tell your brother exactly why he didn’t make captain when he comes up next summer I will. And believe me, I will make sure that backdoor everyone knows that you cost this department a big role in this the largest money laundering bust in history. You won’t have a lot of sympathy in this department when everyone finds out that this is all about you not taking a simple one night undercover assignment. And believe me DeGeise, they will find out.”
The chief paused and stared impassively at Val. Though he was obviously angry, he managed to keep most of his emotions under control and not raise his voice. The truth was, he could probably figure out some way to substitute another qualified person for Val, but her refusal, especially over personal preferences, was an affront to his influence in the department. Quite simply, it was disrespect. And it had all played out in front of the FBI which was professionally embarrassing. So, though he could afford to let DeGeise win and the operation would survive; he could not let DeGeise win and her career survive. Thus, if she continued to refuse the assignment, he would in fact follow up on his threats not just against her, but also her boyfriend and her brother. The ironic part was, though MacNamara didn’t know Val at all, he did know her older brother well and liked him. He was a rising star in the department and would make captain soon. But, personal preferences had to bow to organizational efficiency. And everything had to bow to MacNamara's quest to someday be the chief of the entire police department.
Val sat and stared into the eyes of the assistant chief for a full minute, careful to keep all emotions from her face. She knew he meant every word he said, and she knew that he could follow through on most if not all of what he threatened. She also knew that in a fight with him in Union arbitration she would win easily.
Surreptitiously Val took a deep breath and forced the tension that had built up out of her body. At the same time she was careful to maintain her alert posture and show no outward change in her demeanor.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
Val had been mentally prepared for MacNamara’s threats. She had predicted virtually all of them and had rehearsed her responses to various combinations. Basically, she was determined to avoid the undercover assignment whatever the consequences were to her. MacNamara had sensed her determination and that was why he had widened the threat to include her brother and her boyfriend. She wasn’t particularly close to her brother, there was a lot of family issues unresolved between the two of them. In addition, he was basically the type of climbing ambitious cop she despised. He had graduated with honors from Columbia and while she had dropped out of high school. They were very different personalities and not very close. But she was in no way going to involve him in her affairs especially by bringing retribution against him for her decisions. Rich, her boyfriend was a different but similar dilemma. They tried very hard to keep their careers separate and not effect each other, especially negatively. They had been dating for a year but in the last few months it looked like it had reached a new level –they were even talking of moving in together. She couldn’t risk the promise of the relationship maturing even further.
“But, I’m not sleeping with anyone,” she stated firmly.
MacNamra’s face broke into a wide smile, one which was genuinely happy and not sneering or triumphant. He had won, and now he was being gracious as the winner. “No, of course not DeGeise. Like I said, you are just a prop so that Agent Fortune can get into Marachi’s penthouse and do her thing. This guy you are going to “date” is like eighty years old anyway. Ha. He will probably be asleep before the night is over.”
Two hours later, after going over more details with the FBI and Inspector George, Val was stepping off the subway at the Atlantic Avenue Station. She had agreed to meet Agent Fortune the next day to prepare for her undercover role. The meeting with the assistant chief had left Val in a foul mood which she had successfully hid from her new colleagues in the FBI, though they all knew she was on the team reluctantly. She desperately just wanted to get home, change, and go for a long run through Prospect Park to clear her head.
As she stepped off the train and walked briskly toward the stairway leading to the street level she felt a hard tug on her right arm which swung her half way around from the direction she was walking.
She turned to see a rough looking man in his late twenties scowling as he tried to pull her leather coach purse from her shoulder with one more hard tug. "Letgoa the purse, Bitch!"
Val, already irritated beyond measure by the department politics, flew into a red rage.
“Your mugging me!?? Really??? You sorry piece of shit son of a bitch!!!” she yelled as her left hand firmly grabbed the strap of her purse and her right hand went under her coat to her 9mm automatic on her hip.
“I can’t believe this shit!” She screamed at the mugger who had two hands on the strap and was trying to use his superior strength and size to pull it from Val’s grip. His expression was changing. Where one second ago he was scowling and intimidating, he now was looking a little confused by the slight woman who instead of being afraid of him was cursing him and tugging back on her purse strap. He didn't see her draw her pistol.
The mugger’s confused look never fully developed as Val swung a hard roundhouse punch into his face with her right fist gripping her Taurus automatic pistol. The punch from the pistol whipped the mugger’s head to the right and he let go of the purse as blood gushed from a large gash over is left eye. Before he could recover, Val shifted her weight and swung again with her right fist and backhanded him with the pistol. That blow staggered him and broke his nose. As he bent over in pain and cupped his crushed and bruised face, blood seeping through his fingers, Val kicked him hard in the groin. The mugger’s eyes rolled back in agony and he fell slowly to his knees and then, after a short pause, onto his face. He lay moaning on the subway platform, one hand cupping his damaged privates and the other his face as blood made a small pool on the dirty tile floor.
“Mother fucker,” Val muttered and then looked around.
The altercation had only taken a few seconds. Most of her fellow passengers had already left the station before she was accosted but the few who had seen what happened were staring at her astounded. Typical New Yorkers, they hurried toward the exit to avoid involvement.
Val looked down at the whimpering thug and considered her options. She could call 911 and wait for a patrol unit to arrive and take charge of the assailant. Then she would have to follow up at the station with a statement and paperwork. That would involve at least the rest of the afternoon and much of the evening. Later she would waste a half a day or more in court. Or, she could just leave him where he lay.
Val holstered her Taurus, slung her purse over her shoulder, and followed her fellow passengers to the exit stairs. She was careful to step over the spreading pool of blood on the platform.