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Interlude: Police WorkPrevious Story: Next Story: "Allô?" Inspector Clairemont repeated through the poor transatlantic connection. "Allô?" "Yes, inspector, hello!" He heard a woman's voice speak in English over the line. "Ah," Clairemont mentally mustered his English. "You are Officer Shear, yes?" "Yes, inspector." "Superbe. I must admit, your expediency is surprising. I've only finished speaking with the liaison some minutes ago." Clairemont tucked the old-fashioned phone receiver between his cheek and shoulder as he sat down. "I hope you don't mind, sir, but I'm not much for waiting." Penny paced behind her desk in ...
Eighties Europop drifted through the cool darkness of Stilette's Vault. Bastion and Bastille, sanctuary and sanctum, it was her home of homes and nerve-center, and more importantly, where she kept the Collection. Thousands of shoes, found, stolen, and purchased, arranged by color, size, and means of "acquisition". Each shoe had its own little story to tell, and Stilette knew them all by heart. Memories of adventure and passion filled her as she strode nearly nude, save for a pair of practically opaque black diamond patterned stockings, through the corridors housing the Collection.
Her lips mouthed lyrics sweetly as she ran her fingers over vamps, toe-boxes, and heels, searching for just the right pair. "Ah," she cooed aloud as her palms cupped the perfect pair. Black matte leather, high-walled, deep heel-cup, rounded toe-box, and metal soles and heels. She smiled as she remembered romancing them from the feet of bartender she'd met in Prague.
"These are new," the bartender had said in between in quick lilting breaths, her fingers gripping Stilette's hair.
"As are mine," Stilette offered back, her lips briefly leaving the bartender's inner-thighs long enough to speak. Stilette's fingers probed into the gap between the bartender's arch and her pump.
"Why do you want them," the bartender struggled to ask through roiling waves of pleasure.
"To remember you by," Silette half-lied as she popped the first shoe free of the bartender's bare foot.
"What will I wear home?" The bartender's fingers dug more deeply into Stilette's hair.
"Mine, of course," Stilette whispered back. "I wouldn't have you dirtying those pretty feet on filthy streets. That," Stilette kissed her thigh once more, "simply wouldn't do."
Stilette giggled to herself as she grabbed the heels she'd chosen from the Vault and danced back to her changing room. Adjoining the Collection and her, compartively, small clothes closet, the changing room was a narcissist's dream, fitted as it was with mirrors and vanity stations. She sang as she finished her preparations. Tonight was to be very special...
Officer Penelope "Penny" Shear listened to the captain in the squad room, her hosed toes resting lightly in the heel-cups of her work pumps. Her knees rocked up and down with nervous energy. She loathed inactivity and sitting around. But, the daily brief was mandatory, even if it usually boiled down to office pools and rehashing the cops versus fire basketball game the night before.
"And that brings me to tonight's main event," the captain moved her coffee cup off the podium and flipped open a manilla folder. "The party at the Armigen place."
"Oh shit, you mean we're actually working that?" Another officer up front asked.
"I'm afraid so people," the captain answered to a mix of groans and chuckles.
"The governor personally requested a security detail and we're going to deliver. So, I've already taken the liberty," the captain paused to produce another paper from her folder with a flourish. "Of prepping a roster. So if I call your name, you have the honor of shirking your regular duty shift tonight from seven to eleven. No monkey suits. The governor requested dress uniforms only. From the top, I want Callum, Collier, Dandridge, Gleason, Jones, Rodero, Shear, and Timms to stick around. Everyone else, dismissed."
"Ma'am," Penny slid back into her pumps and snapped to her feet the as room began to empy. "I strenuously protest," she said over the sound of officers filing out.
"I'm sure you do, Shear," the captain said as she made her way around the podium to stand amidst the officers she'd told to stay. "But it wouldn't kill you to brown-nose every once in a while, would it?" The captain raised her eye brows playfully over the rim of her coffee cup as she took a sip.
"Ma'am, I don't think the department's interests are going to be best served by baby-sitting," Penelope lowered her voice before continuing, "a bunch of old money eccentrics."
"Well Shear, that's where you're wrong. The captain unbuttoned her blazer and sat down with the rest of the detail. "The Armigens, and the rest of those 'old money eccentrics' are responsible for more than half a million dollars worth of funding annually. Now, while that's reason enough, the Armigens are also the biggest private contributors to the governor's warchest. My hands are tied, so yours are tied. Have a seat, Shear."
"I...yes, ma'am," Penelope answered snappishly as she took a seat closer to the captain and folded her arms. She crossed her ankles and pulled them up under her chair untill her heels popped free of her pumps.
The captain passed out sheets from her folder, a map of the grounds, schedule times, and assorted details. "Cap, this place is huge!" Rodero said as he turned the map over in his hands.
"It sure as hell is," the captain said back. "Fortunately, we only care about the highlighted areas: the ballroom, the east wing, and the, I never thought I'd say this in my fucking life, the croquet garden." Several of the officers snickered.
"What's up with the Armigens anyway?" Timms asked. He was from out West and was relatively new to the command.
"Plenty of local spook stories," the captain answered.
"Robert Armigen was an English industrialist, mostly ship-building. He and his wife, Monique, moved here in the late nineteen-forties. She was a French movie star in the thirties I think. Both long dead now. Some say murder, others accident." Penelope said breathlessly. When the rest of the officers looked at her quizically, she shrugged. "I did my homework after it came up the other day."
"You just might make detective yet, Shear," the captain said after another drink of her coffee. "Nowadays, the Armigens are a big, weird clan. Lots of money, lots of idle time, lots of skeletons in lots of closets. The usual stuff."
Stilette stared up at the huge portrait of Monique Armigen she kept in the Vault's lounge. "What do you think, my dear," Stilette whispered in French as she spun on the toe of her pump, the lavender of her dress whirling around her. "Am I worthy of your family?" Stilette tittered out loud. How many hours had she spoken alone with Monique? How much time had she lost to watching her films? Those flickering silver images of elegance and sadness. That china-white skin, blacker than black hair in a flapper's bob, and those legs. "You were my first crush you know," Stilette whispered to the painting for the thousandth time.
Stilette vividly remembered the first time she saw Chuchotements dans les Avant-toit, Whispers in the Eaves. She hated black and white films as a young girl, but the second the camera panned across a misty Parisian street to stop on Monique's shoes, Stilette felt something she'd never felt before. She was fascinated. The shape, the contrast against Monique's flesh. Even now, Stilette got chills just thinking about it. Then the scene where Monique is half-sitting out of the attic window, those very shoes dangling wildly from her stockinged toes. She drops one to tease the young male lead, and demands that he carry back up to her. Then those final closing moments where the two embrace, Monique lifts a leg and rolls her ankle, her shoe popping free in the air, revealing the reinforced heel of her stocking, and then it falls to the floor as the screen fades to black. Younger Stilette didn't understand what those feelings meant, but older Stilette certainly did.
Those very shoes, the pair that had altered the course of Stilette's entire life were now nearly in reach. Blue and black satin, a scandalous heel for the era, a delicate vamp, so neatly folded, and the faux stitching up the heel-cup. Stilette allowed her best sigh of longing to escape her lips. Her lavender gloved fingertips traced the outline of those perfect shoes on the painting once more. "Tonight, Monique." Stilette sweetly kissed the tip of Monique's shoe in the painting before whirling away to finish her preparations.
Penelope's shoeless hosed foot worked the gas pedal of the squad car as she and Rodero rode together to Armigen Manor, along winding mountain roads. If she wore pumps, flats, or sandals, she usually ditched one when she drove to work the pedals. An old habit.
"It's a nice drive at least," Rodero said pleasantly, his eyes locked on the spring foliage swaying twixt the trees and waning sunlight.
"Real scenic," Penny said coldly.
"You still bent about the detail?" Rodero asked softly, already knowing the answer.
The nylon of Penelope's sole glided down the brake pedal as she slowed slightly, heading into a turn. "A little."
"I know you got a lot to prove, but so did the captain at your age, y'know? Everybody's gotta pay their dues." Rodero shrugged.
"I know." Penny shook her head. "I just hate having to waste time on something so unimportant. I wanted a career, to do meaningful things. I love the beat. I love making a difference. But crap like this just gets to me."
"I don't blame you, Shear. Hey, at least the cap trusts us. Can you imagine if she sent Fowler out here? He'd get hammered, mace someone, get mace in his own eyes, and slur up a storm when they carted him off."
Penny laughed mildly. "Fowler is just the worst."
"A-right he is!" Rodero laughed. The rest of the ride passed with the two of them laughing at all the ways Fowler had embarrassed the department.
Armigen Manor was situated outside the city proper, just inside Shear's department's jurisdiction. Its grounds sprawled for acres and acres, much of the estate now overgrown and reclaimed like a heavily forested Grey Gardens gone even madder. But the grounds themselves paled in comparison to the manor itself.
Equal parts Art Deco and transitional Art Moderne, Armigen Manor seemed to explode from the dreary forest around it like the starburst it was shaped like. Five wings radiated from the central rotunda, itself surmounted by a great green glass dome supported by rollicking and wandering Art Noveau iron work.
"Holy shit," Rodero said quietly as it came into view beyond the high iron gate.
"That is way more impressive than the pictures I saw on the internet." Shear was slightly taken aback. Her hose-covered toes found the brake and slowed their descent down the causeway-like driveway.
Stilette's pump dangled vigorously from her toes as she rocked her crossed leg back and forth on the private jet, her stockings gliding quietly over themselves. She leafed through the magazine again and again, her heart beating rapidly. She lingered on the article, her eyes constantly darting to the picture of Monique Armigen's personal effects, the shoes chief amongst them. It had been fortunate she'd found this. She didn't especially care for architecture as an art form, but she happened to be leafing through magazines while tailing someone, and, perchance, she picked up Narthex, a slowly-dying architectural magazine. Her eyes glossed over the words as she paid attention to her target, but she did catch the name Armigen several times, and that was more than enough to pique her interest.
It was a two-page spread for a regular article series called "Deco Echoes" that featured Armigen Manor, went into a bit of its history and showed off the interior. The passage that held Stilette's fervor:
"Gene Armigen and his wife Rachel are most proud of the work in the north wing. Or should I say lack of work. There beautifully preserved period paintings line the aged, but otherwise pristine halls. And the original master bedroom remains virtually intact from its days of use. 'It didn't feel right messing with the place. It was so beautiful and so well kept, it seemed a shame to disturb it,' Gene said as I stood there, marvelling at the fortune of period clothing, shoes, and personal effects. 'A shrine to the past, the thirties, the fourties, all that.' To my amazement, Gene and Rachel confirmed that several of the gowns and accessories had even been featured in several of the former Mrs. Armigen's films. 'To my knowledge, several of them are in her movies. I was told by Gene's mother that she just kept whatever wardrobing she liked," Rachel told me with a laugh."
And then, in a block of photos to the left, there they were. Laid out with other pairs of heels, slippers, and miscellaneous footwear were THE shoes. The "whispering" shoes Stilette had come to call them to herself, both for the film and for how they "spoke" to her.
Stilette was an impulsive creature of passion and desire. While each shoe she stole was motivated by the very same desire, this was personal in a way no other heist had been. She'd thrown caution to the wind. As soon as she learned of the extant Armigens and she put her ear to the ground, she learned about the party. A masked ball. It would be deliciously quaint were it not for the immense investment she felt in Monique and her shoes. She could've waited; she could've done things like a professional. She didn't have to take the unnecessary risk of lifting them during a "grand occasion" in argot of the architecture. But patience be damned!
With precious little intelligence or preparation compared to her usual work, she hurtled toward Armigen Manor and the whispering shoes, and she couldn't have been more excited about it...
Penelope dipped out of her pumps, each in turn, as she heard the guests beginning to arrive. The governor had come early, not that his mask was fooling anyone. She quickly wiggled back into her pumps and rounded the corner.
"Guys and gals in blue, that's what I like to see," the governor boomed enthusiastically. He quickly shook hands with the officers present. "I really do appreciate you coming out here," he said to them.
"Sir, we've been briefed on the evening's events, and we've been wondering," Penelope said as she stepped closer and lowered her voice. "Why exactly did you request formal police presence?"
The governor eased his comical pig mask up to speak more clearly as he closed in with the rest of the officers. "Fact of the matter is Gene Armigen and I go way back. His father was friends with mine. And he asked me favor, and I said okay. Big parties like this, people come from all over. And Gene and Rachel have some gorgeous stuff here, and they worry," the governor gestured grandly at the statuary and artwork in the great rotunda. "So just keep an eye on things." The governor took Penelope's hands in his. "I never forget a kindness," he said with false sincerity born from years of politicking. "Excuse me," he said to all the officers as he returned to the entourage that had accompanied him.
Penelope looked to others skeptically. Shrugs and head-shaking greeted her. "We have our assignments," she sighed. "Let's go." The police scattered and moved to their duty areas. Penelope was stationed in the rotunda, so there she stayed, disaffected by the lack of vindication from the governor's empty words.
She stretched her ankles as she stood her shift. She wanted to slip out of her pumps, but there were too many guests arriving. Frowning, she settled in, shifted her weight from foot to foot, and smiled politely when the occasional guest deigned to notice her presence (a rare occurrence) as they filed through the rotunda on their way to the ballroom in the east wing or to the croquet garden adjoining it.
After about an hour, the flow of guests became a trickle and then nearly ceased. Penelope leaned against a wall, had a quick look around, and then shook off her right pump. She sighed with relief as she rolled her ankle and fanned her toes. She planted her warm hosed foot on the cool tile of the rotunda and began to ease her other pump off.
"Standing awhile?" A voice purred. Penelope stopped and quickly stepped back into her other shoe. Embarrassment and frustration creased her features as she looked up.
She was a vision. Lavender full-length gloves were the only modest part of the mystery woman's outfit. Her dress, highly slit up both sides revealing the tops of her black designer stockings, left little to the imagination. She didn't walk in, she practically prowled through the foyer in her black-and-metal heels. Penelope had never seen hair that color. Midnight blue? Blue-black? She didn't know what to call it. And that little mask obscuring her upper face, but it easily allowed the gleam of those greener-than-green eyes to shine through.
"I, yes, I mean, excuse me," Penelope tripped over her words much to her own surprise. She finally managed to get her other heel firmly seated.
"Don't be embarassed, dear," Stilette said with a little titter. "I'm sure I'll be slipping out of these as the night goes on." She cheekily lifted her leg enough to let her shoe briefly leave her foot before she stepped back into it firmly. Stilette's accent pushed unexpected buttons in Penelope's mind.
"Is there something I can do for you, ma'am?" Penelope asked, having regained her composure.
"Not in polite company, darling," Stilette said wryly. "But no, I'm off to the ball." Stilette stopped to suggestively run her finger across Penny's nametag. "Thank you, Officer Shear." And with that, she turned and strode across the rotunda, her heels echoing loudly.
"You're welcome I guess," Penelope said under her breath, her cheeks flushed and heart rate slightly elevated. She slumped back against the wall as she watched the mystery woman disappear out of view toward the east wing.
Stilette's mind raced. Police? Here? Now? She'd told no one about her little trip here, and her usual coterie of contacts and informants knew better. Officer Shear made at least one police. She scanned the ballroom as she entered it, outwardly appearing nonchalant and cool. She turned heads as she entered naturally. Another one. Rodero stood on the far side of the champaigne fountain. He noticed her immediately; his eyes lingered on her assets.
Stilette claimed a glass of champagne as she moved through the throngs of the ballroom. She was eager to finish sweeping the grounds and get an accurate headcount, but her head was still cool enough to know to take her time. There would be no slipping off to the north wing just yet. She mingled; she laughed.
Penelope fidgeted with her pumps in the rotunda as she thought. That woman was familiar but Penny couldn't place her. It was eating at her.
Stilette was in the croquet garden talking to the Armigens. She'd counted seven police officers so far. She was feeling more confident, but still leery.
"Oh really?!" Gene said with affable surprise.
"Absolutely. I've been a great admirer of her films since I was a girl." Stilette said over her champagne.
"You know, I don't think Gene and I have ever watched one," Rachel laughed.
"That's a shame. Whispers in the Eaves is really quite something."
"You know, we actually have a number of Monique's things." Gene said.
"Oh! That's marvelous; I had no idea!" Stilette lied enthusiastically.
"If you'd like, I suppose you could see them." Rachel gestured to the looming wall of the north wing.
"We do love to show off that part of the house, but we can't have a horde tromping through there. A bit like those caves with the paintings and whatnot. The whole thing might just crumble about us, ha ha ha!" Stilette laughed at Gene's poor witticism. Her heart skipped a bit. She was practically salivating.
Penelope climbed into the squad car parked down a slope and out of sight of the guests. It was a little slick to navigate in her pumps with the evening dew, but she made it. Once inside, she powered on the laptop and logged in. She kicked off one of her pumps without even thinking about it.
Where had she seen that woman? That hair. Those eyes. Penelope had her physical characteristics, so she started indexing.
Minutes later, her eyes shot open wide and her jaw fell slack. She thumbed her radio on. "Rodero, do you copy?!"
"I copy. What's up, Shear?" Rodero was surprised by the fervor in Penelope's voice.
"There's a guest. Lavender dress, long gloves, dark hair, sort of in a bob, small mask, green eyes."
"And killer legs," Rodero chuckled. "Yeah, I've seen her why?"
"Interpol notices. Three of them. Purple, orange, and red."
"Nobody reads those things, Shear. 'Cept you I guess."
Penny stared at the screen. "I'm telling you, this is her. Female. Height: 1.76 meters. Weight: 72.5 kilograms. Birthname: Unknown. Alias 'Stilette'. DoB unknown. Approximate age: mid-thirties. CoB: unknown; believed to be French. Wanted in twelve countries for more theft and larceny charges than I have time to name! Find and detain her; I've got to call this in."
"Well, it was a quiet night. I'm on it, Shear." Rodero shook his head.
Stilette followed after Gene and Rachel as they wove through the garden and guests with excruciating slowness. They stopped constantly, exchanged greetings here and there, caught up with old friends and family. Stilette was boiling inside to get at the prize, but she maintained.
After calling things in, Penny pulled her discarded heel back on and practically exploded out of the car. The slope was slick and she nearly fell more than once, but she mantled back up to the manor and hurried inside. She entered the ballroom, her eyes roving. Rodero was with Gleason by the wide Art Deco glass doors that led to the garden. Rodero waved her over. "Well?" She asked as she got close.
"Nadda, Shear. Got the others checking outside and in this wing. The house is huge, so who the hell knows." Rodero shrugged.
Penny rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Okay what about the Armigens? We can at least ask them about valuables; what she might be here for."
Gleason nodded. "Thought about that. Haven't seen 'em yet. I was gonna ask one of the servants to call 'em. One of them gotta have their phone on 'em at least."
"I'm gonna talk to the servants, see what they know, " Rodero said.
"Fine. I'm going to start looking. Call me if you get a lead." Penelope turned on her heel and headed back toward the rotunda.
"A more elegant time, eh?" Gene asked as he, Rachel, and Stilette made their way down the corridor. "So romanitc, you know? In the literary sense."
"Quite." Stilette said immediately, having grown tired of the Armigens' vapid idiocy minutes ago.
"And here we are," Rachel said as they turned a corner to a gorgeous set of doors, rich with nouveau details. She turned them and they swung inward easily. She ratcheted an old light switch on and old bulbs flickered on.
Stilette sighed as her eyes fell upon Monique's things spread across a dressing table and a vanity. The shoes whispered to her instantly. As if in a trance she glided across the room toward them.
"Do be careful," Gene said, his words falling on deaf ears.
Stilette knelt down and, her hands faintly trembling, she picked up one of Monique's heels. "I can scarcely believe you're real," she whispered back to it. Her eyes made love to the curves and colors and signs of wear. She carefully placed it back on the floor and stood up. Stilette stepped out of her right shoe and slipped into Monique's heel. She bit her lip and moaned slightly as her toes glided into place over the toe prints already worn inside. "It fits," she whispered joyously.
"Miss, are you all right?" Rachel asked hesitantly from the doorway.
"Yes," Stilette said without turning around, her eyes glued to her foot inside the whispering shoe. "Gene, Rachel, I'd like to thank you for kindness."
"Oh, well, its nothing. Just some old garments and such." Gene said.
"No, they are much more than that to some us." Stilette turned, smiling. Her stance was a little lopsided from the uneven height of her mismatched shoes. She snapped her small clutch open and produced something. "Here, a token of my appreciation," Stilette said as she tossed the capsule to Gene.
Gene caught it handily and looked down at the small glossy black disk with puzzlement. When he and Rachel looked back to Stilette, she was holding a small filter mask to her mouth and nose. She waved at them playfully just before white plumes of compressed mist jetted out of the disk, startling them. Startlement turned into unconsciousness almost instantly as the two of them fell into a heap.
Stilette slipped out of Monique's heel and back into her own after dropping the breath mask back into her clutch. "Soon my darlings," she said to the heels as she picked them up in one hand. Stilette flicked her clutch in her off-hand and, like a magic trick, its panels unfolded, lengthening it significantly. She was just about to slide both pumps into her now-larger bag.
"Hold it right there," Penelope said from the doorway. She had her tazer trained on Stilette. Her eyes darted down to the unconscious Armigens. She was relieved to see breathing.
Stilette quite liked Penny's mussed look: her cheeks flushed, short hair a little tousled, even a run in her hose. Stilette smiled. "Officer Shear, was it? Good seeing you again."
"Drop the shoes, the bag, and get down on the floor, Stilette." Penelope held her ground and worked to steady her breathing.
Stilette's eyebrows popped at hearing her name. "Ooooooh, look at you. My first take in your jurisdiction," she paused to waggle Monique's pumps, "and you already know who I am."
"I mean it. Drop the heels, the bag, and get down on the floor. By now, the PD's already en route and they've alerted Interpol and the FBI as to your whereabouts. Come easy."
Stilette chuckled throatily. "I usually do," she winked.
Penelope frowned. "Now," she said authoritatively.
Stilette sighed. She dropped her bag and carefully put Monique's heels back where they were. "You have me, how's the phrase, dead to rights?" She dropped to her knees and wove her fingers together behind her head. "Like this?"
"Fine." Penelope said as she moved in, careful to step over the snoring Armigens. She knelt behind Stilette, one pump popping free of her heel. She readied her cuffs and grabbed Stilette's wrists forcefully.
"Ooooh, you are much more in control than you seem, no?" Stilette teased.
"Shut up," Penny said. The cuffs clicked closed. Stilette moaned in response
"I hope you pat me down for weapons next," Stilette whispered.
"I said shut up," Penny said weakly. Being this close to Stilette was making her feel...unusual. "Now lay down, face down," Penny said as she stood.
"Whatever you say," Stilette said seductively as she slid into place on the floor. Penny reached down and slowly pulled off Stilette's party mask to confirm her identity. "Mmm, you aren't the first to demask me, but you, I would wager I am your first demasking, no?" Penny studied her beautiful features for moments before she dropped the mask to the floor.
"Just don't try anything," Penny said, ignoring Stilette's previous quip.
Penny allowed herself a brief sigh of relief as she stood again. She toed Stilette's bag further away from her before turning to the Armigens and thumbing on her radio. "Rodero, I've got her." Penny holstered her tazer and reached down to feel how shallow their breathing was. "Second floor, north wing. I found the Armigens too. They're," she was interrupted by the sound of her tazer being drawn from its holster. She turned to see Stilette on her knees, cuffs off, and holding her tazer.
"Tut tut tut, Shear. It's cute; I've never gotten to say 'rookie mistake' before! Now, you've made one. Never take your eye off the suspect." Stilette smiled devilishly. Keeping the tazer trained on Penny, she stood and picked up Monique's heels, leaving her bag where it lay.
Penny's face drained of color as Stilette stood. It was impossible, how quickly she'd escaped those cuffs. "I know, I'm amazing," Stilette read the look on Penelope's face. "Now it is your turn to lay down on the floor I believe." Rodero was talking over the radio, but Penny didn't hear him over her feeling of shock and the adrenaline coursing throug her system.
Penny dropped to her knees and then the floor, one of her heels popping free and then falling off completely. As if she couldn't be more embarassed. She felt Stilette's breath on the back of her neck as the thief cuffed her hands behind her back. "I think I like you, Penelope," Stilette said as the cuffs clicked into place, careful to enunciate each syllable of her name. "So no tazings." Stilette discharged the tazer's cartridge into the corner of the room before dropping the weapon.
From the floor, Penny heard Stilette pick up her bag and drop the shoes inside. "Why?" Penny asked, turning her head to the side. "All this for a pair of shoes?"
Stilette smiled. "You're right, Penelope." She knelt down and slowly pulled off Penelope's remaining pump. "Why stop at one pair?"
"Hey! You've got to be kidding!" Penelope protested.
"You have very cute toes, Penelope." Stilette admired them before grabbing Penny's errant pump. "Now, I'm off. Ciao, Penelope."
"Oh you bitch," Penelope shouted and rolled onto her back.
Stilette stepped over the Armigens into the hall. Rodero and Gleason were charging down the corridor. "Nothing's ever easy," Stilette said aloud before ducking back into the room. As she stepped over the Armigen's, Penny was waiting.
Penelope knew all she had to do was slow Stilette down for the others. Penny threw her legs out and wrapped her ankles around one of Stilette's, briefly causing her to falter and slip. Penny felt Stilette's stockinged foot slip free of her shoe and through her ankles.
Time seemed to slow down as Stilette looked down at her empty shoe and then at Penny. Their eyes locked. "Okay, one for one," Stilette smiled and blushed, sharing a moment of vulnerability, to Penny's surprise, before the thief tossed Penny one of her works pumps back.
Then in a lavender flash, Stilette cast open the window and disappeared onto the ledge outside. Penny stared at Stilette's empty shoe and stopped her writhing, still lost in that brief moment of connection the two of them shared.
Rodero bounded in, nearly tripping over the Armigens. "Outside, the window," is all Penelope managed to say. Her eyes drifted back to Stilette's shoe...
Hours later, Penny limped along back to the squad car in her one work pump, Stilette's shoe in her hands. She should've turned it over as evidence but she couldn't. She didn't even bring it up during the debrief. No one noticed or cared about it back at the scene with all the garments and accesories strewn through the room. She didn't know what it was, but she kept reliving the moment over and over again.
Back in the car, she tucked Stilette's heel under her seat and waited for Rodero. She'd rather not have to explain that particular souvenir just now. Rodero joined her shortly and the two of them began the drive back to the city.
"Crazy night right?" He said, breaking the silence.
"Crazy," Penny said quietly.
"Don't feel bad about what happened. Coulda' happened to any of us."
"I don't." Penny answered back honestly, her dew-slicked nyloned sole gliding easily over the pedals as she drove.
"Cool, cool." Rodero was pleasantly surprised. Shear usually beat herself up over mistakes. "You made the ID too. That's nuts. How many times do those notices amount to anything? I mean, like, never. But you read that shit, and bam! You picked her out. You're real police, Shear."
"Thanks," Penelope smiled softly.
"Hey, where's your shoe?" Rodero asked as a blade of light from a passing street lamp happened to illuminate the floorboard.
Penny smiled again and laughed a little. "I don't know."
Stilette reclined on the jet, Monique's heels resting in her lap. The very shoes responsible for her "affectation" were hers. A swelling, swimming feeling of contentment surged through her, but there was something else. She curled her stockinged toes over the toe-box of the shoe she was still wearing and she inhaled the scent of Penelope's work pump again. "Mmmmh. Penelope," she mused to herself. She blushed and thought about their little trade.
Stilette rarely felt real kinship or understanding with anyone, but that moment between the two of them gave her pause. In her heart of hearts, she liked to think Penelope Shear had some inkling of insight into the answer to her question now. "Why all of this for a pair of shoes?"
