Michele Bravo Playing With Fire Chapter 18

I.

Gus Keller stood alone in the darkness. He was clad in black slacks, black turtleneck sweater, and black face paint, so only his eyes were visible, cold, cold eyes, the eyes of a killer.

He crouched behind the bole of a tree. In the light of the full moon he was assembling a rifle…barrel, stock, magazine…he lifted it to his shoulder and sighted through the scope. Moonlight glinted off the front sight.

Keller took a deep breath and sighted through the scope again. 400 yards away was the figure of his target…a woman…a large woman, dressed in red. Perfect. No one would notice any extra red on that outfit.

He closed one eye…sighted…the cross-hairs of the scope rested on the back of the head of his target. She turned around. It was Taran Tula. Keller began to squeeze the trigger…


II.


He sat up in bed, gasping. Sunshine poured through the window.

“Shit,” murmured Keller, and rolled out of bed. His chest was bare, but he wore cotton pajama bottoms. He strolled to the bay window, and looked out at the ocean. From that window he could look down at the rocks below the cliff, and the waves pounding on them. Whitecapped waves rolled gently toward shore.

Keller showered, shaved, dressed, and left his bedroom. He could smell the aroma of frying eggs, and followed it down the stairs and into the kitchen. Taran Tula herself, clad in a shimmering scarlet kimono, was fixing breakfast.

“Have a seat,” she said. “Eggs and bacon?”

“Yes, please.”

“Normally I don’t cook,” she said, swirling the eggs around in the frying pan with a whisk, “so you might regret taking me up on my offer, but we will see.”

She was being too modest, Keller concluded as he scarfed down her eggs. She’d mixed in onions and a bit of cheese, and they were delicious.

“Our employers have gone out,” said Taran Tula, “shopping for the party tonight. So we have the house to ourselves for a couple of hours. Now, you took down information on Alain Pretorius last night. Share.”

Keller told her what he had learned about their target. Taran Tula listened to him intently, nodding now and again. “Very good,” she said. “That gives us material to work with. I’ll vamp him tonight, and get the most personal details of his life. With a complete picture, we’ll be able to make our plans for his demise tomorrow morning.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Keller, as he watched Taran Tula rinse the dishes and place them in the dishwasher. Just hang out here until tonight?”

“This is an excellent location for us, Keller,” she said. “We can do some trap shooting, or pistol shooting, in privacy. There’s also a dojo down in the basement, if you feel like getting in a woirkout.”

“With you?” asked Keller.

Taran Tula smiled. “My skills are with blade and bullets, I’m afraid. But perhaps when our employers return, Adams will consent to work out with you.”

“He’s rather a small man,” objected Keller. “Besides, I don’t really like to bout with amateurs. I always get beat when I work out with guys, because I always have to hold back. When you’re killing someone, you spear the eyes, and break their neck. Takes three seconds.”

She nodded and looked at him penetratingly. “That’s very true, Keller. Very true.”

“A swim would be nice though,” said Keller. “We could grab surfboards and try the waves just outside this house.”

Taran Tula shook her head. “I’m not a swimmer. So no ocean swimming for you. But there’s an Olympic size pool in the backyard.”

Keller laughed. “Seems kind of redundant, to live right next to the ocean and yet have a swimming pool.”

Nevertheless, and perhaps for vanity reason, Gus changed into his swimming trunks and walked out to the pool. He’d been working out and while he wasn’t bulging with muscles, he didn’t look too bad, if he did say so himself.

Taran Tula relaxed in a deck chair as she watched him swim. He wished she would join him, but guessed that she was self-conscious about her appearance in a swim-suit. It was so odd…you’d think in her job she’d find it better to be lithe and svelte…but perhaps no one expected a fa….an extra large woman to be a cold-blooded killer. And she could certainly look jolly when she had a mind to…

Finally tiring of the swim, Keller stepped out of the pool. He stepped onto the stone deck, and his left foot slipped.

“Jeez,” he said. “This stone is like glass, when your feet are wet. You wouldn’t think they’d put material like this around a pool.”

“They probably expect you to wear flip-flops,” said Taran Tula.

“Well, it’s stupid,” said Keller petulantly, taking another step. This time, for whatever reason, his foot slipped out from under him completely. He was unable to regain his balance and felt himself falling. His head hit the stone, sparks exploded in front of his eyes, and then he felt himself falling into the pool.

III.


He opened his eyes, and stared blankly up at a woman who was gazing down at him with concern.

“Gus, Gus,” she was saying. “Come on, baby.”

He didn’t recognize her at all, but she seemed to know him. Her hair was dripping wet, she was dripping wet. And she wore nothing except a bra and panties and had tan, tan skin. And his head was killing him.

“I…what…?”

She sat back on her heels and gave a shaky laugh. “Jeez, Keller,” she said, “You gave me a fright. You slipped and hit your head. And then you went into the pool. And sank like a stone. Damn. I didn’t think that was supposed to happen. I thought unconscious people were supposed to float until their clothing got soaked and dragged them down.”

She kept calling him Keller..Gus Keller. Was that his name? God..he couldn’t remember.

“I….I can’t….” he said…

Before he could continue, two men appeared over him, both of them looking terrified.

“My god, what’s happened to Mr. Largo?” asked one of them.

Mr. Largo? What the hell?

“He’s alright, Jan, he’s alright,” said the woman. “Don’t distress yourselves at all. Slight problem with the materials around this pool, but he’s perfectly all right. Get up, Mr. Largo.”

He…what was his name? Gus? Keller? Largo?...got up.

“I’m fine,” he said, as the woman supported him.

“Don’t worry, Jan,” said the woman. “He’s fine. Everything will go as planned tonight, never fear. I’ll just take him up to his room and tend to him.”

“Can we help at all?” asked the man she called Jan.

“No, thanks. He’s fine."

The two men were looking at her, at her panties and bra and her trim, lithe, feminiely muscular form, in rather a state of shock, he thought. At Jan's feet was a mass of dripping wet clothing, misshapen clothing..too much clothing to have belonged to his savior.

"You've...uh...you've lost weight," observed the man called Jan.

The woman held up a hand. "Looks can be decieving, gentlemen. It only looks like I've lost weight. Water can be very slimming, you know."

"Oh, of course," said Jan quickly, glancing at his companion.

"So continue about your business as if nothing has happened. Come along, Mr. Largo.”

He walked with the woman into the house. He looked around…he didn’t recognize anything. He’d hit his head, fallen into the pool, and now he had lost his memory.

Which would be fine except who the hell was he? Keller or Largo? Something was wrong here. This woman...she'd been wearing a fat suit? What was up with that? And both of them...they'd looked so frightened, and not just because he'd hit his head. There'd been something else about their manner, they'd looked as if they were afraid of him.

Instead of asking who he was, maybe he’d better just keep his mouth shut and try to figure things out on his own. Besides, amnesia just happened in books. Once he got over the shock of what had happened to him, his memory would come flooding back. No problem.

“Don’t slip on these steps, whatever you do,” the woman told him as they mounted the marble staircase to the second floor.

“You don’t need to prop me up,” he said. “I’m fine. Just a little bit of blood coming from my skull, is all,” and he raised his hand to the back of his head and brought it away with a streak of blood on it. He wasn’t bleeding too badly.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I am fine.”

She brought him into a bedroom and pushed him onto the bed. “Stay there,” she said, “while I get the first aid kit from the bathroom.”

“I won’t move a muscle,” he said.

She disappeared into the bathroom. She was soaking wet. Her fat suit had been soaking wet. She must have dove into the pool and pulled him out. She had saved his life.

He hoped...he rather hoped...that she'd take off her bra and panties before she came out of the bathroom...he wanted to see what she looked like completely naked. She had saved his life...whoever she was...and he wanted to make love to her.