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The Easy Winner

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Pendrake's ample behind blotted out the sun. Climbing behind him up the narrow stair to the "L" platform, Wilson slowed down so that he might fall a few more steps behind his lumbering boss. The heat and the stench of urine were overwhelming. Finding himself trapped in the fetid damp stairwell brought on a sudden bought of claustrophobia.

"Chicago, what a great town!" Pendrake boomed to no one in particular when they had mounted the platform. Mopping his jowls with an already saturated handkerchief, he surveyed street below and the people around him with a look of self-satisfaction, supremely sure of his mastery over all that he saw.

Wilson stood quietly by him, like a rook beside its king awaiting orders. Although they could have easily taken a cab, he had to humor his boss, no matter how uncomfortable it got. When in Chicago, Pendrake insisted on taking the "L".

"Jeez it's hot here," Pendrake muttered, still not addressing anyone directly, certainly not Wilson. "Look at these poor slobs," he said.

"How do they stand it? Broiled in the summer, frozen in the winter.

Jeez! What a town!" He shook his head.

Together, the two of them made up Pendrake Enterprises. The firm specialized in deal making, corporate mergers, takeovers both hostile and amicable: any kind of transactions requiring the skill and finesse of a man like Pendrake. When it came to the art of the deal, Pendrake had the Midas touch. He possessed the uncanny ability to bring the most unlikely parties to an agreement, seeing in even the most hopeless situation the small piece of common ground upon which he could bring them all together. He commanded a hefty fee for his skill: Pendrake Enterprises was much in demand. As a result, they spent most of their time on the road, traveling to wherever their services were required. Wilson, the accountant and the firm's only employee, was the one who scurried around madly, trying desperately to transform his boss's flights of fancy into something that could be written into a contract and signed by often-hostile parties.

The only deals Wilson saw Pendrake botch were in his personal life, with women. He had been married once - Wilson had seen pictures of the stunningly beautiful wife - but ever since the financially ruinous divorce, Pendrake had chosen to live in a twilight bachelor's existence, becoming the denizen of so-called gentlemen's clubs, strip joints, and various smoke-filled hotel bars which were the abodes of lounge lizards, casual hookers, and various lonely traveling businesswomen who might be foolish enough, or drunk enough to let him get near. A big, gregarious, and totally fearless man, he cut a wide swath wherever he went, from Tokyo to Toledo. Still, as adept as he was in his business, Pendrake's instincts were all wrong when it came to women. As far as Wilson could see, he scared the normal ones off with his crass behavior and unpalatable physique, and, although he was wealthy enough to afford the classiest paid company, he claimed to have a thing against call girls, so he abstained. The various bargirls and strippers he hopelessly lusted after were only trying to squeeze as much money out of him as they could anyway. Pegging him as a naive mark, they had no intention of giving him satisfaction.

Wilson couldn't recall seeing Pendrake getting laid once, in spite of all the effort he put into it.

A shy, unassuming man, Wilson had more success with women than his boss as far as he could tell, although he was often at a loss to explain what his appeal to them could possibly be. He was a rather unremarkablel looking man from a physical standpoint, albeit with a slightly down-beaten expression to his face. Still, he had his small successes. For him, the most important factor in meeting women seemed to be getting out from under Pendrake's shadow. The man was cursed in some way, Wilson decided. But almost like magic, on the rare occasions he found himself on his own, Wilson managed to stumble into his fair share of casual encounters: perhaps a moderate number by the standards of other single traveling businessmen, but enough for his modest appetite.

A recent trip to Miami had been typical. After lounging at the hotel one evening, Pendrake got a bug under his skin to go out. As usual, there were some nightspots he couldn't do without seeing and so he dragged Wilson away from the idyllic poolside. Back in his room, Wilson was summoned out of the shower by a knock at the door. After throwing on his clothes and opening it, he found not Pendrake but a beautiful woman in a swimsuit, dripping wet. Her name was Brenda, she said. She had become locked out of her room while down at the pool and wondered if she might trouble him for one of his towels and the use of his phone to call the front desk. The towel Wilson offered up right away, but events taking the course they did, the telephone was never put into use by Brenda. Eventually it did ring, and Wilson, brushing one of Brenda's ankles away from his ear to make room for the receiver, found himself confronted by an impatient Pendrake calling from the lobby. Thinking quickly, Wilson offered up the first excuse that came to mind - a sudden illness - and Pendrake went on alone.

The trouble for Wilson was that Pendrake almost never let him out of his sight. He liked having company along on his futile forays into the seamy nightlife of whatever city they happened to find themselves in, someone to pour him back into bed at the end of another wasted night. And Wilson knew it was all a complete waste of time. All the drinking, the hundreds of dollars paid for lap dances and whatnot never amounted to anything, for either of them. But Pendrake's optimism and enthusiasm were boundless. Besides, he was the boss, and when the boss said 'jump to it!' Wilson could only ask how high. He often considered leaving Pendrake for employment elsewhere, for a less tyrannical boss who would appreciate his talents, but just when his spirits were lowest, someone like Brenda would come along and his job wouldn't seem so bad after all.

Already, Wilson was ready for a cool bath and a nap. The workday stretched out ahead like the dusty roadside to a prisoner on a chain gang. He knew there was no relief in sight because, as usual, the things that wore him down and sapped his strength were the very things Pendrake seemed to thrive on. The "L" train groaned and slowly grated its way along the tracks. Without air-conditioning, the car was as hot as a furnace. Pendrake was talking about something in animated fashion, pointing out things on the ground below, his voice booming uncomfortably in Wilson's ear. Arriving at the client's office, he bounded past the receptionist and into the conference room with Wilson in tow clutching the laptop and staggering to keep up. All the rest of the day he bombarded the weary accountant with a rapid-fire series of questions about interest rates, amortization, and the tax code. By the end of the day, Wilson was exhausted.

Their hotel was one of the finest in the city. The lobby had a cavernous, high arched ceiling covered with murals. Pendrake stalked through it, leading them to the plush, dimly lit bar, where they lowered themselves into low-slung leather chairs.

"Ah, that's better," Pendrake said, fanning himself with the laminated card advertising the many tropical drinks on offer. "Now Mr Wilson, at last we can talk about tonight's entertainment." He dropped the card and rubbed his hands together as if he was about to dig into the most delectable meal. "Chicago has some fabulous clubs, if memory serves me. The women in this town...Let me tell you..." He grabbed for an imaginary pair of breasts. "The city with big shoulders...That' what they call this place! Heh, heh. There was one girl in particular I remember...Her name was...Buffy...? No!" He snapped his fingers in the air. "Bambi...? No, that's not it either... What the hell, it doesn't matter," he said, falling back into his chair. "But the tits on her! Whew! The most memorable lap dance of my life Wilson, really: it was something special, something I want you to see. I've been meaning to get back there ever since, hoping I would pass through Chicago again some time. I think she had a thing for me, Wilson," he said earnestly. "She came and sat with me when her set was over. She let me buy her a drink!"

Wilson cringed. Weariness seeped through to his bones, and the thought of another night carousing with Pendrake made him even more tired. He cast about for just the right excuse to offer to avoid having to go: tonight might require a particularly convincing one judging by the gleam in Pendrake's eye. Wilson was about to speak, staring at the tabletop to avoid Pendrake's eye, when a shapely pair of legs came into view. He took them in as he slowly raised his eyes - from the delicate pair of ankles and shapely calves, which he could see through the glass table, to the soft curving thighs, bisected tantalizingly above the knee by a short black skirt.

He closed his eyes and let out a silent groan. Those legs were clad in tight, black nylons: there was something about a woman's legs encased in sheer black stockings that made him want to run his fingers up and down them, encircle them with his hands, feel the firm muscles respond to his touch. The urge was almost uncontrollable. Above the short black skirt, the woman had on a crisp white blouse that modestly advertised her ample breasts, and where Wilson noticed her nametag.

Just below the Hotel's insignia was the name 'Stephanie'.

"Something for you gentlemen?" she asked in a low, contralto voice that sent another pang through Wilson. Women with low voices had a power over him he could do nothing about. In fact, he was convinced that if a woman came along with just the right voice, she could rule him, send him willingly to his own destruction by the power of that voice alone. Stephanie had such a voice, satiny and rich - the kind of voice that buzzed softly around the ears while leaving a gnawing, hungry feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Sure toots," Pendrake grated and ordered two scotches. He elbowed Wilson as they silently watched her retreating thighs work back and forth under the miniskirt. Her shapely backside gave the pleated fabric a life of its own.

"Holy shit, what an ass" Pendrake said under his breath.

Wilson was too flustered to respond. When Stephanie came back, he let his eyes reverse their course and take in her legs from top to bottom.

They were pressed together while she leaned over to set their drinks before them, and Wilson desperately tried to imagine the smooth, toned thighs tightly clasping him about the waist, the ears, anywhere. When she left, the two men were silent for a while, each nursing his own drink, lost in his own thoughts.

"Why don't you settle up here, Wilson," Pendrake said at last, gulping the rest of his scotch. "I'm going up for a quick shower and to change out of this." He flipped up the end of his tie as he rose and made his way towards the elevators in the lobby.

Too preoccupied with Stephanie, Wilson realized he had let Pendrake get away without producing one of his excuses. He sat for a moment, staring at his drink, feeling the weariness descend over him like a lead blanket. He could still call Pendrake, he thought, but he had forgotten which excuse he had decided on. Was it a sudden bought of nausea, food poisoning, an allergy, fatigue? He had to act quickly.

Glancing around in search of the phones, he became aware of Stephanie out of the corner of his eye. She was leaning over the bar, chatting with the bartender. Wilson watched the way her short skirt pulled up in the back when she leaned forward. Laughing, she tossed back her light brown hair, and at the same time bent her left leg at the knee, raising her foot behind her like a lady being kissed in one of those old movies. Wilson could not take his eyes off those black, stocking-clad legs. The little hollow behind her knee, just above the rounded calf, he found particularly fascinating. He imagined the smoothness, the firmness of those legs beneath his fingers, what it would be like to move his hands over those calves, to linger in that little hollow before proceeding to her thighs and under her dress.

With a start, Wilson realized the bartender had noticed him staring and was pointing in his direction. Stephanie left the bar with an over-the-shoulder comment and headed his way. He gulped the rest of his drink, hurriedly putting the glass down while trying to act casual.

"Another drink sir?" she asked, with that achingly melodious voice.

Wilson mumbled something she must have taken for a yes and watched her return to the bar to place his order. He tried not to follow her too obviously with his eyes, but she seemed to be surrounded by a halo of light, bathed a glow that drew his attention back to her from wherever he tried to look. She was young - in her early twenties he guessed -

and she had a fresh, innocent air about her that only seemed more wicked because of the way she was dressed. When she bent over to place his drink before him, Wilson inhaled deeply, trying to infuse himself with some of her essence. A few loose strands of hair trailed across her soft cheek. Around her slender neck, she wore a small silver chain.

He watched her with intense but outwardly noncommittal attention while she came and went, losing all track of time, until Pendrake's arrival snapped him out of his reverie.

"Jeez Wilson, are you still here?" Pendrake scoffed. "Look at you;

you've still got your briefcase for god's sake! Settle up here and leave that at the desk. I'm going to check on the train schedule."

He was gone like a puff of vapor. It took a moment for Wilson remember what he was in for that night: the strip clubs, table dances...the drinking, all the drinking, he thought with dismay. He would be shepherding around a drunk and belligerent Pendrake before it was all over; he could see it coming. And now there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening any more, he realized glumly.

Summoning Stephanie one last time, he signed the bill. After she had gone, he reached for his wallet and left her a twenty dollar cash tip, thinking how she had to be more alluring, more desirable than any of the women he and Pendrake were about to encounter on their long descent into the sordid nightlife of the city.

The first stop on their itinerary was a restaurant, since neither of them had eaten. Pendrake had an uncanny knack for finding great restaurants. As usual, he pulled a miracle out of his hat and led them to a wonderful Italian place right on the way to the "L". After that, they rode the train north to the club where Pendrake thought he remembered meeting Buffy, Bambi, or whatever her name was. It was then that the most wonderful thing happened.

The doorman asked to see their identification.

"Sorry gentlemen, its the rules," he said in response to Pendrake's snort of disgust.

With a flourish, Pendrake had out his wallet, flipping his I.D. in the man's face. Behind him, Wilson patted down each of his pockets in turn. His driver's license was nowhere to be found. Much to his secret glee, no amount of cajoling or bribery would make the doorman relent. Wilson had no idea where he had lost it, no idea when he had seen it last.

"That's just bad luck," Pendrake said as they parted in the doorway to the club. "Hurry back, if it turns up."

Wilson set out in the direction of the nearest "L" stop with no intention of returning, whatever happened. Replacing the license seemed a small price to pay for his freedom. After walking several blocks in the direction of the train station, Wilson asked himself what the hell he was doing and hailed a cab. At the hotel he went straight to his room and looked through all of his things in search of the missing license. Not finding it, he meticulously replayed the events of the past few days, trying to remember when he last had it in his possession. He remembered leaving Stephanie a generous tip;

perhaps it had fallen out then. The thought of seeing her again made the idea of going back to the bar very appealing.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. On opening it, he found Stephanie standing in the hallway.

"You must be Mr Wilson," she said, sounding apologetic.

Wilson tried to disguise how thoroughly startled he was.

Involuntarily, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. Immediately he imagined how ridiculous he must have looked and tried to compose himself.

"I have your driver's license," she said, holding it out to him. "You left it in the bar. I tried to catch you on your way out but I was too late. I hope it didn't cause you any trouble..."

Wilson took the wallet. That mellifluous voice was almost too much, especially when it was tinged with concern...

"Thank you," he said, wondering if he should offer her a reward. He was embarrassed for having left such a large tip earlier. It was one of those situations where he thought he could safely be extravagant, never expecting to see the object of his generosity again; otherwise, he would have been far too self-conscious.

"I appreciate your bringing it up to me," he added. "I could have easily picked it up myself."

"It's no trouble," she said.

Stephanie made no motion indicating she was about to go; she seemed to be waiting for something. Wilson decided that offering a reward must be the appropriate thing for him to do. Opening his wallet, he wondered what amount would be appropriate as he thumbed through the bills inside. "Let's see," he mumbled.

At that moment, with a clatter, two busboys rounded the corner pushing room service carts. Side by side, the large domed lids resembled a pair of oversized metallic breasts. Wilson leaned forward to see what the commotion was while Stephanie, stepping into the doorway to get out of the way, bumped into him.

"Oops," she laughed soft, close to his ear.

For a moment, they stood close together as the clickety-clack of the carts receded down the hall. Wilson still had the distinct impression she was waiting for something: was it the reward, or...? He remembered Miami. Close beside him he heard her drawing a breath, seeing the gentle rise of her breasts beneath the crisp white blouse out of the corner of his eye. A small wisp of hair trailed over her cheek, just in front of her ear; Wilson wanted to brush it back into place with his fingertips. His hand began to move involuntarily until he caught himself.

"I'm off work," Stephanie said in a soft, matter-of-fact voice. "I was just about to get changed and go home when I remembered your license. Do you mind if I close the door?" She moved another step into the room.

Blood roared in Wilson's ears. Suddenly he could hear the smallest sounds with vivid clarity. The rush of the air-conditioning carried an ominous portent; water dripping in the bathroom echoed unnaturally loud. He imagined the murmur of a conversation in the next room. In the basement, through layer upon layer of carpet, plaster and steel, he imagined he could hear two bellboys arguing in Spanish. The door latch clicking shut sounded thunderous: Stephanie hadn't waited for his answer.

"Put that away," she said, indicating his wallet.

"Oh, you get changed here, at the hotel?" was the only thing he could thing of to say, shouting at himself: stupid! stupid! stupid! What a stupid thing to say! He froze, not wanting amplify his bumbling.

Stephanie had edged even closer. She was so close it made him tingle

"I'm glad you lost your obnoxious friend," she said, in a tone of voice that made Wilson reel.

All at once her hands were on his chest, her breasts pressing into his ribcage. Wilson could feel their firm, fleshy weight flattening out against him, moving with her rapid breaths.

"Thank you for bringing the wallet," he said, wincing to himself over being at such a loss for words.

"You're cute when you're flustered," she said, wrapping her arms about his waist and looking up at him, oblivious to his inner turmoil. "I like shy men. They make the best lovers."

Fearing to do anything else lest he compound his foolishness, Wilson leaned forward and they kissed. For an instant he felt resistance before her lips softened and her mouth opened wider. She seemed to go limp in his grasp, a gesture Wilson found thoroughly feminine and alluring - a sign she had willingly yielded herself to him.

Somehow, they stopped kissing long enough to make their way to the bed, where Wilson guided her gently. Her lips were ripe and moist; he couldn't keep his mouth off hers, and they resumed their lengthy kiss sitting side by side. Wilson was literally bowled over by Stephanie's ardor. She pushed him onto his back and got astride him, sticking her tongue deep into his mouth. He let his hands run up and down her thighs, over those silky black hose, up under her dress to the firm roundness beneath.

She was as firm, as smooth as he had imagined. He grabbed to handfuls of her flesh and held tightly.

Stephanie tore her mouth from his and began kissing his neck while with one hand she worked at the buttons of his shirt with a teasing, deliberate slowness. With the shirt undone, she played with his nipples, biting them gently through his undershirt. Wilson could barely stand it. He was squirming from the intense pleasure, but Stephanie's weight had him pinned down.

She stopped playing with his nipples and helped him out of his shirt and undershirt. Wilson began to sit up but she pushed him back down with a surprising amount of force.

"Shh, be still," she commanded in a low voice. "I want to suck your cock." Her hands were at his belt; he felt the zipper to his pants being pulled over his growing erection. No one had ever said that to him, Wilson realized, not in any tone of voice. The thought that she was so willing, that she had appeared out of nowhere and was offering to do for him what he could have only dreamed about a few hours ago, made his head swim.

"Say that again." His voice was a barely recognizable rasp. His words hand come out unconsciously. He was not even aware he had spoken aloud until she answered him.

"Ah, I see...You like dirty talk." she said while pulling off his pants.

Something in her voice, the way she said it, so matter-of-factly, made Wilson incredibly aroused. It was like she had said, "would you like fries with that?" or something equally innocuous; but she was talking about sucking on his cock! The reality of what was happening to him hit home with the utterance of those few words, in her matter-of-fact voice.

"My mouth's going to be full very soon" she said, "but I'll indulge you as best I can: I'm going to suck your cock like it has never been sucked before."

She slid his underpants down to his ankles, where Wilson kicked them off impatiently. The cool air of the room made him aware of how hot his cock was. Stephanie didn't touch it right away, even though Wilson was silently begging for her to, gyrating his hips to try and bring it into contact with some part of her body.

"You have nice legs," she said, running her hands over them. "And what's this?"

Wilson gasped, feeling her fingertips gently lifting his balls. He squeezed his eyes and mouth shut, tensing his entire body to hold back the spasm of pure ecstasy that took him.

"Mmm, that's where all that hot come of yours is waiting," her voice hummed. "I can feel you've got a lot of it."

Stephanie began lightly walking her fingertips up the shaft of his cock.

"One, two, three, four..." she was counting the steps. "So big...and so thick..."

Then her voice grew muffled. Her hair came cascading over his belly, his thighs, like a cool, fragrant waterfall. He felt the softness of her tongue. At first a gentle flickering, then a more pronounced stroke, up and down the length of him. When her lips parted and engulfed him, a jolt of pure, animalistic desire went through him. He felt his cock swell in her mouth and heard her moan in response, or felt it rather, as a vibration which passed directly from her throat to his body, never traveling through the air as sound. He grasped the back of her head and pushed her mouth farther onto his cock.

He could feel more and more of himself passing into her, and the deeper he got, the thicker his cock seemed to grow. To Wilson his cock felt as thick as a giant oak branch, and Stephanie was taking it all in. She began to move her head, slowly up and down, her hair tickling his belly where the tresses coiled and uncoiled. Then, grasping her with the flat of his hands at either side of her head, he held her still and, gently at first, began to thrust himself in and out of her. Sensing no resistance, Wilson began to lose himself, fucking her mouth more and more forcefully until he was giving her all that she could handle.

Finally, Stephanie pulled her mouth off him, separating with a loud, wet popping sound. She had crawled up his body and was kissing him;

her lips felt wet and bruised, like mashed fruit. Her hair hung messily across both their faces.

"Fuck me. Fuck me with that hard cock of yours," she was whispering.

The softness of her crotch pressed against him, between the two jutting pelvic bones that were digging into his stomach. She began pulling her blouse out from the waistband of her short skirt. Wilson reached up and undid the buttons as quickly as his trembling fingers would go. Sitting upright, straddling him, Stephanie pulled the shirt from her shoulders. The bra came off quickly after, and then she was lowering herself onto him again. Her warm, heavy breasts descended about his face, like soft parachutes puffing out over the ground after a safe landing. Wilson breathed deeply of the musky air between them before turning his head first one way, then another, tasting that soft, milky-smooth flesh.

Stephanie swung her body, raking her swollen nipples across his face until Wilson finally caught one between his lips and sucked on it.

Her body shuddered, as if he was drawing the life force out of her through that one throbbing nub of flesh.

She pulled away. "It's time," she panted, brushing the tangled mass of hair from her face. "It's time for you to fuck me."

She began undoing the buttons at the side of her skirt, but Wilson stopped her. An idea had come to him. He quickly got up from the bed and, with his erection waggling before him, hurried to the bathroom and retrieved the small pair of scissors he kept in his shaving kit.

Seeing him return, Stephanie's eyes grew wide.

"It's OK, I won't hurt you," he assured her, sitting down on the bed.

Moving between her thighs, he kissed his way up the inside of her legs, one after the other, from ankle to crotch. Her nylon encased legs felt heavenly, and Wilson lingered over each one, feeling the smooth muscles beneath his hands. Hiking up the short skirt, he could see the white of her panties showing through the sheer nylons.

Following the centerline, he grasped the crotch panel of between his thumb and forefinger, separating it from the panties beneath. With the scissors, he cut a hole, just large enough to slide two fingers through. He stroked the soft white 'v' of her panties, feeling her warm yielding flesh through the thin cotton fabric, before cutting a hole in them to match the one in her pantyhose. A few curly, silky hairs protruded from the opening he had just created.

Stephanie was lying very still; her head turned to one side, as if asleep. Only the quick rise and fall of her breasts gave away that she was aroused. Wilson positioned himself between her legs, giving each breast a soft kiss. Stephanie was reaching down, grasping his cock, guiding him into her. He heard the tear of fabric: he had cut the hole in the wrong place...

She was wet and ready for him. The nakedness of the warm flesh wrapped around his cock in contrast to the slightly rough nylons was a novel, highly arousing sensation. They began fucking slowly, with Wilson pushing and pulling his entire length in and out of her. She crossed her legs behind him, letting the nylons rasp against his buttocks.

Stephanie began to coax him to go faster, whispering the most dirty and compelling things in his ear, and Wilson responded, losing himself, beginning to fuck her ferociously, like an animal. He turned her over, making her pose for him on all fours before slowly driving himself into her from behind. The sight of his own glistening wet cock disappearing into those black nylons drove him even more wild.

In the back of his mind, he though that he ought to go slow, savor the moment, but his excitement was too great. He straddled her, moving his legs outside of hers. Pushing her head down to the pillow, he drove his cock into her with all his might from above. He could feel his balls slapping against the nylons. Stephanie was still coaxing him, goading him onward. Bringing his head lower so that him might kiss her naked shoulders he could here her whispering to him.

"Come on...Yes, that's it...Fuck me! Harder!"

With one hand, she reached between his legs and grasped him by the balls.

"Mmm, I can feel your balls...they're so heavy... I want you to drain them. Empty them into me."

Wilson couldn't stand anymore. He had reached the point from which there was no turning back. His cock seemed to have a life of its own, pulling his body after it on its mad, piston-like thrusts. He felt the itching, tingling sensation just before his orgasm and pulled out to shoot several heavy spurts of come onto her ass. He watched as the thick liquid soaked into the nylons, its whiteness transforming to a darker black stain.

She collapsed under him, and the two lay that way together for a long time.

When Stephanie came out of the bathroom, dressed again minus the nylons, Wilson kept apologizing for ruining them. She assured him it was nothing: she had a complete change of clothes in her locker downstairs.

After they parted with a lingering kiss, Wilson lay back on the bed, trying to figure out what had just happened. He felt as if he had been struck by lightning and survived to tell about it: he felt incredibly lucky, but also a little perplexed by the whole incident.

"Why me?" he kept asking himself, getting from his orgasm mellowed brain only the response of: "Who cares?" Before long, certainly before he had his answer, Wilson was asleep.

Far across town, Pendrake was ordering another drink, looking at his watch with a distracted glance.

Meanwhile, at her locker, Stephanie fingered the envelope left for her at the front desk. She thought about the repulsive but strangely compelling man who had approached her the night before, considering herself lucky he hadn't wanted her for himself. He did have a way of putting things that made his offer hard to say no to... Pulling them out, the three crisp hundred dollar bills made a squeaky sound when she rubbed them together.

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