The inter-com beeped.
Fink sighed heavily and tapped two fingers against Tittyfuck’s franticallyworking, slobbering jawline. For a second, he dragged his finger-tips alongthat curve and traced a pattern up to the fleshy seam where the slurping bimbo’senhanced lips met his cock. He paused there, deep in thought.
The inter-com beeped again.
BimboTech’s alteration technology had made considerable leaps and bounds sincethe first days. Not for the first time he considered the possibilities of howTittyfuck could be improved upon further. He paused for a moment, felt her lipsmeet the base of his shaft and the swollen balls beneath, and then dismissedthe thought. She was a classic; like a well-tuned Chevy. Modern technologymight be able to improve on her looks, but it couldn’t improve her character.
The inter-com beeped once more.
He sighed, then pressed his fingers in hard against that seam, “Stop.”
The bimbo obeyed immediately, but reluctantly, offering a soft, shallow rhythmof whimpers as she pulled away and fell back on her ass beneath the desk. “Waitthere.”
Fink tapped the inter-com button. “Yes?”
The only noise that emanated from the crackling speaker was a series ofbreathy, listless, utterly, utterly stupid giggles.
Finally, after a moment of poised waiting, the smoky, feminine voice of thelobby’s receptionist came trickling through, “Ummmmmmmmmmmmmm, Mr. Fink...?”
“Who else?” Fink replied calmly, shallow breaths rising and falling as heslowly knotted his shirt back together; fixing the buttons together neatly andsmoothing the fabric out.
“Huh?” The receptionist bubbled.
“Yes, this is Fink,” He drew in a deep, patient breath then waited a momentlonger.
“Oh! Coooool! Um, like, Mr. Sionicis is here?”
Fink breathed out, tapped two fingers against his temple to quiet the buildingheadache, then gestured under the table for Tittyfuck to fasten his trousers.She did so quickly, panting softly.
“Mr. Sionis,” Fink corrected the voice, for no particular reason. “Send him up,thank you.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“You think this new business partnership the boss is tryingis gonna’ work out?” The man flicked his gaze back over his shoulder; to wherehis brother in arms was lying, slung over the rec room couch; his gun lyingacross his lap and a newspaper clutched loosely in his hands.
“Hm?” Rick didn’t even look up from is newspaper.
Tito shook his head, continued tapping a drum into his Uzi’sgrip and turned back to the window. “Forget it.”
Tito shrugged, stepped closer to the window, then glanceddown. Far below, in the street, he could see three other gang members unloadingguns from an unmarked van. “Guy was creepy, though. Shame his girlfriend was sofuckin’ hot. Yo, you think he was one of those Church o’ Crime weirdos?”
Rick ruffled the newspaper, shrugged his shoulders, then kept reading. “Beatsme.”
“Shit man, I got a bad feeling about all this,” Tito shook his head, glanceddown at his Uzi and then racked the slide noisily. “You hear the Bat’s outtonight?”
“Bat’s always out,” Rick flicked his eyes down to the bottom of his currentpage, then back up to Tito, “But I heard he was on the other side of the city;taking out car-choppers in the harbour.”
“Shit, boss won’t be happy.”
“Boss’ is never happy,” Rick shook his head, “Then again, face like that, howcan you tell?”
Tito turned, grimaced and stepped over to the table to checkon the large, black sports bag sitting there. He tugged down the zipper, ranhis fingers over the small, unmarked bags that were piled high within, thenglanced back up at his partner in crime. “You shouldn’t joke about the mask; it’slike a disability, man.”
Rick laughed, then closed the newspaper up before looking upat Tito, “You’re kidding me right, he calls himself the Black Mas-huh?”
He glanced past the man standing by the table, out throughthe window outside. The thick sheet of glass was speckled with raindrops; andthe view of Gotham was wavy and distorted as a result. “You see that?”
Tito turned, gun up and glanced around, “See what?”
Rick stared, one hand resting on the grip of the shotgunstrewn lazily across his lap. He sat up, lifting the gun slightly and thenracking a fresh shell into the chamber. “I thought I saw...”
They both squinted, the low, dull light of the rec room’sflickering bulb making the dark outside seem thicker, like pooling oil.
They waited, breath catching in their throats for a longmoment. Then, they heard the heavy trudge of boots on the stairs. “Must havebeen nothing.”
Tito nodded in agreement, “Yeah, yeah, must have been.”
His Uzi dipped for a second. Just long enough for the lithe,black-clad figure clinging to the brick facade above the window to swing down;long legs twirling and then pressing together into a single, sleek batteringram.
The window exploded inward, showering Tito with shard offlechetted glass. He cried out in pain as a shard opened a thick cut along hisbrow and fell backwards, crashing down atop the coffee table and splinteringthe legs on one side into slivers of chipped wood. Rick was already leaping tohis feet, shotgun levelled.
The sports bag slipped downwards and crashed into Tito’schest, the sudden weight driving the air from his lungs as he gasped andgawped.
The dark, thin figure slipped from it’s hand-hold above thewindow with a diver’s grace, flipping once as it sailed into the room and landing,cat-like, on all fours.
Tito gasped, clutched wildly around the floor for hisdropped Uzi and then rasped out a single, shaking cry, “C-catwoman...!”
Rick’s shotgun boomed. Catwoman sprung forward, taut bodytwisting in the air as the shotgun blast ripped a ragged hole in the carpetwhere she’d been a second ago. Her feet; clad in sleek, arched black heels thatwould have been difficult to shuffle in let alone perform acrobatic stunts,whipped down hard and carried her straight onto Tito’s jaw-line.
There was a crunch of cracking bone, then another roar asRick’s shotgun blasts chased her around the room. The second shot tore open ahole in the wall, showering the stairs outside with wood chips and powderedbrick.
Catwoman leapt again, leaving the unconscious Tito strewnacross the floor as she flipped to Rick’s left and landed neatly on the couch,a flick of her wrist and her hand snapped forward; the coiled whip at her side suddenlylashing out, catching the barrel of Rick’s shotgun and holding it fast as shetugged hard, ripping the gun from his hands. She kicked out with one long,limber leg and sent the gun skittering across the ground; out over the lip ofthe shattered window and trailing away into the night air.
“Bitch!” Rick cried out, lunging forward. She kicked offfrom the couch, landed in a crouch at his feet and sprung upwards, lettingmomentum carry her forward as her balled up fist collided with the underside ofRick’s jaw, lifting him off of his feet and sending him crashing to the floorin a heap.
Catwoman, Selina Kyle, stood and stretched. The hurried paceof boots on the stairs had stopped. She craned her neck, heard a colourfultrail of swears shouted into the still air and then the feet began hammeringagainst the stairs twice as fast.
She moved quickly, one hand coiling into the sport’s bagsstraps as her foot flicked outward and kicked Tito’s Uzi out through thewindow. She hoisted the bag onto her shoulder, stepped out into the hallway andmoved over to the top of the stairs. A chill, night wind blew in through thewindow, shaking the rec room’s door gently on it’s rusted hinges.
She stepped out onto the top stair. The three men rushing upthem grunted in surprise. The sports bag left her hands as she tossed itforward, springing off the first step and landing neatly on the banister,poised gracefully atop her heels. She began to slide, whip flicking out andsnaking around the throat of the first man as his gun tumbled from his fingers,bowled over by the sudden weight of the sports bag crashing into his chest.
He grasped wildly at it, finding purchase amongst thetangled straps. Catwoman tugged hard on the whip, yanking the man back down thestairs as she slid past him, pulling the strangled thug into the manimmediately behind him. The sports bag tumbled up and out of his hands, rollingover his face as he crashed into the man behind him and sailing into the crookbringing up the rear. All three men crashed together as Catwoman nimblydismounted the banister and landed on the landing between floors, catching thesports bag one handed and grunting as the weight caused her to take a stepbackwards. She uncoiled her whip with a smirk and stepped quickly down thestairs, casting a glance back at the tangled heap of groaning men she’d left inher wake.
The sports bag was too heavy to carry far. She paused twofloors down and crouched over it in a low stoop, rifling through the contentsand picking open one of the small bags contained within with the edge of hersharpened cat’s claws.
Perfect, clear diamonds spilled out of the sliced open bag.She grinned. “Girl’s best friend...”
Ch-chak!
She rolled her eyes as she looked up, first spotting theglinting barrel of a shotgun; a barrel that was pointed right at her, and thenthe man carrying it. Beside him, a second man dressed identically stood,clutching a small, matte black tranquilizer pistol.
The thought made her blood run a little hotter. Both menwere wearing identical over-alls; grey and woven from lumpy cotton. A small,pink logo was etched over each man’s right breast. The image was too small tomake out, but the letters beneath were large, uniform and blocky; B.T.I.
She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender and cocked a wrygrin. “I had no idea the Black Mask was paying out for private security.”
“Nice heels,” The man with the shotgun sneered. She cockedher head.
“You think?” She mumbled, her wit fleeing her in theimmediate after-wake of the odd comment.
“Not nice enough, though,” The man with the tranq pistolshrugged as the shotgun fired.
She chided herself mentally for letting herself be caughtflat-footed, twisting her body to avoid the worst effects of the blast andhoping her bodysuit absorbed whatever fragments found their mark. A secondlater she grunted as her shoulder snapped back, hit square on by a tightlywadded bean-bag; the kind riot officers used. She flipped onto her back,landing with a grunt as she clawed at her injured shoulder. “Ow!”
The shotgun roared again. She flipped, and this time thebean-bag smacked her square in the lower back, sending her flopping onto thefloor with all the dexterity of a beached fish.
“Tranq her,” The man with the shotgun instructed hispartner.
The darts whistled through the air. She whipped her head upgroggily and then rolled to the side just in time. The three darts hit thecarpet evenly and Catwoman caught a glimpse of bubbling, pink liquid hissinginside of them before she rolled again, kicking her leg up and shattering thewindow with a powerful blow. She stretched, whip snaking out to catch a stonegargoyle outside the window and then hopped up onto the window-sill, clutchingthe sports bag weakly with her injured arm.
“Try that again, and these diamonds go for a swim in thegutter,” She growled.
The man with the shotgun shrugged, then took aim. “We’re nothere for the diamonds, Pussy.”
She had just enough of her faculties to hurl the bag towardsthe man. He ducked under the flying projectile as she kicked off of thewindow-sill and swung out into the night. The shotgun boomed again and shecried out in pain as another bean-bag struck her; smacking into her leftass-cheek and spinning her around. The whip slipped from her grasp; or rather,she slipped from it.
She looked up, saw it still anchored to the gargoyle’s neck,and cursed her luck as she was flung out into the open sky without a safetynet. Her legs curled up tight against her body as she spun in the air; then plummeteddown across the street.
She shut her eyes tight, cursed her luck again and then openedthem just in time to see the shattered window of a dilapidated gotham apartmentbuilding rushing up to greet her.
She heard breaking glass,splintering wood, and then there was nothing but still, quiet blackness.
Fink set the phone receiver down and tented his fingers.Across from his desk, Sionis was groaning happily as Tittyfuck went to work belowhis belt, sucking and slurping hungrily on the masked man’s cock.
Fink cleared his throat.
“Didn’t get her, did they?” Sionis said quietly, and despitethe lack of facial feature evident through the mask, the voice clearly carrieda smirk with it.
Fink paused, tapped his throat, then replied, “Not yet.”
Sionis grunted, pushed Tittyfuck away and began clinking hisbelt back together. “See to it that they do, Fink. Luthor’s too bogged down inMetropolis politics after what that Lane woman dug up on him. He won’t go anywherenear this little business venture of yours. The rest of Gotham’s too fuckingcrazy to fund you, so I’m your only lifeline out here. If this first job goestits up because your boy’s are too useless, well...”
Fink held the Black Mask’s gaze, then frowned as thegangster simply turned to leave, snapping his fingers over his shoulder, “You’llbe out of business, and I’ll be the new CEO, understand?”
Fink smiled thinly, forcing the friendly gesturedespite only seeing the gangster’s back. “Clear as a diamond, Mr. Sionis.”