DOUBLE TROUBLE
By Roger Downs


This, Scott Willoughby decided, is a preview of hell. 

As he stood on the apron of the ring, watching the beautiful blonde 
hellcat grind mercilessly away on his partner's arm, he concluded very 
definitely that if there were a place of eternal punishment, it would be 
something like this.  After all, how better to torture a man than throw 
him into an enclosed space with an exquisitely lovely--and unfathomably 
powerful--woman, only to have her relish in brutally pounding him?  As 
the wrestlerette bent the limb she held to near the breaking point, her 
thick, striated physique rippling, he realized there WERE fates worse 
than IRS audits and root canals.  No, he thought, if irony matters to 
Satan at all, then this is what he has planned for men like me. 

The active wrestlers were Ray Johnson, his longtime friend and frequent 
tag partner, and Robin Price; in the opposing corner stood Janine 
Ramsey, shouting unpleasantries like "Snap it off!" and "Hurt him!  Make 
him suffer!"  Together, the women comprised the stunning duo known as 
Double Trouble.  When they'd come to the World Wrestling Alliance six 
months ago, the brutal blondes had made an immediate splash.  They were 
tall, drop-dead gorgeous, with thick, rippling muscles and big, firm 
breasts, a combination that guaranteed them attention.  But they were 
after more than attention.  They stated under no uncertain terms that 
they were there to win every championship the WWA had, and that they 
weren't going to wait for them to put together a women's wrestling 
league to do it.  In other words, they were going to wrestle men. 

The laughter faded after they met their first opponents, an unfortunate 
pair of journeymen who'd been tasked to embarrass the women into 
changing careers.  Two stretchers later, with the world looking on in 
stunned disbelief, Double Trouble was suddenly legit. And thus the 
rampage had begun, with the lethal pair preening and punishing anyone 
with the guts to step into the ring with them. Fuelling their rage were 
the excuses the top teams used to duck having to fight them.  It was 
clear to everyone that the real reason had nothing to do with 
contractual loopholes and prior obligations.  It had everything to do 
with fear. 

Scott understood why.  Just looking at them--at nearly six feet in 
height and well over 200 pounds--was enough to both arouse and 
intimidate.  But watching them wrestle was the clincher.  They were 
faster and stronger by far than anyone they'd faced to this point, and 
they used their awesome power to offset the mass disadvantage they 
usually faced.  They choreographed the slams, suplexes, locks, and 
presses with a near-psychic knowledge of their partner's position, and 
the result left bigger, more experience teams unconscious behind them.  
Their choice of ring attire--an all-black ensemble composed of a scant 
pelvic thongs, skintight half-tops, kneepads and kneeboots--served to 
keep the public's attention on them, bringing more pressure on the top 
teams to take them seriously.  But Scott guessed that the skimpy togs 
weren't just for publicity.  He figured that these brazen, larger-than-
life muscle queens would have wrestled naked if they'd been permitted, 
just to dare someone to object. 

All this had been made possible by the Dominion virus, a lab-born entity 
released by researchers at the AmaTech conglomerate. Given its air 
vector and rapid reproduction, it had spread over the world like 
wildfire, triggering a wholesale change in the genetic code of the human 
species.  Aging, disease, and handicap had been swept away in a matter 
of months, and--by design--women were suddenly much more powerful.  The 
virus had triggered an awesome gain in muscle quality and quantity in 
them, allowing them to equal, and in many cases surpass, male physical 
strength.  In the case of Double Trouble, they had definitely moved 
beyond the norm. 

Needless to say, when the WWA had matched him and Ray against the duo, 
they hadn't been terribly excited about it.  He and his partner had just 
pulled off a string of impressive wins, and were verging on a possible 
title shot.  Given that the women were still considered outsiders, they 
had nothing to gain by facing them, and a loss would greatly curtail 
their momentum.  Regardless, they'd carried their pride--and their 
dreams of a title shot--into Port Ellis Coliseum's WrestleFest, to lay 
it all on the line.  And as Robin jerked Ray to his feet, picked him up, 
and buried him into the canvas, Ray somehow knew that pride and title 
shots would have to take a backseat to survival. 

He and Ray weren't slouches; both were nearly 250 pounds of young, well-
conditioned muscle, the kind that speeds and powers its way to the gold.  
Coupled with their years of skill and experience, they were a credible 
presence in the crowded WWA tag scene.  And none of that seemed to 
matter now in the face of their opposition. 

Ray had started the match, and had been in the ring for almost fifteen 
minutes straight, enduring the kind of punishment that sent most men to 
the back with the paramedics.  He gamely refused to submit or go to 
sleep, but Scott knew he was reaching his limits. He'd been hit with a 
succession of power moves and bone-grinding holds, the result of which 
left him shifting weakly at Robin's feet.  She struck a double-biceps 
pose for the crowd, her upper body swelling into a thick, chiseled 
fusion of perfectly-proportioned power, and the fans responded with a 
schizophrenic mix of cheers and cat-calls. 

"Come on, Ray!"  Scott leaned over the top rope toward his exhausted 
partner, pushing his hand toward him.  "Tag!  Tag me in!" 

Robin laughed as Ray lurched toward his corner, then collapsed to his 
belly.  She took Ray by his arm and yanked him to stand, then draped him 
over a shoulder.  Sweat drained down his black skin, pooling in the 
ridges between his muscles.  Walking with sensual deliberation toward 
him, hips swaying, her free hand teasing her hair, she said, "Are you 
sure you want some of this?" 

Scott didn't answer.  The truth was, he WASN'T sure.  But he knew he had 
to help his friend, even if that meant waking up in Port Ellis Memorial. 

Robin dumped Ray in the corner, then backed away.  "By all means," she 
said, and tagged in Janine, "come join the party." 

Scott managed to rouse Ray enough to get the tag, then stepped 
cautiously into the ring.  He stood regarding his new opponent, taking 
in the sight of her shining, sweat-slick body, turning over possible 
strategies in his mind.  Ray had begun with a scientific plan, trying to 
use locks and leverage to slow them down, and was nearly dead as a 
result.  So, he thought, I guess my options are a little clearer.  
Unfortunately, I feel like I'm choosing between varying forms of 
suicide.... 

"Hi!"  He stuck out his hand.  "I'm Scott Willoughby.  You must be the 
lovely and talented Janine." 

She smiled and rolled her eyes.  "'Lovely and talented'?  Who the fuck 
do I look like, Vanna White?" 

"Aw, c'mon," he said, keeping his hand out.  "I meant it as a 
compliment.  Cut me some slack before I die." 

Janine took his hand and jerked him hard against her, crushing him to 
her solid body, bringing her face close to his.  "Nice to meet you, 
Scott Willoughby.  Now I'm gonna make your bones ache." She brushed her 
lips against his, then pushed him stumbling back. 

A good start, he thought, as they began to circle.  She almost kissed 
me.  Maybe she'll let me live. 

They locked up in ring center, collar and elbow, him straining to move 
her back, to gain the advantage.  She stood her ground, smiling, her 
quads rippling as she contained him.  With an almost casual heave, she 
shoved him away, sending him hurtling back-first into a turnbuckle. 

"Whoah," gasped Scott, shaking the cobwebs from his brain, "that was NOT 
fun."  He straightened but stayed put, hesitant to go out and meet her 
again. 

"Come on," she said, waving him toward her.  "Don't be a puss. Let's 
go." 

Scott stepped out of the corner, dismayed at the impossibility of it 
all.  Jesus Christ, he thought, as they circled again, I didn't even 
budge her!  What next?  Kryptonite? 

They locked up again, and her evil smile returned.  He knew he was a 
microsecond away from getting blasted again.  Here goes nothing, he 
thought. 

He pulled back suddenly, then ducked under her grasp, to take her under 
her arms.  Lodging his foot in her belly, her rolled back and kicked.  
Janine monkey-flipped through the air--but, as he saw when he rolled to 
stand again, she deftly curled and landed on her feet. 

With a scream he launched himself at her with a clothesline. She ducked-
-he'd expected that--and he wrapped his arms around her from behind.  
With a desperate heave, he pulled her up and suplexed her back, planting 
her neck and shoulders and bridging for the pin attempt. 

Janine exploded out of his grasp, breaking his embrace with frightening 
ease.  Before he could react, he was in her arms and across her body.  
One vicious body slam later, he was regretting his decision to skip med 
school and try athletics.  He didn't have time to dwell on the pain, as 
she scooped him up, took three running steps, then power-slammed him 
down. 

Scott counted three elbow drops, a kneedrop, and a backbreaker before he 
was left to writhe in ring center, with Janine standing over his body, 
carefully flexing her muscles to the elation and disgust of the crowd.  
"C'mon," she said finally, yanking him back to stand, "you can't quit 
just yet.  The night is young." 

A standing dropkick sent him tumbling backwards, and he was vaguely 
aware of being in their corner.  A quick glance toward his still-
prostrate partner told him that he was on his own.  He heard the smack 
of a tag above him, and soon Robin's lovely face was visible as she 
crouched before him. 

"This is going to be such fun," she said, and pulled him by his ears.  
She brought him to ring center, him on his hands and knees. 

Scott took a deep breath, then lunged, driving a punch into Robin's 
abdomen.  It felt like hitting metal with a thin layer of rubber over 
it.  He drew his aching hand back, fingers bent, gasping. 

"You like my tummy?"  She twined her fingers into his hair, then said, 
"Then here!  Knock yourself out!"  Robin drove his forehead into her 
midsection, dazing him.  She repeated the move three more times before 
allowing him to crumple to the mat. 

Robin cinched in a headlock, his face caught between her breast and her 
stony biceps, as she levered her arm by the wrist and ground in.  The 
move was threatening to dislocate his jaw, and he struggled 
unsuccessfully to push her off.  He managed to bring them both to stand, 
but she flipped him over a hip and landed across him, the lock now 
tighter than ever. 

Scott's face had gone mostly numb when Robin released him and drove a 
boot into his stomach.  In a practiced sequence, she grabbed him, 
pressed him high over her head, then gorilla slammed him back into the 
center of the ring. 

Scott was now almost totally out of it.  The world had become a cloudy, 
surreal place, distinguishable from a dream only because he knew it to 
be genuine.  He saw Janine re-enter the ring, and soon thereafter she'd 
pulled him to his feet and pushed him into a corner.  Securing him 
around the head, she ran three steps, then bulldogged him down. 

His coherence returned somewhat when the pain of her body scissors cut 
through his haze.  Her immense legs were tightening around his 
midsection like the Jaws of Life, the muscles rippling under her bronzed 
skin.  She grinned, drawing a finger along her thigh, undulating against 
him as she ground away.  "I like you," she said.  "I've been waiting to 
do this all night." 

"Leave some for me," cautioned Robin. 

Fighting past the pain, Scott reached forward and put his hand on her 
slick, warm leg.  He slid his palm and fingers along her muscle, amazed 
at the beauty and power of his tormentress. 

"Check this out!"  Janine pointed at Scott.  "He's half-dead and he's 
got the nerve to feel me up!"  He noticed that she made no effort to 
stop him, should she have wanted to.  "Do ya like it?" 

He coughed, barely able to breath, much less speak, and nodded.  "Y-
you...you're beautiful," he said. 

Scott hadn't thought it possible for an amazon like Janine to blush, but 
she did, her eyes darting away and her face darkening. Cool, he thought, 
as she unlocked her legs and arose.  Maybe she'll visit me in the 
hospital. 

"Let's do 'im," said Janine, tagging Robin.  "Number ten." 

Robin stepped into the ring; Janine took her under her chest and crotch 
and pushed her overhead.  209 pounds of steel smashed down onto Scott's 
body as she slammed her partner into the prostrate man, crushing him.  
And at that point, Scott Willoughby descended into blissful blackness. 

***** 

His consciousness returned in the infirmary, with the ring doctor 
shining a penlight into his eyes.  "He's okay," said the man, putting 
aside the light and scribbling something onto a clipboard.  As he 
stepped through a side exit, he said, "Just make him lie there for a 
while." 

"Oooh...Good Lord...."  Scott cradled his body as the aches and pains 
caught up with him.  "It hurts...." 

"No shit."  Ray moved to stand beside him, already re-dressed in casual 
clothes.  "Man, I thought I had it rough.  They had it in for you or 
somethin'." 

"Well," said Scott, trying to sit up before deciding it wasn't possible, 
"it must've been my aftershave.  I think I'll try Old Spice next time." 

"Next time, try a shotgun." 

Scott looked Ray over, then said, "You doing alright?" 

"Yeah.  You took the worst of it, man.  I mean, they nailed me with a 
bunch of moves, but they were just gettin' warmed up.  By the time you 
came in, they were in prime form."  He whistled.  "And that move at the 
end...Lordy, I'm glad I was outside." 

"Thanks."  Mercifully, the aches were subsiding somewhat--or at least, 
he was finding them easier to tolerate.  "This really bites, y'know?  I 
mean, I've got that gig tomorrow and all." 

"Aw, shit yeah, I forgot about that.  Look, you know I'd help you with 
that if my anniversary wasn't--" 

"I know, I know, you're gone for Vegas tomorrow.  No problem. Who knows, 
maybe I'll get over this by then." 

"Yeah, maybe.  You need a girl, know what I mean?  Just for the night.  
It'd get you back on track." 

Scott nodded, knowing that Ray was referring to another component of the 
Dominion virus:  sexual healing.  Though bodily recovery had been 
greatly enhanced, the pleasure of coupling brought with it almost 
miraculous therapeutic benefits.  "Yeah, well, that's easier said than 
done.  I don't have any good prospects right now, and I'm not--NOT--
getting a hooker." 

"That's your call.  But tonight, I'm going home to the Missus so I'll be 
fresh as a daisy tomorrow." 

Scott smiled.  "Don't rub it in.  And hey, have a good time in Vegas." 

"Can do.  Take care, dig?" 

"Yeah."  Ray clapped his shoulder--one of the few parts of his body not 
aching--and strolled out. 

Shortly after Ray's departure, Scott heard the sound of soft footsteps 
entering the room.  When Janine and Robin appeared to either side of the 
examining table, looking down at him with smug smiles, he grinned back 
and said, "Hi, guys.  Come to view the body?" 

"Don't whine," said Robin.  He noticed that they were clad in their 
black togs, and their hair was still mussed.  "It could have been a lot 
worse, and you know it." 

"Yeah," said Janine, putting her hand on his chest.  "Robin really 
wanted to get her legs around you, too.  You're lucky we decided to put 
it away when we did." 

"So...can I do something for you?" 

Robin shrugged.  "You were talking about a 'gig' or something with your 
friend.  What's up with that?" 

Scott shifted--very carefully--and said, "Well, if you must know, I've 
got a side business as a private investigator and bounty hunter.  I was 
supposed to intercept somebody tomorrow, but I guess I'm gonna have to 
make other plans." 

"'Intercept somebody'?  Like, bust 'im or something?" 

"Yeah.  He jumped bail on a capital murder charge, and I was gonna take 
him in." 

"That's too bad," said Janine. 

"Don't sweat it.  I'll figure something out.  Now please tell me, should 
I be trying to run for my life here?  I don't usually get visits from 
people who hurt me unless they want to do it again." 

Robin and Janine looked at one another, then Janine bent down and 
smothered him with a kiss.  Her soft lips and gently-probing tongue were 
a sharp contrast to the merciless power she'd shown him earlier.  By the 
time she'd finished, he'd largely forgotten about his bruises. 

As she pulled away, Robin took her place, planting an equally passionate 
kiss on him.  He felt their hands roaming over him as she worked, 
gliding over his battered body. 

Shaking and astonished, he asked, "W-what was THAT all about?" 

Janine took him into her arms, and said, "We like you.  And fighting you 
got us all worked up." 

They walked through a side door, into the locker room, then to an empty 
shower stall.  "And so we decided to come and getcha," said Robin, as 
Janine leaned him against a wall. 

"Um...I'm not sure I follow you," he said as Janine yanked down his 
drawers. 

They laughed and began peeling out of their togs, tossing the scant 
apparel into a pile.  Moments later, their boots and kneepads were slung 
to the side.  He marveled at the full, symmetrical perfection of their 
bodies, as exquisitely beautiful as their features.  "It means, stupid, 
that we're gonna ball you raw." Janine started the water steaming down 
on them as Robin secured a full nelson, interlacing her fingers behind 
his neck, securing his arms.  She leaned back, stretching his body 
before Janine, lifting him up on his tip-toes. 

"My my my," said Janine, trailing her fingers over his bruises.  Taking 
his erection in her hand, she said, "I guess you're all worked up, too." 

"Yeah," he said, as Robin applied firm but painless pressure. "Add 
'confused' to the list." 

"Look, it's simple," whispered Robin into his ear as Janine gently 
kissed his wet, mottled skin.  "The fighting's the foreplay, okay?  And 
if we like the guy, we include him." 

"Oh.  Oooh!"  He groaned as Janine took his member within her mouth, 
working him up and down, curling her tongue around him as she gently 
massaged his balls.  She expertly stimulated him, mixing licks and 
kisses with little nips, all the while stroking and probing his damaged 
body.  The water cascaded down him as she worked. 

With a cry he came, blurting like a cannon, spasms of hot pleasure 
wracking his body.  Janine stayed below, working through the orgasm, his 
member erect and unflagging.  She rose and kissed him again, as Robin 
released him. 

"My turn," she said, sliding her arms around him.  Raising a leg, she 
used it to draw him near, then slid him inside her.  He touched and 
caressed her, fondling her breasts. 

"God," he said, Janine pressing into him from behind, "please don't let 
this be a dream." 

"Call it a dream come true," said Janine. 

***** 

Robin finished with him in due time, and after a thorough three-way 
shower, they stuffed him into the back seat of a black Porsche and took 
off.  Janine's reckless maneuvering left him white-knuckled and 
wondering if she'd learned to drive watching Dukes of Hazzard reruns.  
When they finally arrived, he uncurled himself from crash position and 
found himself inside a converted warehouse into which they'd driven the 
sportscar.  The girls obviously had money to burn, as ultra-modern 
furnishings were arranged amidst the latest in sound and video 
entertainment.  A king-sized bed and related accouterment were against 
one wall, and distantly visible was a kitchen.  A fully-decked computer 
system was in a workspace beside the sleeping area, and opposing that 
was a wide living room with couches, love seats, and a towering 
stereo/video center. 

And then there was the gym. 

Directly ahead of the car was the finest collection of muscle-building 
apparatus he'd ever seen.  A veritable maze of machines and weight 
stations were arranged in meticulous fashion in the far corner of the 
warehouse, with mirrors set into the neighboring walls.  He'd done well 
financially as a wrestler, but given the luxuries before him, it was 
clear that these women were raking in the cash. 

"Uh," he said as he slid out of the Porsche, "you guys make a lot of 
money, I take it." 

"Yeah,"  said Robin as the girls closed up the car and took his arms.  
"We've been doing a lot of modeling and endorsements." They walked him 
toward the bedroom, and she added, "Bad girls are sorta in demand." 

"No kidding," said Janine as they led him before the bed. "Our swimsuit 
calendar and posters are in their fourth or fifth printing.  And since 
we get a percentage, we're making a killing." 

"They're just now getting released overseas," added Robin as they pushed 
him onto the bed.  "I think we'll more than double our money there 
alone." 

"Cool."  They sat beside him, pressing close.  "So, here we are." 

"Yeah," said Janine.  "Welcome to the spider's web." 

He grinned.  "You make it sound unpleasant." 

"Well, that's just because most men we bring here are SO intimidated," 
said Robin.  "They act like we're gonna kill 'em or something." 

"Nah, I figure you'd've done that by now if you were going to. And yeah, 
I know I got beat up pretty good tonight, but hey, it isn't the first 
time.  And besides," he said with a wink, "this is undeniably the best 
sex I've ever had with the loveliest women I've ever known." 

Janine smiled, and as if on cue they began kissing and nibbling his ears 
and neck.  "If you liked what happened before," she said, easing him 
onto his back, "then you'll love what comes next." 

"Yeah," said Robin.  "'cause now we've got all NIGHT to work on you." 

"Oooh," he moaned as they went to work on him.  "Hold my calls...." 

***** 

Scott awoke from his exhausted slumber at the sound of a scream. 

He sat up slightly and looked toward the weight area:  Janine was 
holding a truck-sized quantity of weight on a bar behind her neck, and 
was slowly forcing it up and down.  Both women were clad in bikinis--
Janine's being red, and Robin's being blue--and sweaty from exertion.  
With a final cry, she heaved the weight up and planted it back on the 
rungs. 

Janine rose, and Robin yelled, "Awesome!"  The girls exchanged a high-
five, and Janine paused to flex for a nearby mirror.  Her pumped-up 
muscles rippled and danced as she worked them through a range of poses. 

"Hey, look," she said, nodding at Scott's reflection in the mirror.  
"Sleeping beauty's awake."  Smiling, they stalked over to him, and 
crossed their arms. 

Robin asked, "Have a nice nap?" 

"Uh huh," he said.  He was looking at them with a mix of interest and 
trepidation.  "Um...enjoying the workout?" 

"Yeah.  We're just gettin' started."  Janine pitched his underwear to 
him, and said, "So get up.  You're joining us.  It's the best way to 
start the day." 

"Great," he mumbled and slipped into his Fruit of the Looms. "You're 
sadists AND morning people." 

"Hey!"  Robin swatted him on the butt, ushering him toward the weight 
pit.  "Smile when you say that." 

"Yes, ma'am." 


It became clear in short order that they were impossibly strong for 
their sizes.  At six-two and 248 solid pounds, he could only muster a 
fraction of their power as he struggled through a grueling routine with 
them.  They moved at a breakneck pace, doing set after set with amazing 
quantities of weight, their pumped, shiny bodies moving with practiced 
ease through the routine.  Scott had collapsed in exhaustion long before 
they were finished. 

"Hey," said Janine as they returned to him.  He was seated on the bench 
press where he'd surrendered half-an-hour earlier.  She dropped beside 
him, pressing close, and kissed him.  "Doing okay?" 

"I guess so," he said, as Robin sat on his other side and sandwiched 
him.  "I just can't seem to move my arms and legs." 

"You hung in there pretty well," said Robin.  "Most guys your size don't 
last half as long." 

Scott rolled his eyes.  "Hey, give me a break, willya?  I mean, I saw 
you guys press more weight in one workout than I do in a WEEK!  And Good 
Lord, you're both benching 800!  If I'd known all this, I'd've hopped a 
flight to the Yukon rather than get into the ring with you." 

"Really?"  Janine rubbed his chest, and said, "Even now?" 

She had a hurt little-girl expression that, despite her lethality, 
melted his heart.  He turned and saw that Robin was equally pitiful.  
"Of course not," he said.  "I'd take that pounding over and over again 
for the chance to wind up like this." Shaking his head, he said, 
"Y'know, you guys don't need to beat people to get what you want.  I 
mean, with pouts like those, I can't imagine a man turning you down for 
anything." 

Janine smiled and bit her lower lip.  "We're batting a thousand so far," 
she said.  "Y'know, I've been meaning to ask you if you know Steve 
Willoughby.  Any relation to you?" 

"Yeah.  He's my brother.  Where have you seen him?" 

"I've never met him, but Robin and I know some girls at an outfit called 
AmaFlix, where they make videos of mixed fighting matches.  He's one of 
the guys there." 

"STEVE?!?"  Scott threw his head back and laughed.  "That cocksucker.  
He told me he'd found another programming job!" 

Robin asked, "What's so funny?  Is he a puss?" 

"Not exactly, but he's never been into this kind of stuff, y'know?  I 
was always the jock, and he was the family brain.  He's a good runner, 
but not real big."  He shook his head.  "I guess life's just full of 
surprises." 

"What about that bounty you were talking about yesterday? What's the 
deal with that?" 

"It's moot now.  I guess I'll just have to pass the info to one of my 
buddies.  Maybe Aaron can--" 

"Nonsense!"  Robin squeezed his leg, and said, "We're gonna help you!" 

Scott raised an eyebrow.  "Say WHAT?" 

"Sure!  I mean, we HAVE put you through the ringer here the last couple 
of days, so it's the least we can do." 

"Uh, I don't know," he said.  "I mean, we're talking dangerous stuff 
here, see.  Guns and like that.  The guy's meeting some bikers, bringing 
'em a case of Colombian pure, and they aren't nice people.  I'd...really 
hate to see you guys get hurt." 

Janine's fingers combed through his hair.  "Scott, did you honestly 
think you had a choice about this?" 

He chuckled, and put his arms around them.  "Of course not," he said.  
"I just like deluding myself from time to time." 

"And now that that's settled," said Robin, pulling him to stand, "it's 
time for a shower and breakfast." 

"Great," said Scott.  "I'll make you my devastator omelet. Just please, 
let ME break the eggs." 

***** 

Scott had very hesitantly halted them from mauling him further, and, 
after securing his reputation as a master chef, had ushered them into 
his Chevy van for the trip east.  Kent Field was a deserted airstrip 
about eighty miles outside of town, on the fringes of the dusty desert.  
A lone hangar sat beside a long, paved airstrip that ran half-a-mile in 
either direction. 

"This field's been abandoned for a long time," said Scott, looking out 
at the complex.  Passing his binoculars to Janine, he said, "But that 
doesn't stop the drug runners from passing through. They sneak in under 
the border radar in Cessnas and land here." 

"Don't the feds know about this place?"  This from Robin. 

"Yeah, but there're a bunch of sites just like this all along the south.  
They can't monitor them all.  Besides, I suspect somebody in the agency 
is tipping off the runners, letting them know which fields aren't going 
to be under surveillance.  And by all indications, this one's safe 
today." 

Janine nodded back at their van, hidden behind some brush. "Will we be 
spotted?" 

"Not unless they make a circle of the field.  They're coming in from the 
opposite direction, so I think we'll be okay."  He looked them over:  
they'd both chosen jeans and t-shirts, over which they wore leather 
jackets.  Chic boots completed the look. "Y'know, if all bounty hunters 
were as sexy as you two, they'd be lining up to surrender." 

"Careful," said Robin, squeezing his arm.  "Flattery'll get you raped 
right here." 

He mulled the pros and cons of sand burns on his ass, and decided to 
wait until after they got back--preferably with the bounty.  "Yeah, 
well--" 

"Look!"  Robin pointed up.  "Here it comes!" 

They watched as a small single-engine plane flew in from the south-
southwest, arcing gracefully through the bright blue California skies.  
It hugged the nape of the earth, staying under three hundred feet, 
throttling back as it lined up with the pavement.  The wheels touched 
the runway, bounced twice, then settled.  The Cessna thrummed its way to 
before the hangar, then shut down. 

"Ladies," said Scott, pointing toward the dismounting figures, "I direct 
your attention to the last man in the group.  Meet Travis Bennington, 
self-made millionaire and novice drug trafficker." 

The man and his two friends wore crisply-pressed suits, and Bennington 
himself carried a briefcase at his side.  "That yuppie's a drug runner?"  
Janine furrowed her brow.  "No way!" 

"Yeah.  And he's also a murderer.  He pulled the trigger on a fed who 
was working undercover with his outfit."  Scott racked the slide on his 
riot gun, advancing a shell into the chamber with a chick-clack!  "He 
got in trouble to begin with by investing a bunch of other people's 
money in derivatives, and he lost his ass.  He turned to this to get his 
fortune back.  When he capped the agent, though, he had to run south.  
He hid himself out pretty well." 

Robin asked, "Who else is out there?" 

"The two men with him are a couple of bodyguards he's had with him since 
the beginning.  And those four guys coming out of the hangar are members 
of Hell's Guardians, one mean-ass bunch." 

Janine snorted at the sight of the bikers; by contrast to Bennington's 
group, they were shaggy and clad in jeans and leather vests.  She could 
count the visible tattoos without using the binoculars.  "They are SO 
gross." 

"Yeah, but they're tough.  Those four have been in and out of the joint 
for everything from rape to murder to parking violations. They're big 
and they're bad." 

"Don't look so bad to me," said Robin. 

"Be that as it may, they have guns, and as tough as you two are, I don't 
like the odds.  Just hang back and--" 

"Let's go," said Janine, nodding to Robin.  They stood and started 
toward the back of the hangar. 

"Shit!"  Scott hustled to keep up.  "Guys!  Wait!  You're gonna get 
yourselves killed!  GUYS!" 


"Good afternoon, gentlemen," began Travis Bennington, his bodyguards 
flanking him.  He held up his briefcase, and said, "Shall we deal?" 

The biker leader, a bald, clean-shaven brute named Razor, nodded.  
"Let's see it." 

Bennington handed the case to the man to his right, who took it and 
stepped forward.  He unlatched and opened it, exposing several bricks of 
cocaine, all neatly pressed into squares and wrapped in plastic.  
"You'll see it all there," continued Bennington.  "The Escobars have 
assured me that it's the highest quality product available." 

"We'll see.  Snake, test it." 

The largest of the bikers--with a colorful tattoo of a king cobra on his 
broad chest--covered the distance to the dope in a single stride.  He 
slowly extracted a plastic box from within his vest.  Making a small 
incision in one of the blocks, he scooped out a small amount of powder, 
then deposited it on a mirror.  He dribbled a few drops of clear liquid 
onto the cocaine, and instantly the pile turned reddish-purple.  Closing 
the lid, he nodded and put his kit away.  "It checks." 

"Now," said Bennington, "your move, I believe." 

Razor nodded to a muscular blonde beside him.  Opposing swastikas were 
tattooed on his broad shoulders.  He stepped forward and opened a 
luggage case full of money.  "A hundred grand.  Like we agreed." 

Travis took a stack of the money, and scrutinized it.  He ran his 
fingers over the print, and said, "You know, word has it that someone in 
this area is passing along fake paper.  In fact, they used it to scam 
the Mendozas out of some heroin just last week." 

"You got a point?"  Razor's lip began to twitch. 

"Only that I am not the Mendozas, Mr. Razor.  And it would be a serious 
insult if this were counterfeit.  But," he said, putting the stack down, 
"I'm sure that's not the case here, now is it?" 

"You listen--" 

"Um, excuse me."  They all wheeled toward the side of the hangar, 
pulling their guns at the sight of Janine.  She put on an "oops" 
expression, and walked toward them, hands up.  She dropped her jacket, 
showing them that she wasn't armed.  "I'm so sorry, I think I'm lost.  
Can you guys tell me if there's a pay phone or something around here?" 

"Who the fuck are you?"  Bennington was scanning all around for other 
intruders.  "If you're a cop--" 

"Relax, okay?"  She sauntered up to them and gave them a slow turn.  
"Christ, I don't have a gun.  Lighten up.  I just need a phone." 

The group relaxed a bit, and moved to surround her.  "We're a hundred 
miles from anywhere," said Razor.  "How the hell did you get out here?" 

"I've been out here all night.  My boyfriend brought me to this fucking 
hangar, and when I wouldn't put out, he left me.  I was out back when 
you guys got here." 

"Really?"  Bennington pushed his sunglasses higher onto the bridge of 
his nose.  "And pray tell, why should any of us believe you?" 

She shrugged.  "You don't have to.  It's sorta unimportant now." 

"Unimportant?!?"  He shook his head.  "My dear, there is a substantial 
chance that you'll be found decomposing by the road if we DON'T.  After 
we've had our fun, of course."  The remark drew chuckles and sneers all 
around. 

"Maybe.  But tell me.  Do the words 'death from above' mean anything to 
you?" 

"What--" 

Robin took a running leap off the wing of the Cessna, and collided hard 
with the bikers beside Razor.  Janine sprang to action, hitting 
Bennington and his right hand man with a double clothesline, sending 
them sprawling to the ground. 

"Goddamn it--" cursed Razor as he swung his beretta toward Janine.  
Scott's double bulldog from behind pitched them forward, slamming them 
face-first to the dirt. 

The sole upright man--Bennington's other bodyguard--leveled his 
automatic at Scott and squeezed the trigger; Janine's last-second kick 
knocked his shot away and sent the gun flying.  Her subsequent knee to 
his midsection bowled him over.  Stuffing his head between her thighs, 
she jackknifed him double, then slammed him back-first to the ground.  
Dust plumed up around the man as he settled to the earth. 

"Good God," said Scott, looking down at him.  Janine was glaring at the 
man with a murderous gleam.  "He's gonna need therapy." 

"He tried to hurt you," she said, then jerked Scott to her by his shirt.  
After a passionate kiss, she said, "I'm not gonna let that happen." 

"Wow.  My very own guardian angel." 

"Hey!"  Robin rushed up and kissed him.  "An-GELS, nimrod.  As in 
'plural'." 

"No argument there--" 

"Uh, hey, everybody."  They swiveled toward the plane's door, to see the 
pilot, his hands raised.  "Look, I just flew the thing, okay?  Please 
don't hurt me." 

They laughed.  "Yeah, okay, get down here," said Scott, yanking off a 
ring of handcuffs.  "Okay, folks, let's cuff 'em and stuff 'em."  As the 
girls went to work securing the groaning victims, he took a flip-phone 
from his belt, and said, "Time to dial the Law." 

***** 

Janine and Robin nestled against Scott, as the evening news gave a full 
accounting of their bust.  The feds had arrived soon after being called, 
and mixed praise for their efforts with cautionary words that "average 
citizens should not make a habit of engaging such dangerous elements." 

"Translated," said Scott, "they fucked up and it took some free agents 
to do the job." 

"Amen," said Robin. 

The report went on to mention the capture of wanted fugitive Travis 
Bennington, as well as the recovery of a briefcase of undiluted cocaine. 

"Hmmm.  I wonder why they didn't mention--" 

"The other briefcase?"  Janine pulled it up from behind the couch and 
put it in his lap.  "Because they never found it." 

Scott looked at her with wide eyes.  "Y-you TOOK it?"  She nodded, 
smiling broadly.  "But, if they find out--" 

"How?"  Robin popped it open and dug into the piles.  "How are they 
gonna find out?  They searched our van and the area before we left.  As 
far as they're concerned, it was a drug drop, nothing more.  Besides, 
the money would have just gone to some bureaucrat or judge anyway." 

Scott smiled, digging through the piles.  "Looks like 75 or 80 K--" 

"A hundred," she corrected. 

"Ah.  Well...on top of the fifty grand for the bounty...it would make it 
pretty worthwhile three ways--" 

"Nah.  It's all yours," said Janine. 

"MINE?  But you guys--" 

"Oh, don't worry.  That's small potatoes to us." 

Robin kissed his cheek.  "We had fun just being there." 

Smiling, he said, "Well...if you insist." 

"We do."  They went into grope mode, kissing him and feeling him up.  
"Besides, we're gonna make you work for it.  After we get your stuff in 
here and all." 

"My stuff?" 

"Yeah," said Janine, tonguing his ear.  "You're moving in." 

"Oh."  As they stepped up the molestation, he said, "Cool." 


 That's all for now.... 

(This story and characters are (c) 2000 Roger Downs)