Rough Justice
Martin Kane, martin_s_kane@yahoo.co.uk
A Delphi Agency Tale: a woman is hired to commit a savage beating.

---

Author's note:

First the standard blub on copyright, which is mine. 
I'd be flattered if anyone wanted to use this tale elsewhere, but please
seek permission before copying, altering, posting etc.

Secondly, I invite anyone to send their comments, suggestions, thoughts
or suspicions should they care to. 

Needless to say this story is purely a fiction and all characters merely
the products of an overwrought imagination

I'll abstain from the adult content warning, if you've got this far,
you're certain to know what kind of thing to expect anyway.

---

The client was a woman, perhaps thirty.  Ms T assessed her with a 
professional eye, summing her up with practical ease.

She heard the woman’s tale and they discussed the options open to 
her.  It was as they discussed the methods, that the question of 
who would take on the case came up.

"A woman," Patricia stated in surprise.

"It’s an option," Ms T told her.  "I know other clients in a similar 
position have felt that using a woman rather than a man was more 
fitting, somehow.  Adds a certain psychological damage to the 
victim."

And Patricia had begun to warm to the idea, seeing the advantages of 
such a thing.

"I have just the person in mind," Ms T announced.  She pressed the 
intercom to the receptionist.  "Is Kathy about?"

Kathy was young.  A long sleek body with muscles like a cat, lean and 
powerful.  She wore black - it suited her.  With a tight stretch, the 
material of her leggings emphasised her slim body, layered with an 
athlete’s musculature.  Her top was flat against her belly, rippling 
in harmony with her breathing even through the clothing.  It left 
little doubt that the abs beneath were rock hard.  Sleek black hair 
was tied neatly behind her head in a ponytail.

Patricia fell in love the moment she saw her.  It wasn’t in a queer 
way, simply that the thought of this perfect specimen was so ideal to 
carry out the justice she was here to purchase.

Kathy smiled, highlighting her exceptionally pretty features.  She 
shook hands formally.  Patricia couldn’t resist a sly glance downward 
to Kathy’s arms as they shook.  Sure enough, even through her 
sleeves, the biceps twitched as the motion flexed and tightened the 
developed muscles.

Ms T made introductions and briefly explained the case.

"I do have one query," Patricia remarked.

Kathy sipped slowly on her mineral water.  She shot Ms T a knowing 
look.  They had both been here before and knew what was coming.

"I can see for myself that you’re very fit," Patricia began.  "But my 
boyfriend is a healthy young man.  He’s not massive, but then he’s no 
weakling either.  Will you actually be able to carry out what you say 
you’ll do?"

"Patricia, can I ask you this?" Kathy began, her most professional 
tone.  "Is he a bodybuilder or a martial artist?"

"No," Patricia admitted.

"I am.  I’ve been trained in all manner of fighting techniques.  I 
may not be as built as some of the women you see in trashy B-movies 
or in magazines.  But I am a lot stronger than I may immediately 
appear."

At this she lifted her arm, flexing her biceps muscle in the 
tradition pose of physical strength.  The muscle leapt, stretching 
the tight sleeve to the point of bursting.  It may not have been as 
large as the most built bodybuilder, but it wasn’t too far off and 
certainly a lot larger than you’d imagine just seeing this slim, 
pretty girl in the street.

Kathy checked the client’s expression, knowing she’d shocked her an 
appropriate degree.

"I’m stronger than the average guy in the street and more than a 
match for skilled fighters."

Patricia was staring at the blatant muscle, awed by the size and 
peak.  It was only when Kathy dropped the pose that she returned her 
gaze to the girl's amused face.

"A previous case.  I can’t tell you the specifics, obviously we keep 
details in the strictest confidence, but I can tell you I had to take 
on a marine.  He was in his prime - a government trained killing 
machine.  He offered me no problem whatsoever."

"What happened?" Patricia asked, apparently suitably impressed by 
this.

"He didn’t survive the encounter."

Patricia sat back in obvious awe.

"Let’s go over the details," suggested Ms T.  Which they did.

Patricia interrupted however, when Ms T described the proposed 
assault as a "Savage beating..."

"I want him dead," she reiterated with a harsh snarl.

"To beat him to death would be out of the budget we discussed."

"A straight assassination would be a little cheaper," Kathy 
suggested.

"No," Patricia stated, turning to the girl, hate in her eyes.  "I 
want him hurting.  He has to suffer."

"Very well," Ms T said.  "Of course there is always the possibility 
that he won’t survive the assault.  Kathy’s not know for her 
restraint."

Kathy offered a grim smile at this.  It was untrue.  Unless murder 
was her intent, she’d not kill the man.  Control was everything.

Patricia was still a little reluctant, sulking like a spoilt child.  
Eventually she accepted this course.

They finalised the details, processed payment, wrote out a receipt; 
they said a final goodbye to Patricia and bade her farewell.

Then they began to discuss the case between the two of them.

"What do you think?" Ms T asked, sitting back and sipping delicately 
from her teacup.

"I think she’s a nutter," Kathy said, never one for self-censorship.  
"She rambles, contradicts herself and seems to be suffering delusions 
of persecution.  Not to mention those bursts of anger.  I think she 
needs to visit a doctor, not us."

Ms T nodded slowly.  Clearly she agreed with this assessment.  
"However," she said.  "She did pay in full."

"This guy is probably totally innocent, you know that?  He simply got 
involved with the wrong women, not realising that she was a little 
bit crazy."

"Probably," Ms T agreed.  "But then we’re not here to judge.  This is 
hardly in a business that requires morality."

"Sure," Kathy said.  "I mean, I’ll do it.  I just don’t like it very 
much."

"Don’t get involved," Ms T suggested.  "It’s easier that way."





Kathy picked out her target, recognising him easily enough.  He was 
actually quite cute, not great looking, but nice in a sweet kind of 
way, with a humour and sparkle in the eyes.

She steeled herself, keeping in mind the job at hand.  She took a 
breath and let a cold mask ice over her internal processes, then 
fitted a flirtatious mask on top of that - her real self well buried.  
She watched, waited, checking her timing, then headed to the bar.

One man took his drinks and retracted through the throng of people.  
Kathy and her target both stepped forward into the space, ending up 
shoulder to shoulder.  Their eyes met and Kathy timed her smile to 
strike right on cue.  He returned it, obviously affected by her looks 
and her countenance - the subtle hint of her perfume, the gloss of 
her lips, the black mane of hair like a nest for her face, her 
striking features within.

And this was before his eyes had a chance to make a surreptitious 
glance at her toned figure, dressed to impress.  Her top was low cut, 
making the most of her modest cleavage, the breasts plumped up and 
gleaming in the disco lights.  Her sleeves were long and loose.  She 
had found that men were often put off by well-developed arm muscles, 
even though she herself considered them reasonably modest (though 
only in comparison to the huge mountains some of her colleges were 
able to pump.)  Best to be safe until she’d won him over.  Which is 
precisely what she proceeded to do.

"Hi," he said, seeming to be grasping for something to say.  He looked 
totally stunned.  She wasn’t too indifferent to be flattered by his 
reaction.

The barman interrupted his panic then.  Glad of something to say, he 
offered for her to go first, not even confident or coherent enough to 
offer her a drink.

Kathy ordered herself a Vodka and Tonic.

"Just one drink?" he asked her.  "Are you here alone then?"

He offered to pay, leaning over the bar in a casual manner, paying 
before she had the chance to protest.

"I was until now," she said, smiling coyly over the rim of her glass.  
He grinned at her, relieved that the ice was so easy to break.  Then 
they began talking.

His name was Luke.  He was about her height, of medium build and 
physique and he had a smile that joined sectors of her brain with the 
chemical spark of neurons firing.

She liked him - it was as simple as that.  The guy was attractive, he 
was her type and he was genuinely likeable.

They chatted amiably for a while, covering a variety of subjects.  
Kathy was curious, despite her better intention of remaining 
completely objective.  She steered the subject gently towards ex-
partners.

"Actually, my ex was crazy."

"You’d be surprised how many guys claim that," Kathy laughed.

"No seriously," Luke insisted.  "She was totally neurotic.  Always 
paranoid over everything and everyone."

"Really?" Kathy asked.  The picture she had of Patricia fitted 
perfectly to what he was saying.

"Yeah, I think she was depressed.  It made her act a little kooky.  
It put a lot of pressure on us both.  I don’t think she took the 
break up very well."

He seemed to realise that he was getting maudlin and changed the 
subject, up and onto brighter things.

Luke was witty and had her in stitches.  She found herself warming to 
him more and more, despite herself.  She decided that it was time and 
the longer she put this off, the harder it would become.

"Are you OK?" Luke asked as she successfully faked a hot flush.

"Fine," she assured him.  "I just need a little air."

She led him outside, pushing open the fire exit and leading him to 
the back court of the club.

It was dark.  Quiet and isolated.  The thump base from the club was 
still audible but muted by multiple layers of buildings.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Great," she lied.

On the outside she was the healthy, happy young woman, just having 
scored, that he had already fallen for.  On the inside however, she 
was sick from the knowledge of what she was about to do.

"Well you look great," he assured her, stepping forward.

Before she could stop him, he’d lent to kiss her.  And once his lips 
made contact, she didn’t want to stop him.  She melted into the kiss, 
allowing herself to have this much at least, letting his tongue tell 
her such a sweet lie, making promises she would give him no 
opportunity to fulfil.

"I’m sorry," she murmured and actually blinked back a tear before 
sinking her fist into his belly.

He staggered backwards, gasping in hurt and surprise.  He managed to 
stay on his feet though he doubled over with the pain of the blow.

Kathy stepped forward and brought her elbow down hard on the back of 
his skull.  With a hollow thonk, Luke went down.

Struggling onto his hands and knees, he looked up at her.  The pain 
in his eyes was not only physical but at the shock of her sudden 
attack.  His eyes beseeched her, not angry at the assault, just 
asking, pleading, what had he done which was so wrong, to deserve 
such punishment?

Kathy couldn’t bear to look into his eyes, so instead she kicked out 
at him.  Her foot smashed into his face and she felt it give, a 
splatter of blood coating her shoes and shins.

She grasped the back of his collar, lifting him up onto his feet with 
one arm, drawing back the other.  He was a dead weight in her hand.  
She didn’t strike, instead, shaking him, seeking some response.  
Dazed and bleeding he was still apparently conscious.

She struck again, punching his face.  It was a wet, broken sensation, 
soaking her hand and arm in blood.

She let him go then, and he collapsed like a rag-doll, broken and 
bleeding.  One more kick in the side and she decided that it was 
enough to fulfil her obligation.  The beating was severe enough and 
she didn’t have to lay another finger upon him.

Luke didn’t move from his position, staying where gravity had placed 
him.  He lay there and suffered, utterly defeated.

Kathy should have left him there, should have walked away.  
Ordinarily she would have, but she didn’t.  She leaned back, lit a 
cigarette and smoked it through, slowly and thoughtfully.  When it 
was gone she stubbed it out and walked back to stand over her pulped 
victim.  He hadn’t moved.  She checked his pulse.  It was still 
regular and active.

She stood and then smoked her way through another cigarette.  During 
the time she smoked it, he still didn’t move.

"You can’t lie there all night," she told him eventually.  Her voice 
sounded cold to her own ears.  But then, she was glad it didn’t 
betray her real emotions.

She poked him lightly with one foot.

"Come on, I know you’re awake."

She poked him again and he shrugged the shoe away.

"Look I’m sorry," she tried to explain.  "I didn’t want to hurt you.  
I work for this company."  He made no indication that he was even 
listening to her.  "We hurt people, for a fee.  It was nothing 
personal - I really like you and I’m sorry that I had to do it."

Again, he responded only with silence, though that was telling 
enough.  Kathy began to get frustrated with him now, despite the fact 
she realised it was unjust.

"Look you’re lucky.  She wanted to kill you.  If she could have 
afforded it..." she trailed off.  What would she have done if the 
woman could have afforded it?

"She?" Luke repeated.  His voice sounded harsh, weak.  He laughed 
then, a bitter and spiteful sound.  It hurt Kathy to hear it.  "She.  
I take it ‘she’ is Patricia?"

"Yeah," Kathy admitted, knowing she’d made a serious and 
unprofessional mistake.  Somehow, right at this moment, she honestly 
didn’t care.

Luke turned himself over and managed to get himself into a sitting 
position.  Kathy winced at seeing his battered face.  He certainly 
wasn’t pretty anymore.

"She paid us to fuck you up," Kathy told him.

"Well you did," Luke hissed.  He was angry now and apparently found 
himself able to express it quite freely.  Kathy guessed that at least 
that meant he believed what she had said.

He spat onto the ground, a bloody lump of phlegm.  He began to wipe 
his face, more to control his shaking hands than anything else.

"Like I said it was nothing personal."

"Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better," he told her.

"Really?" she said, bitterness creeping into her voice then.  "If 
that’s true then I take it you’ve never been beaten up when it was 
personal."

He didn’t answer.  Kathy shrugged and pulled out another cigarette.  
"For what it’s worth.  I am sorry."

She lit her cigarette and turned to go.

Then she stopped, turned back and handed him a small card - a 
business card.

"We do all kinds of cases," she told him.  "At very affordable 
prices.  If you had, say, a girlfriend, who was causing you problems 
and you wanted her taken care of."

Luke didn’t respond.  He did however, pocket the card.

"Think about it," she said.  Then walked away without looking back.

Think about it.  He would.  Watching the perfect body of the woman 
fade into the darkness, Luke felt anger boil in him.  And it wasn’t 
for the woman that had inflicted this damage, but the one who had 
instigated it.  Patricia was the one who had caused his pain, and it 
was Patricia he wanted to get back at.

He heard the clicking of heels and thought for a moment that his 
tormentor had returned.  Then he recognised her as the silhouette 
faded into dim shadow.

"You..." he began, a furious hiss.

Patricia just laughed - a sardonic expression.  "Oh shit," she cooed 
cruelly.  "I told her to fuck you up, she really did, didn’t she."

"You fucking bitch," Luke managed, struggling to get to his knees.  
"What did I ever do to hurt you?"

"You were never good enough for me," she told him, ignoring his 
question.  "I see that now."

She reached across with her leg, jamming the pointed toe of her shoe 
against his shoulder.  She pushed and he fell back over, landing flat 
on his back.  He gasped and tried to right himself, his body in 
renewed agony.

Patricia laughed again, enjoying the sight of him so helpless and 
pained.  "Watching her destroy you was one of the most amazing things 
I’ve ever seen," she told him.  "Best money I’ve ever spent.  It was 
a power thing I think."

She glanced around, checking that they really were alone.  Then she 
closed on him.

"And now I’m the one with the power," she hissed.  "And you?  You 
have none."

With sudden spite and fury she launched her kick, slamming the 
hardened toe into the side of his head.  Blood began to stream and 
his body convulsed.

"You are nothing," she told him.  She spat, a lump of phlegm landing 
on his cheek.  He made no attempt to wipe it, in too much agony to 
move.

Patricia kicked again, this time in the stomach, attempting to 
inflict internal injuries.  Again his body shuddered but his 
responses were becoming dulled.  She kicked again, him body beginning 
to act like nothing more than a sack of meat.

"You used to be so pretty," she told him, kneeing besides him to 
stroke his bloody face.  "But not now.  You’re not ever going to be 
pretty again."

She reached behind her, taking the shoe off her foot.  "In fact," she 
decided, "you’re not going to be anything ever again."  She placed the 
stiletto heel, against his throat.

Luke opened his eyes then.  This simple action required more effort 
than he realised that he was capable of.  He tried to focus on her, 
the leering shadow above, but it was beyond him.  Instead he simply 
aimed his eyes in the direction of the blurry fuzz he took to be her, 
she wouldn’t know that he wasn’t able to see her.

"You know what, Patricia?" he croaked, blood trickling from his mouth 
as he spoke.  "No matter what you do to me, you can never change what a 
dumb, pointless, ugly little slut you are.  And you have to live with 
that fact forever."

She stood, almost leaping backwards, wanting to get away from him 
suddenly.

"You bastard," she murmured, tears filling her eyes.

Then she lifted her shoed foot and placed the heel against his 
eyeball.  He didn’t even flinch as she lent her weight across and 
balanced her whole body on that single point.  The sound was like 
carving fruit.  The three inches of stiletto buried itself within the 
soft meat of his head until that base of the shoe lay flat against 
his cheekbone.

Patricia lifted her leg again and the shoe stayed embedded, sliding 
off of her foot.  She left it like that.  She turned and walked away 
from the body without care or regard, carrying her other shoe like an 
impromptu Cinderella.





Kathy sat at the bench, towelling the sweat from her rippling body.  
The agency had its own gym and she often came in on her off days to 
train, though she had full membership of the largest and best 
equipped leisure centre in the area.

There was something cosy about this place, familiar.  

She clocked her reflection in the wall length mirror as she did after 
every workout.  Shorts, training bra.  She flexed her biceps, watching 
the muscle leap and harden, a huge and awesome peak.

She was surprised by voice to her side.

"Gorgeous," Ms T assured her.  "Honestly, I don’t know any other 
woman who retains such traditional femininity and yet has muscles so 
big."

Kathy smiled.  "Hi, I didn’t hear you."

Ms T wandered over, turning back to business.  "K, I know you're not 
working today but I have a potential client coming in who I’d like you 
to meet."

"Sure," she agreed readily.  "I’ll go make myself decent."

Ms T raised a wry smile.  "Actually, come as you are.  I’m sure you’ll 
make a more positive impression on him like that."

Kathy smiled, trying to hide her slight blush.

As Ms T was leaving, Kathy called out to her.  "I don’t supposed that 
guy called."

She knew whom Kathy referred to, the same man she had been asking after 
for the past two weeks.  "Patricia’s case?  No, I’m afraid not."

Kathy shrugged.  "I guess if he was going to then he would have done 
by now."

"You seem disappointed," Ms T remarked.

"Yeah," she admitted.  "He was a nice guy, I hated having to hurt 
him.  I really thought he’d use us to get back at her."

"Maybe he used other methods."

"Maybe.  Maybe he just was a genuinely nice guy."

Ms T nodded.  "I better go get ready for our client.  You should do 
the same."

"Yeah, I’ll work up a sweat for him," she said.

Ms T left and Kathy reached for the boxing gloves.  She headed over 
to the punching bag, suddenly feeling the distinct need to pound 
something.