Avenging Angela, Part 4
By Littlesilverstar, silverstar222b@yahoo.com
Angela faces the threat of being exposed

It was only several hours after she had finished exterminating Edward, 
Olivia, and their henchmen and henchwomen that the magnitude of what she
had done finally sunk in for Angela.  She had slaughtered the entire 
high leadership of a major corporation, and (so far) she had gotten away
with it.  

She had no regrets about killing them; they had, after all, murdered her
husband.  She did realize that she had been driven by raw anger alone,
since Ted's killing was so fresh in her memory.  Angela realized now 
that she had been very lucky not to get caught, and that future killings
she pulled off would have to be done in a cold, methodical manner, not 
in a passionate rage.

She tossed and turned in bed that night, unable to sleep.  She was used
to having her husband's warm body to make love to.  The incredible 
feeling of power she had gotten while she was killing kept flashing
through her mind, over and over.  Finally, she climbed out of bed, 
slipped into a white T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of black
gloves, and headed for the door.  Maybe killing someone would help her 
sleep.  Someone who had it coming, of course.

Her sneaker-clad feet padded quietly through the dark streets of Memphis.
Her and Ted's house was not in the nicest of neighborhoods. Some scruffy-
looking bums stared intently at her until she got them to turn away with
an icy stare back at them.  A few prostitutes drifted by, mostly taking 
no notice of her (although one did wink at her).  

She had been walking around for almost two hours without finding anyone
suitable when she suddenly heard a muffled scream coming from an alley.
Walking rapidly to the corner and peering into the alleyway, Angela saw
a muscular man pinning a young brunette woman to the wall, a gleaming
knife in his hand.  She felt the rage rise up within her, but forced
herself to remain calm. "Cool and methodical," she told herself.

Angela pulled a bandanna from her pocket and tied it over her face,
concealing her identity.  She then stepped into the alley.  The man was
now starting to undo his pants with his left hand, while his right
continued to grip his knife.

"Hey, asshole," she called out, disguising her voice by making it higher
pitched than normal. "If you want to pick on a woman, then why don't you
pick on me?"

The thug punched his brunette victim in the face, sending her to the
ground.  He then advanced on Angela, knife raised. "Fucking bitch, you
shouldn't have butted in.  Now I get to rape and carve up two girls."

"Bring it on, prick," growled Angela.  The fight looked like a mismatch
- a 5'11", 190-pound male armed with a knife versus an unarmed, 5'7",
135-pound woman.  In actuality, it *was* a mismatch - in favor of Angela.
The thug, who was used to attacking defenseless victims, was about to get
a cruel lesson in fighting from a well-trained, muscular, feminine female.

Angela used her speed to dodge her opponent's two quick slashes with his
weapon, then stung him on the cheek with a solid punch.  Before he could
recover, she had kicked the knife out of his hand with a lightning-fast
crescent kick.  Not missing a beat, she immediately snap-kicked him in
the chest, punched him in the eye, then knocked him to the dirty surface
of the alley with a swift spin kick to the side of his head.

She soccer kicked him in the side, cracking one of his ribs. "Tough guy,
huh? You like raping defenseless women? How does it feel to be the
defenseless one now?" Grabbing him by the hair, she smashed her knee 
into his face, releasing a splatter of blood.

He stumbled to his feet, trying to wipe the blood off his face.  He 
swung a wild punch at the sexy vixen, which she easily dodged.  She 
socked him in the stomach, then delivered a brutal cheerleader-style
high kick to his jaw that sent him flying backwards.

At that moment, the thug came to the decision that cowardice was a more
intelligent option than machismo.  He began running away as fast as he
could.  Unfortunately for him, Angela was determined to end his career
permanently.  Scooping up his knife, she flung it at his retreating back.
A scream of agony accompanied the sound of metal penetrating flesh as he
fell down face first.  She front handspringed towards him and yanked the
knife out of his back.  Turning him over, she gave him a broad wink 
before plunging his own knife into his throat and twisting it sharply.
She looked dispassionately at the man whose throat she had just ripped
open, feeling nothing more than a warm flow of satisfaction, as the man's
blood flowed onto the alley surface.

She turned her attention to the young brunette woman who had been the
thug's original victim. "Who...who are you?" the woman whispered.

"It doesn't matter," said Angela, still using her disguised voice. "What
matters is that you're safe now." She turned around swifly, her blonde
hair whipping behind her, and headed out of the alley.  As she left, the
young woman called out to her, "Thank you, my angel." Angela couldn't
help giggling a little. "Corny, but sweet," she thought to herself.

When she got home and climbed into bed, she fell asleep quickly and slept
soundly.  She had a vision of Ted looking down from above as she finished
off the alley thug.  Ted was smiling and giving her a thumbs-up.

Meanwhile, down at police headquarters, the cops were stumped as to who
had pulled off the mass killing in the big corporation's downtown 
building.  The security tapes were all gone, and whoever had done it had 
left no fingerprints and no witnesses.  Disgruntled employees, rival 
companies, and local mob bosses were investigated, all to no avail.  
Angela was not even on the radar as a suspect and would have probably 
remained off of it if not for one man by the name of Eric Keene.

Eric Keene was a sergeant with the Memphis police department.  He had
read the report about the home invasion at Angela and Ted's house (a
scene that was quickly forgotten by most of the department when the      
story of the killings at the corporate headquarters broke). His pointing
out of the fact that Ted had been an employee of that very same company
fell on the uninterested ears of his colleagues, who pointed out that
homicides and home invasions were pretty damn common and that it was all
probably just a coincidence.  Besides, none of the guns used in the home
invasion shootout, by the criminals or the homeowners, matched any of 
those used in the corporate killings.

Eric was determined to prove that he was right and his colleagues were
wrong.  All his life, in almost anything he tried, he had been described
as "good, but not good enough." He had been a B student in high school
and a second-string player on the football team.  He had failed to get
into UCLA, his college of choice, and had instead gone to a lower-tier
state university.  Laid off from his first job, he had traveled the
country looking for opportunities and finally ended up as a cop in
Memphis.  Failing to make sergeant the first time he went for it, he had
tried again two years later and succeeded.  What he really wanted now 
was to get into the prestigious homicide division.  If he made it, there
would be no more being second-rate, no more being the beta male.  And if
he could solve this case, then he'd be a shoo-in for homicide detective.

At first, Eric was not particularly suspicious of Angela.  He thought it
more likely that some outsider with a grudge against the company had
hired the four assassins to kill Ted, and that same somebody had also
been behind the killings at company headquarters.  When women killed,
after all, their weapon of choice was usually poison.  He had learned
that in his training classes.  

However, as he re-read the file on the home invasion, he saw something
that he hadn't noticed before - the man shot in the groin by Angela's
revolver. That indicated a woman who was willing to use sadistic violence
against her enemies.  It also bore a similarity to some of the killings 
at corporate headquarters - the idea of inflicting pain and suffering
before killing.  What if the four assassins were *from* the company, not
against it, and what if Angela had discovered that and taken her revenge?
Eric knew that he would have to keep a close eye on Angela.

Although he was assigned to different work, Eric used the time when he
was off duty to discreetly spy on her.  That had the added advantage of
giving him a chance to watch her in plain clothes and in his own car.

One night, as he was watching her, he saw her come out of her house with
a large garbage bag in her hand.  Two things in particular aroused his
suspicions.  One was the fact that she walked right past the dumpster
near her house, still carrying the garbage bag.  The other thing was what
she was wearing on her hands - black leather gloves.

Eric began following her as casually as he could on foot, but when she
kept looking behind her, he realized he couldn't keep it up without being
exposed.  An idea struck him.  Knowing the location of the next closest
dumpster in the neighborhood, he hurried straight to it and hid in the
bushes nearby, hoping she would choose this one.

As he waited, he debated whether to call for backup.  After all, if she
was the killer, she had skillfully slaughtered a whole bunch of people,
including armed security guards and bodyguards, all on her own.  But he
decided against it.  If she turned out to be the wrong target, he would
look like a fool and might even be kicked off the force for inappropriate
behavior.  And if it really was her, then his superiors in the department
would take all the credit and glory for capturing her.  No, if he wanted
glory, if he wanted a postion in homicide, he would have to do this on 
his own. "She was able to kill them because she got the drop on them," he 
thought. "But now, I'll have the drop on her."

A few mintues later, his patience was rewarded as Angela appeared, still
carrying the bag.  She was dressed in tight black pants that showed off
her hard ass, and a white top with the sleeves rolled up.  Her tanned,
muscular forearms glinted in the light of the street lamp.  Her shoulder-
length blonde hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. "If she's a 
killer," he thought, "she's the best-looking killer I've ever seen."

With a furitive and suspicious glance around her, Angela lifted the lid
of the dumpster and dropped the bag in.  At that moment, Eric stood up
from his hiding place and aimed his pistol at her. "Freeze," he said.

A genuine look of shock and fear appeared on Angela's tanned, pretty
face. "What is this?" she asked.

"Memphis PD," answered Eric, flashing his badge. "Put your hands on that
wall over there." She did so, the shocked look on her face slowly
transforming into a cool, calculating one.  

Glancing at Angela to make sure she was still facing the wall, Eric
lifted the lid of the dumpster and pulled out her bag.  This was it, the
make-or-break moment.  From the blonde lady's furitive looks around and
her look of shock, he felt that his chances were pretty good.

Ripping the bag open, he saw that it was full of videotapes.  The tape
had all been pulled out, but a sticker on the side of one of the tapes
said, "Security - Property of ...... Corporation." 

Eric's heart beat fast with excitement and triumph. Success! He had done
it! And all by himself, too! With a wide grin, he announced, "Angela
Doherty, I place you under arrest on sixteen counts of murder.  You have
the right to remain-" He stopped suddenly as he realized something.  The
discovery he had made had gotten him so excited that he had forgotten to
keep an eye on Angela.  Now, she was no longer where he had left her.  A
chill ran down his spine when he felt a presence behind him.  Before he
could aim his gun, it was kicked out of his hand and went flying down the
sidewalk.

"Congratulations," came Angela's seductive, feminine voice. "You're quite
smart.  You do have to work on that whole not throwing it all away in the
moment of triumph thing, though." With that, she delivered a powerful
karate chop to his neck.  He slumped into unconsciousness.

Eric woke up to the sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance.  
It was pitch black all around him.  His neck was still sore and he 
realized that his hands were cuffed behind his back with his own handcuffs.
A cold feeling of fear washed over him.  He wished that he had called for
backup.  This certainly put things in perspective.  He vowed that if he 
got out of this alive, he would never put glory ahead of good sense ever
again.

A bright light suddenly came on.  Eric blinked, trying to adjust his eyes.

"Ah, so you're awake!" came Angela's familiar voice. "Welcome to my
basement-" she looked at his ID "-Sergeant Eric Keene."

As his eyes became accustomed to the light, he looked at her and became
oddly aroused, despite his situation.  She was still wearing her tight
black pants and still had her blonde ponytail, but she had removed her
white top for a black sports bra.  Her thick, muscular arms and hard six-
pack abs were prominently displayed.  Her feet were bare.  She wore black
wristbands and her familiar black leather gloves.  A samurai sword was in
her right hand.  She looked every inch the lethal vixen.

She began twirling the sword around with the skill of a Jennifer Garner-
type Amazon warrior.  Advancing on him, she pointed the tip of the sword
at his genitals. "Now, Sergeant Keene," she said calmly, "let's get down
to business.  Who did you tell about me?"

"No one!" said Eric in a desperate voice.  He was sweating like a whore
in church. "It's just me, investigating alone!"

"That sounds hard to believe," said Angela, gripping the sword more
tightly and causing her forearm muscles to stand out. "Perhaps a little
stab at 'Little Eric' down there might get you to take a stab at telling
the truth?"

"Please, no, I swear! It's the truth!" begged Eric, beginning to sob.  
Tears flowing down his face, he told her the whole story of his life,
never being quite good enough, wanting glory and recognition.

"Well, I believe you," said the blonde warrior, pulling the sword back
slightly.  Was that a hint of compassion on her hardened face? 
"Unfortunately, I can't let you go.  Not with what you know."

Eric wanted to beg, but he knew it would be useless. "For what it's worth,
I think those assholes you killed had it coming, after what they did to
your husband," he said.

She smiled. "Thank you.  And for what it's worth, I won't be getting any
pleasure out of this." She raised the sword, then paused. "Tell you what.
You deserve a better chance than this.  I'll let you fight me, fair and
square." Stepping back to the middle of the room, she reached into her
pocket and tossed him his handcuff keys. "Here, unlock yourself.  And I
won't even use this, either." She threw her sword aside.

Eric uncuffed himself and looked at his opponent.  He was two inches
taller than her and probably about thirty pounds heavier.  But her arms
were as big as his, and they were a lot more toned.  She looked so...
hard.  And he was no great fighter - all he knew about hand-to-hand
combat was the minimum he had to pass with to become a cop.  It was the
same thing with shooting - he qualified twice a year on the range, and
that was it.  Not that *that* mattered now - he had no idea what she had
done with his gun.  He knew that she could kick his ass easily, but he
still had hope inside him.  All he had to do was get past her, reach the
door, and run like hell out of there.

He swung his fist at her face.  Suddenly, her face had moved and all his
fist hit was her tanned, sturdy forearm.  With a charming smile on her
face, Angela delivered a wicked one-two-three combination of punches to
his jaw, sending him reeling backwards.  Laughing, she flexed her solid
13-inch biceps. "No one can say I have arms like a girl."

Before Eric could recover from the strength of her fists, his opponent
became a blonde blur of motion as she performed an athletic no-handed
cartwheel, relying on her butt and thigh muscles to propel her through
the air.  As she flipped, her bare feet plowed into his head one after
the other, the power of her aerial cartwheel kick sending him to the
floor.  She landed neatly on her feet and motioned for him to get up.

"Come on, baby," she said teasingly. "You're supposed to be a cop, and a
man.  Try fighting like one." His body and pride both sore, Eric charged
her, but was knocked back by her front snap kick to his chest.  
Approaching her again, more slowly this time, he tried a high kick, 
which she ducked under.  As she was straightening herself back up, he
suddenly gave her a shove, then bolted for the door.  She was sturdier
than he thought she would be, but it was enough.  Racing across the room
and reaching for the doorknob, he twisted it hard - and discovered that
it was locked.

Angela's enchanting laugh echoed through the room. "Did you really think
it would be that easy, honey? I'm blonde, not stupid." Eric's face fell
and his heart sank. "Now get back here and give me a real fight, sweetie."

Eric's eyes darted around wildly. He knew his time left on this world was
not long.  In desperation, he grabbed her shoulders and began trying to
push her towards the wall.  She drove her knee into his stomach.  The
vicious shot of pain it caused forced him to let her go.  WHAM! Out of
nowhere, her fist planted itself deep into his already sore gut with a
powerful punch. Doubling over in pain, he struggled to stand back upright
and swung a retaliatory punch at her midsection.  Angela saw it coming 
and tensed her abs.  Eric let out a yell as his fist bounced uselessly 
off her ultra-solid wall of abdominal muscle. "You really need to do more
situps," she cooed.

Eric grew more and more desperate.  He put all his speed into a front
kick.  The blonde vixen, however, was faster and avoided the attack by
performing a pair of standing back handsprings away from him.

Despite the situation, the police sergeant's eyes widened in admiration
at his opponent's skill. "Where did you learn that?" he asked, wondering
why he was even bothering to ask.

"Four years of your regular Southern cheerleader girl in high school," 
she replied. "We're much more athletic than most people give us credit
for." Dancing towards him, her roundhouse kick plowed into his side,
cracking one of his ribs and knocking him into the wall.  She walked up
to him seductively.  Balancing on her left leg, she fired kick after 
kick into his face with her right as he stood pinned helplessly against
the wall.  Her feminine grunts of exertion and his masculine grunts of
pain were the only sounds in the room as her foot battered his face into 
a bloody pulp.

Finally pausing after about twenty machine-gun kicks, she grabbed him by
the shirt collar. "Close your eyes," she said softly.  Eric, heart 
pounding with fear, obeyed.  He felt a brief wave of pleasure as she
kissed him gently on the cheek.  Then, his head erupted into horrible
pain as she brutally headbutted him.  She released him from her grip and
he slid to the floor.

Eric tried to wipe away the tears that were gathering in his eyes. 
"Please," he begged. "I've had enough.  Just finish me quickly."

"All right," said Angela. "I suppose you've earned it." Striding to the
side of the room, she pulled a pair of high-heeled shoes off a shelf and
put them on.  The shoes had razor-sharp four-inch stiletto heels.  She
walked towards him with perfect balance. "Stand up," she said.

Eric struggled to his feet slowly.  He took a deep breath and closed his
eyes.

Angela paused, breathing heavily. Then, with a shrill scream, she pivoted
and fired a side kick into his chest.  The lethally sharp stiletto of her
shoe penetrated deep into his heart.  There was a squishing, gurgling
sound as she withdrew her foot.  Eric's corpse slumped to the floor, blood
bubbling out of the hole in his chest.

Angela relaxed her muscles and let her heart rate slowly return to normal.
She felt satisfaction at winning a fight, but unlike her earlier killings,
she felt no pleasure at taking this man's life.  She was not depressed,
however.  Rather, she felt relieved to discover that she was still capable
of feeling some form of compassion.

"I think you would have made a good cop," she said to the corpse as she
placed it into the largest trash bag she could find.  She also wiped up
the blood that had dripped onto her floor and put the red-stained paper
towels in the bag with the body.  Dragging it behind her, she took it to
the same dumpster she had found him at and dumped the bag in, making sure
no one saw her.  She remembered the bag of videotapes she had tossed in 
the corner of her basement.  She would have to find a different place to 
get rid of those.

Returning home, Angela reclined in her favorite chair with a cold beer.
Her mind was swimming with complex thoughts.  She wanted to be a force 
for good, killing those who were evil.  But inevitably, as she had found 
out tonight, people who weren't necessarily evil were going to get in her 
way and she would have to either compromise her principles or risk 
getting caught.

She let out a long sigh.  She was going to have a lot of thinking to do
tonight.

To be continued?

Comments, compliments, and constructive criticism encouraged.

silverstar222b@yahoo.com