Kai Kunoichi

A female ninja reflects on her origins

By Mongoose750 (mongoose750@yahoo.com)

It was late at night, and the young junior executive popped out of the elevator and quickly made his way through the lobby, about to pass a heavyset cleaning woman on his way out.

"The boss working late?" The cleaning woman asked.

"Doesn't he always?" The man snorted on his way out.

Excellent, the cleaning lady thought as she entered the service elevator. The senior executive apparently makes a habit of working late every night. That fact was as sure as the fact nobody paid any attention to the janitors around here. When the real Ms.Gomez returned to work after her week-long vacation, she'll find that a number of things have changed; one of them being the loss of Damon Stewart, CEO of that establishment.

While she was in the service elevator, the cleaning woman pulled off her wig. It was the only cosmetic feature she used for her disguise. She had to chuckle; looking at the shiny steel surface that reflected her almond-shaped eyes and light yellow skin; any fool could see she was not Hispanic. She pulled off her maid's uniform, and replaced it with what looked like the top half of a black gi. Next came a short black skirt that would allow her freedom of movement. Over both pieces of clothing came a belt with assorted pouches on it. Black pantyhose encased her legs and feet. Not her first preference, but even in darkness, her bare legs and feet would stand out. Over her short black hair came a black featureless mask with only two eye slits on it. Thin leather gloves completed the outfit.

Last, but not least, she squatted down beside the cleaning cart, and pulled out a short sword from the bottom compartment. She probably won't need to use it this night, but she should keep it nearby just in case.

As she strapped her sword on, she thought back to how it all began. . .

Nobody knew where she came from, nobody knew how she knew. Nobody even knew how she got there. All the students and two sensei knew was one day she shown up on their doorstep, literally. It was in the middle of the lunch period when she appeared. Several of the students froze, their rice balls just inches from their mouths.

"Who are you?" One of the sensei demanded.

"My name is Katsumi, and I wish to join your class and clan," she said.

The two sensei and students looked her over. She looked like one of the women from the farm country. She was tall, about 5'7", maybe 5'7 #", and her build was large. Not fat, but muscular. She was by no means dainty or delicate. She had an attractive face with alluring, almost piercing brown eyes. Her short black hair framed her features. Her garb looked like it belonged to a farm worker; a navy blue T-shirt, blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up to the knees, and no shoes.

"Young lady, you're in the wrong place; the sumo school is on the north side of town," a student quipped.

"I considered that, but I figured my skills would be better used here," Katsumi replied.

"Woman, we can't use you, you're built like a bull!" One of the sensei exclaimed.

"What did you do with our guards?" Another student demanded.

"I did nothing, they're still there. The taller one was very thorough; I thought he caught me a few times," Katsumi responded.

The other sensei asked simply, "Katsumi, I know what we have to offer you; what do you have to offer us?"

Katsumi thought for a second, then said, "I'm very strong, I'm rather resourceful, and I'm pretty clever."

"Oh, you're clever, are you?"

"I've found your place, didn't I?"

The second sensei conceded her point. No one had been able to find this school, not the authorities, no one. Until now.

"How do you know we won't kill you and be done with it?" Another student said.

"You're welcome to try, but it won't be easy," Katsumi replied.

The first sensei said, "Wait here, my brother and I will discuss this."

Stepping into an adjoining room, he told the other sensei, "I don't see how we can use her. The other women we've used before were more uh, seductive."

"I believe differently. One of the skills we teach is how to blend in with the crowd. Nobody would believe she's one of us, and that would be her strength. Besides, anyone who can find us is someone to be respected. We can use her," the second sensei said.

"Very well." Both senseis reentered the room. "I believe we can find some garments that fit your size. We may be a little short on boots however."

"That is fine, I don't need boots," Katsumi said. "When do I start?"

"You just did," the second sensei replied.

Padding down the darkened hallway in stocking feet, Katsumi mentally ran down the information she was given regarding her target. Damon Stewart was seen by the public as a civic model citizen, a pillar of the community. However, those who worked closely with him or lived with him knew differently. He was a shark, devouring other businesses, even those belonging to his allies. He was a tyrant to his four children, and his two ex-wives considered their time with the man as a life of terror. The last straw came when a former business associate woke up one morning to find out his company was no longer his; the victim of one of Stewart's takeovers. To add insult to injury, after he returned home from a futile attempt to save his business, he found the man he was looking for in bed with his wife.

It took all of the man's self-control to keep him from killing Stewart then and there. After Stewart left, sneering at a "loser," he said, and his wife deciding they needed marriage counseling, he decided not to kill him. He'll have someone else do it instead. He knew a number of people who would probably like to thank him for the favor.

When Katsumi was offered the assignment, she was told it didn't matter about how Stewart was going to die, just as long as it was done without hurting anybody else, save his army of bodyguards. That suited her fine; she didn't involve innocent parties when she did a job anyway. Any thug could wipe out a dozen people to get their target, but it took a professional to wipe the target and leave without anyone knowing.

Being a "cleaning lady," she had a universal key card to enter everyone's office and all rooms in the building, save one. Stewart's office was almost designed like a small fortress. The locks should be no problem though; Katsumi was very adept at picking all manner of locks. But then, Katsumi was always very good at using her hands.

During a training session, the first sensei approached the second, who was overseeing the students.

"I came to tell you that I erred in my estimate of our newest student. I stand corrected," he said.

"I saw she had potential, but she passed even my estimate of her," the second sensei agreed. "In hand to hand combat, she is excellent, her skill with the short sword is deadly, and I don't know of many locks, manual or electronic, that she can't break. She's almost like a gift from heaven."

"Have you found out how she found us?"

"No. Whenever I or someone else asks, she just smiles."

"I must tell you, brother, that there may be a possible problem. Katsumi gets along with almost all the students, but there may be a small fraction that sees her as some type of threat. Normally, this would be insignificant, but this fraction is some of our more . . . ambitious students. They could mean her harm."

"No, but surely she could see what's happening."

The second sensei paused and thought for a second. "I'm sure she could. Before we intervene, let's see what happens. She might surprise us again with how she deals with it."

The first door swung open, no problem. Katsumi had a theory: the more some things get technologically advanced, the more a low-tech solution gets the job done. As she expected, all four of Stewart's guards must be with Stewart himself. The vainer people always like their protection in front of them. Katsumi opened her pouch on her belt and pulled out a stethoscope. She put it up against the second set of doors and listened carefully.

". . . she won't sell that firm to me? Well, it might be time to send her a message. Doesn't she have two kids in college? Nah, too far away. How about her husband? A near fatal accident should do it. Wait until I give the signal, all right? Great, bye." And she heard a click.

Was this a businessman or a common gangster, Katsumi thought to herself. She couldn't tell. She listened some more.

"Sir, we have that breakfast in the morning," another voice said.

"With Bottoms Industries? I bought them out last week, Nicky."

"I know, but there's still a company breakfast scheduled for tomorrow."

"Well, I'm not going. Wait, on second thought, I am going; I want to see the look on their faces."

"Can I leave now, sir?"

"Sure, Nicky, I want you at the breakfast too. Lenny, see him out, will you?"

Katsumi moved away from the door and put her stuff away. His head secretary was of no consequence, but Lenny was one of the bigger bodyguards Stewart had in his employ. She could take him down, but there was no need. That only left three guards and Stewart. Three guns to deal with before the target.

First things first. Katsumi placed a small capsule into the locking mechanism of the door, and then blended into the shadows and waited. A minute later, a beefy man of 6'4" and a scar down one cheek came out, followed by a much smaller man of 5'6", and carrying a briefcase like he's bonded to it.

Katsumi grinned to herself. Men are so obsessed about size. They thing bigger is better in everything, be it cars, homes, or . . . themselves. She had found out a long time ago that the bigger warrior wasn't necessarily the better one.

The two sensei and students met in the usual place to eat their breakfast at the usual time. But something was different.

"Where's Katsumi? She's always here for breakfast," one of the female students said.

"That is strange," one of the male students said, "is she well?"

"She was when she said goodnight to me before she entered her quarters," another student spoke. "Should we check?"

Just then, the door opened, and a 6'5" man known only as Wong fell in, barely conscious and with one arm bent at an unnatural angle. One of his legs wasn't looking too good either. Katsumi walked in, a look of cold anger on her face.

"Sorry I was late, but I was detained," she said, just as she placed a bare foot on Wong's head and slammed it down on the wooden floor.

Both sensei had a suspicion of what happened, but the second sensei asked anyway, "Katsumi, what is the meaning of this?"

"This man attempted to rape me, and when I wouldn't comply, he tried to kill me," she replied. "The only reason his sorry carcass is still alive is because in all civil matters we see the two of you."

"How did you, how do you . . ." the first sensei tried to ask.

"How did I know he was there and what he was going to do?" Katsumi finished for him. "You taught us to be in touch with our surroundings. You showed me how to improve on it, but it's something I've practiced my whole life. When I slept, I suddenly found out things were not right. I woke up, and saw him leering at me with a knife. I kicked him where it counted, and when he threatened me, I convinced him if you threaten me, you better mean it. I have the knife back at my quarters. The way Wong's arm is right now, he won't be using it anytime soon."

A student, one of Wong's friends, hissed, "Wong tried to rape you? You cow, I bet you haven't been with a real man."

"A real man, eh? Well Jun, I know that wouldn't be you."

"Why you . . ." Jun shot up.

"Silence, all of you!" The second sensei demanded. "A terrible thing has been done here. Are we not all brothers and sisters here? Jun has shamed himself, and this clan. He will be punished, although I believe he received a head start with his broken arm. Katsumi, our deepest apology."

"Thank you, sensei," Katsumi replied as she bowed. "But let me warn the next one who enters my room unwanted will not leave under their own power if they leave at all."

"Duly noted," the first sensei said.

A few students made room at their table. "Katsumi, please sit with us and have some breakfast," one student said.

"Thank you, Wai, I am rather hungry," Katsumi replied as she stepped over Wong to sit at her table to eat with the others.

At their table, as Wong was sent to the infirmary, the first sensei turned to the second one. "I'd say she handled that pretty well," he said.

"I hope that's the end of it, otherwise we'll run out of students," the second sensei replied.

As she saw the two leave, Katsumi looked over at the door with a small grin. The capsule contained an acid that ate through the delicate mechanism of the lock. Turning the handle or just pushing the door open was all that was needed. Police may examine it when they came upon the scene, but by that time it'll be too late. Her gloves prevented fingerprints, and there would be no one left to bear witness to the crime.

Stewart decided to call it a day himself, and prepared to leave with his three remaining guards. Suddenly they saw three marble-shaped containers rolling toward them. Being no fools, the bodyguards immediately shouted to Stewart to get down and take cover. A second later, a thick smoke billowed from each container. The objects were just harmless smoke bombs, but Katsumi's prey didn't know that as they rushed from the room into the outer area.

Katsumi could've used an actual bomb, or poison gas if she desired, but the conditions had to be right for them to be used. Stewart deliberately made his office difficult to get to, so short of blowing up the entire floor, it would be difficult to go that route. An office as large as Stewart's also had excellent circulation, so success with poison gas would be spotty. Apparently Stewart had received death threats before.

Even though she was trained to use them, Katsumi didn't use firearms. They were generally loud, bulky, and they tended to make the user dependent on them. She was trained to primarily be a weapon, using first a lethal body, then her sword and smaller weapons, then what's at hand, from a letter opener, to a lighter, to a simple thumbtack. Why stop with a gun?

The lead bodyguard waded his way through the smoke, gun in hand, and thought he saw the door that led into the hallway. Then suddenly a figure in black appeared in front of him. Without hesitation, he aimed his gun. Katsumi drew her sword . . .

. . . and then put it back in its scabbard, as the body of the bodyguard fell to the floor.

Katsumi was slow to admit it, but she enjoyed this. Not the killing necessarily, that came with the territory. But it was the thrill of the hunt and the espionage that got her going. A woman who Katsumi took classes with and sometimes worked with, told her she had to take a cold shower after each mission. That was more information than Katsumi wanted to know, but she understood.

Even now, she can look back to the first time she'd done this . . .

In order to graduate from the school, the students had to complete a mission that involved either sabotage, gleaning critical information from a vital source to give to a rival, or assassination. If one was feeling really cocky, they could take an assignment that included all three. They had the choice of going alone or teaming up with their classmates.

Both sensei informed the class that this was not an exam where they graded on the curve. The chances of getting injured, captured, or even killed would be pretty high. Needless to say, candidates did not pursue their mission until they felt they were ready. No one wanted to die, and being captured the first time they performed a mission would make them wish they were dead. No one wanted to bring embarrassment on the house or the teachers.

Katsumi decided to go on a solo mission on the assassination track. Why? For one reason, she believed she was built for it; her power and martial arts skill were devastating; not many opponents could stand up to her. Another reason was her cunning; and the third reason, she did not look like a "typical" assassin, so no one could see her coming until it was too late.

Katsumi's target was a drug Lord, with an innocent-looking mansion overlooking the coffee fields. The mansion was protected about as well as Fort Knox, with guards all over the grounds. The coffee fields belonged to another farmer who had nothing to do with his next door neighbor. The reason for the hit was because the drug lord was an up and comer who may one day control the country's product, and that made the other cartels nervous. Previously a death squad of six sent from another cartel attempted to invade the grounds to take the target out. It failed miserably. To make things even trickier, it was in Mexico.

Aside from the few who wanted to see her fail, no one wanted Katsumi to take the task, feeling it was a suicide mission. It was recommended she should bring back up; in fact, a few volunteered to be her backup. Finally, Katsumi gave in, and decided to take three, consisting of another woman and two men on the assignment. The sole condition was for Katsumi to call the shots, since this was her "graduation exam" after all.

Katsumi and the others were taught that their biggest weapon was patience, and if used properly, it can be more deadly than any gun or sword. Shortly after a flight to Mexico, and a drive to a secluded part of the country, there were a few extra farmhands working in the coffee fields. They watched the goings on in the mansion in front of them. After a day or two, as they were going over their observations one night, one of the men observed that he couldn't think of a surefire way to enter the place short of using an army. Even the domestic staff was watched over by the guards. Katsumi had to agree when a revelation suddenly hit her.

"We don't need to hit the house," she said.

"What do you mean?" The woman asked her.

"The traffic that goes back and forth from and to the house, that's the key."

"But which one is his vehicle?" The other man said.

"I believe it's the silver Suburban," Katsumi replied.

"But it, like the other vehicles are heavily armored. In it, he's practically invulnerable," the first man said.

"Brother, you forgot our teacher's first rule: no one is invulnerable," Katsumi smiled.

The road that ran back and forth from the mansion was in a wooded area. A good distance down the road, Katsumi's team went to work. They cut down a small tree, but they didn't let it fall. That way, other vehicles could come and go without any problem. The drug runner traveled with a black armored Suburban in front and one in back (he got the idea from a movie). When they started to leave, the man designated as lookout radioed Katsumi.

Katsumi turned to the woman. "Cho, do your arrows still aim true?" She asked.

"You know they do," she giggled. Back at the school, Cho was phenomenal with the bow, and had already graduated her exam as a sniper. If it was something she could aim and shoot, she was deadly.

Katsumi and the other man pushed the already cut tree, and it fell on the road, almost hitting the first vehicle. All three vehicles had to slam on the brakes to keep from hitting the tree or each other. Curses and swearing in Spanish could be heard from the vehicles.

"Come on, open up," Cho whispered as she waited, bow pulled back. Sure enough, three beefy guards started to leave from the lead vehicle. That was all the opening Cho needed. She shot two arrows into the vehicle. Each arrow was treated with a substance similar to napalm. In seconds, the whole inside of the Suburban was on fire. The five occupants dashed out of the vehicle rolling on the ground and stamping the flames out on their person.

The drug lord knew what was happening, and ordered both remaining vehicles to drive in reverse toward the house; and that's when the second tree fell, hemming them in. The men in the third vehicle ' men as large as those in the first vehicle ' poured out to protect their boss. Cho fired two arrows into that vehicle, and those who didn't climb out were literally blown out by the explosive tips on the arrows.

Her work done, Cho sat back and kept watch for reinforcements from the mansion. If they came, she had more than enough arrows to keep them busy.

It didn't take long for the drug lord to realize his secure SUV was a potential coffin, so he ordered his surviving able men to surround him as they fled on foot back to his abode. The mansion wasn't that far, but in order to get there, they would have to briefly enter the woods, where they were sitting ducks.

The two men who came with Katsumi were expert swordsmen, and in close combat, untrained thugs with machine guns had no chance. Katsumi's entire group was wearing dark green tunics, hoods and rubber soled boots, except for Katsumi who didn't wear boots.

Some discarded their guns and pulled out their switchblades and flick knives. It brought the others time, but that's all. Katsumi waded through her prey with ease. One man pulled a pistol on her, but before he could pull the trigger, Katsumi bent the arm back, breaking it, just as the gun went off, hitting one of the guards in the temple, killing him. She slammed her palm into his nose, sending the broken nasal fragments into his brain, finishing him off.

The two biggest guards were the drug lord's personal guard. They were very strong, but to Katsumi, they were as slow as a sunset over the mountains. And she learned long ago that strength was nothing if you couldn't use it adequately. The first man swung a massive punch. Katsumi stepped into the arc and delivered a knife hand blow to the throat. She turned to throw the knife-welding second guard to the ground against a fallen log. The impact nearly broke his back, but it left him helpless for the few seconds she needed to finish her task.

"How dare you do this!" The drug lord sputtered in Spanish. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course," Katsumi replied in Spanish before she delivered an iron palm blow to his chest over the heart. The blow disrupted his heartbeat, and he fell down on the forest floor, squirming.

Katsumi watched his death throes for a few seconds, and then pulled out a cell phone, taking a few pictures of the corpse and sending them to her two senseis. Cho radioed in to warn them that reinforcements were coming. She took care of a few, but there were an army of them headed their way.

Katsumi motioned to the two men, and the three left the dead, dying, and wounded to meet Cho at the rendezvous point. At a certain point in the woods, the team uncovered a large mass of branches and leaves, revealing their jeep. By the time reinforcements combed the area, they were long gone. Two hours later, they were on the plane flight home.

The two senseis were pleased and impressed along with the other students. Katsumi had indeed "graduated."

The two bodyguards had their guns out, finding their way through the dissipating smoke. Stewart was sandwiched between them, asking why the smoke alarm hadn't gone off. That was because Katsumi had disabled the alarms on that floor earlier that evening. Suddenly all three of them stumbled over something. A quick look revealed to them it was the first bodyguard who went out before them. Both guards pivoted around, looking for the unseen assailant. As one guard swung his pistol to his right, Katsumi seized his gun hand in a wrist lock, making his drop the weapon. With the other arm, she seized his neck in a reverse headlock. A sudden twist broke his neck.

Before Stewart could warn the other man of what he just saw, a hosed foot slammed against his jaw, sending him back several feet. As the last guard swung around to see what was happening, Katsumi grabbed him and delivered a headlock hip throw, landing him on his head. Stewart tried to stagger to the hallway, and a place to hide when Katsumi appeared in front of him.

"Rogers sends his regards," she said, before delivering a front kick that snapped his neck.

After she checked the body to make sure the deed was done, she acted quickly. She unclipped a gold pocket watch from his suit vest, and after looking both ways, trotted down the hall. No matter how well an assignment is planned or goes well, you could not plan for the "X" factor, that random element that could ruin it all. Katsumi knew she had one bodyguard unaccounted for, and while she knew she could take him, it was not necessary. He would also be in more of a position to call for help, and that would be messy.

Once she reached the maintenance elevator, she threw her cleaning lady outfit on, slid her feet into clogs, pulled her mask off, and donned her wig. That deed done, she unlocked the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor.

There were a few times where it paid not to be stinking rich, the bodyguard named Lenny Gleason reasoned. While it certainly had its benefits, there were times where it was more of a burden. Take the case of Nicky's car for example. The man drove a black Mercedes. That was well and good, but more than half the people who were still working at this hour owned the same model car or something similar with the same color. Small wonder he didn't misplace the car before now. Wasn't one of the goals of wealth being different from everybody else? Anyway, it was not a big deal, it gave him a chance to stretch his legs and relieve the boredom. Compared to his time in the military, and a stint as a mercenary, this bodyguard thing seemed more like advanced babysitting. At least the money was good.

He waved goodbye to the cleaning lady on the way in. Strange, he thought, isn't Ms. Gomez a Hispanic? Maybe he had her eyes done. On a cleaning lady's salary? Yeah, right. It's probably nothing. Still, it started that feeling, that something wasn't right. He called Stewart's office, but he didn't receive a response, nor did he get an answer from any of his comrade's cell phones.

When he left the elevator, gun drawn, he didn't see anything unusual except for a darkened part of the hall, and wisps of smoke floating in the air. He feared he might be too late before he reached the office, but he had to find out. The sight that awaited him confirmed his fears. He dialed 911 knowing it was already too late. Whoever done it was a professional, and they would be long gone by now.

I guess it's time to dust off my resume, Gleason thought.

The man known as Rodgers sat at his desk in his office at home. It would be rough starting over, but he could do it. At least he'll have the satisfaction of having the last laugh. Taking his business was one thing, but going after his business and his wife was unforgivable. Maybe after it's over, he could try to get his company back one more time.

"It's done," a voice said behind him.

While Rodgers heart was beating like a bass drum, a gold pocket watch landed on his desk.

"A-any problems?" He tried to ask without his voice quivering.

"No."

Rodgers pulled open a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a small metal box, putting it on top. He opened it.

"You can count it if you want," he said.

Katsumi moved out of the shadows and looked over the money. "No need," she replied.

Rodgers took a long look at the assassin he hired. "You, you're a woman," he said. "A large woman."

"Yes I am. A word of advice. Above all else, a woman requires your attention and love. With that, you have something more precious than gold and no man can take her away. Good evening, Mr. Rodgers."

And she was gone.

The next morning, Ms. Gomez entered the building with a relaxed smile and a new tan to show the others. Even though she wasn't due to show up until later that evening, she wanted to share her adventure with the others, and catch up on the latest gossip. You miss a week, you miss a lot.

It still seemed like a dream how the trip came about. One day she received a call telling her how she won an all-expense paid cruise to Mexico for one week. The trip was for two. After the call, she called her closest friend to invite her, called work to tell them she's taking a week off, and packed faster than she ever had. Upon reflection, Ms. Gomez, who regularly bought lottery tickets, and was always involved in one contest or another, wasn't sure how or what company gave her the trip, and in the long run, she didn't care. All she knew was her and Lilly had the time of their lives. When she finally arrived home, she couldn't wait to tell everybody.

So imagine her surprise when she arrived to her workplace, and saw police swarming the place, especially the top floor. Her surprise was compounded when she found out the CEO of the place was killed last night, along with three bodyguards. On top of that, she had to tell a few of the police officers and provide proof that she indeed was on a cruise. At one point, she stood in front of the officers, displaying her large frame, exclaiming, "Look at me, officers; do I look like an assassin to you?"

The officers were forced to agree, concluding that the killings were done by someone with a large blade like a sword, and mastery of the martial arts. Plus it was also concluded someone of Ms. Gomez' build would not be able to do the moves required, and it had to be done by a man. Ms. Gomez wanted to argue she had two female cousins built the same as she who took karate and judo respectively, and no one messed with them, but she found it better to keep quiet.

She walked to her closet on the main floor to check if she had everything ready for her job that evening. Everything was in order, but she could've sworn someone wore her smock while she was gone. She quickly dismissed the thought; all these policemen were making her paranoid. She was a cleaning lady, why would anyone want to impersonate her?

A long distance away, in an apartment overlooking the city, laid an apartment that was luxurious, yet sparse at the same time. It was a flat consisting of one large living room, and a bathroom and kitchen. In one corner of the living room lay dumbbells, and other weight and martial arts equipment. In another corner sat the latest computer equipment. A pad and covers used for sleeping sat in the middle. A fifty-inch flat screen TV hung on the wall in yet another corner, and that was where Katsumi stood, watching the morning news, drinking a cup of green tea. She had already completed her morning workout, showered, and changed into a blue silk kimono. The kimono was cut short, exposing her long muscular legs. She watched the story involving the death of Damon Stewart. When they said the police found no leads, she nodded her head, satisfied. She thought she was careful, but she always liked to make sure. When they started talking about his accomplishments, Katsumi extended a long big toe to push the "off" button on the remote lying on the floor.

"Can you believe that?" A voice said from the kitchen. "This rich guy gets killed, and they do everything but venerate him for sainthood."

The author of the voice emerged. It belonged to Alex Franklin, a young black businessman who stood 5'6" with a medium build and short black hair. He was beating eggs as he fixed them breakfast. It was something he always done since they'd been together; drop by, make breakfast, and play catch-up with their respective lives.

"Did you know you'd hear all this flack when you hit him?" He continued.

Katsumi, who was staring at the blank screen, turned her head. "My love, you know I don't discuss my assignments," she said. "Besides, it could've been some other assassin who "hit' him. I'm not the only one, you know."

"I'm just saying that they're making him out to be this great person, but if you're someone who's involved in the business world, you know better."

"I see, go on," Katsumi replied.

"The man was ruthless, a snake, dishonest, and a womanizer on top of that. It's a wonder he wasn't taken care of earlier."

Katsumi remembered the reason for her being hired; it wasn't for the businesses he stole, it was for the spouse he tried to steal. Apparently Mr. Rodgers still had his priorities in order.

After they finished breakfast, and Alex prepared to go, Katsumi stepped in front of him, placing her hands on his shoulders and rubbing her left toes against his ankle.

"Call in late for work today or better yet, call in sick," she said. "I've been without you for a week, and that's too long to be without you, my heart."

Alex considered it for a moment, and then pulled out his cell phone. "I guess I could be sick today; there is a little something going around," he said as he prepared to dial. "Sometimes the management can be a little fussy about that."

"They'll accept what you say. It not, I'll kill them," Katsumi cooed as she gave Alex a passionate hug.

"Of course we both know you're kidding," Alex laughed, "right, Katsumi? Uh, right, Katsumi?"

Katsumi just purred.

If there are any compliments, suggestions, or story ideas, just email the author at shrewsberry@juno.com.

#2009, Barefoot Heroines, Inc.