Chaos Angel Spanner
Interlude 2: The Brown Note
Interlude 2: The Brown Note
The Civet Strikes, by Wesley Dent
WHO is the mysterious young woman who hides behind the mask of the Civet? Who is this seductive black-clad cat burglar who preys on the rich and powerful? Is the scandalous teen pop idol Dorinda Wilde her true identity—or is it the other way around? Does she fight for justice against the tyranny of the Consortium, or does she merely serve her own desires? Is she on our side—or strictly her own?
An investigative reporter has been murdered in the mansion of media lord Walter J. Wells! His partner, Rebecca Street, suspects that he may have stumbled upon a massive official cover-up in which Wells is deeply involved. Fearing for her life, she calls on that most mysterious of bandits, the Civet. Searching into the cover-up, Dorinda and Becky discover a new form of media technology beyond belief—and a monstrous plot to seize control over the human mind itself! Can they stop the Consortium from destroying the last bit of freedom that survives in this world? Or does the Consortium’s plot hide an even more horrible truth that humanity may not even survive?
Dressed in black sweater, tights, boots, and wool cap, Becky sneaks onto the mansion’s heavily guarded grounds. For some reason, the security is unusually lax, so she manages to sneak into Wells’ mansion through the heavy front door, which for some reason someone has left unlocked. She searches through the obscenely opulent citadel until she reaches the vast living room with its hundreds of pilfered paintings. Suddenly she hears someone cock a pistol behind her. She turns around to see Wells pointing his gun and a flashlight at her.
“One of those annoying investigative reporters, hmm? Trying to get your name in the paper with an old-fashioned scoop? Clearly you do not realize the way the world really works. There’s no such thing as news till I say it’s news. I alone make the news. I decree it into existence. The reporter’s job is merely to relay the news that I have already created. I assume you’re planning to write a shocking exposé about me and my crimes against what you in your blind faith claim to be truth? You want to inflame the masses of weak subhumans against the strong? The Law of Social Darwinism is all the truth there is. Survival goes only to the strongest. The future belongs only to those who survive. Your conscience, I’m afraid, has made you weak. That is why you are here, I presume. Too bad you came here only to die. Goodbye, Rebecca Street.”
Suddenly the lights come on. A young woman cocks her pistol and clears her throat. Becky and Wells turn around to see a bronze-skinned beauty sitting in Wells’ favorite recliner, wearing a black catlike mask and black ninja boots that reach her knees and nothing else. She holds the gun in her left hand; in her right, the latest model non-brand bootleg smartphone.
“You!” gasps Wells. “How did you get in here?”
The Civet smiles through her mask. “The same way any self-respecting cat burglar does. I hacked your security system. Turns out it had a weakness that fit the latest series of Israeli Windows viruses going around. As for your men, they’ll live as long as they remain silent and remember nothing.”
Wells raises his gun to try to shoot the Civet, but she’s faster, with the uncanny reflexes of youth. She shoots the lobe off his left ear. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. Wells. You never were well coordinated in a crisis. You might end up dead.”
Wells keeps his gun pointed at the intruder. “What do you want, Civet?”
Becky gasps. She thinks, If I can somehow get out of this alive, I may just have the story of the year.
The Civet says, “I want to steal as much of your pelf as I can get away with. Especially that pretty golden Sekhmet statue you use as a talisman. And your hostage. Alive.” She waves the gun at Becky. “Take off your clothes. Now.”
Becky gasps. “Do I have to?”
“Yes. You do. And don’t the least bit ashamed about it. Do it!”
Becky sighs. Reluctantly, she removes all her clothes and stands naked in full sight of the media lord and the cat burglar.
The Civet stands up. “Since I don’t have an army of homicidal maniacs to do my bidding like you do, Mr. Wells, I have to be resourceful. All you need to do is sit back and give the order to shoot. I have to hack.” She holds up her phone. “If you can’t handle this, then consider this a fare-thee-well and see you in hell.”
Wells aims at the naked burglar’s heart and shoots. The Civet ducks; the bullet goes through one of her mask’s ears. With her thumb she touches a click button on the phone’s screen.
Immediately, the mansion’s PA system emits a loud and nearly deafening ultra-low note. Excrement shoots out of the women’s naked butts till no more remains inside their bodies. Wells drops his gun and cane, holds his hands to his ears, and screams. He wobbles on his weak legs, feeling the noise ravage his body. His eyes roll up into his skull, he clutches his heart in agony, and then he falls to the floor, dead from a heart attack. For several seconds, the corpse twitches. Then the twitching stops; Walter J. Wells will move no more.
The Civet tosses her gun and phone into the now dead magnate’s chair. She removes her ninja boots one by one. Then carefully she removes the cat mask to reveal the sweet young face and wild red hair of—
“Dorinda Wilde?!” gasps Becky.
Dorinda winks. “Somebody has to stand up to this rotten system.” She goes over to Becky and takes her hand. “We have to take a shower right now.”
Becky blushes. “Can’t we take turns? I’ll let you go first if you want.”
“No.” Dorinda takes Becky into her arms and gives her a long sweet kiss on the lips. “Don’t you realize I’ve had a monster crush on you forever? We’re doing it together.”
Becky sighs. “Okay.” She looks back at the smelly brown pile behind her. “I never figured anybody could have killed Wells, much less with a brown note.”
“Every villain has his weakness.” Dorinda kisses Becky again, then puts her hand on Becky’s brown-smeared butt to lead her to the bathroom.
“If you really insist on stealing my heart, Dorinda,” says Becky with a mischievous wink, “will you pee on me while we’re in the shower? Please?”
They laugh. Dorinda kisses her and says, “Anything you want, lover.” Arm in arm, hands caressing each other’s pretty butts, lips locked in a passionate kiss, Dorinda Wilde and Rebecca Street stride together toward the dead oligarch’s massive gold-fixtured bathroom.
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Copyright © 2011, 2012 Dennis Jernberg. Some rights reserved.
[Revision 2, 6/12/11: Corrected text errors.]
[Revision 4 Final, 7/5/12: Corrected all remaining text, continuity, and style errors.]