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FLYPAPER By Lana B. This story may not be re-posted without the permission of the author. *** The grimy ceiling lamp gently swayed on its rusted chain as the overworked floor fan ten feet away noisily labored to circulate the dank air in the warehouse's cellar. The lamp's wavering light beam shone downward in a broadening cone that softly illuminated the immediate area around the small wooden table but not much else beyond its perimeter. Steve looked into the beady eyes of Ivan Brentsky sitting across from him. He discreetly shifted his gaze to the far corner of the room where he saw the silhouette of Brentsky's bodyguard, who'd frisked him for weapons only a minute earlier. He looked back at Brentsky. "So where's the smack?" Brentsky smiled, betraying his uneven discolored teeth. "Ah. You Americans are so demanding. I think I should like to see the money first Mr. Johnson." "I'm a cautious man, Mr. Brentsky. What do you say we put everything on the table all at once?" "That would be satisfactory." Brentsky lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers twice in a showy display. The bodyguard appeared out of the shadows and placed a Macy's shopping bag on the table. He then took a few steps backward. Steve reached down to the floor and picked up the black leather bag. He pressed the tiny button on its handle and placed the bag on the table. He stared at Brentsky. "Okay. I'll show you mine if you show me yours?" Brentsky smiled again. "You are indeed a cautious man. Your vigilance is highly commendable." He pushed the shopping bag across the table. Steve reciprocated and moved the leather bag toward Brentsky. When the two bags met at the table's midpoint, Steve took hold of the merchandise and Brentsky seized the payment. Brentsky counted the money as Steve inventoried the drugs. Brentsky finished first. "Ah. I see that the cash is all here Mr. Johnson." He smirked and snapped his fingers again. On cue, the bodyguard reached into his jacket and menacingly moved toward the table. It was obvious to Steve that Brentsky had no intention of letting him leave in one piece. Steve fully trusted his associates but they were taking his confidence in them to the extreme. 'Where the fuck are they already?' A thunderous boom suddenly filled the air as the cellar door burst open. Three men entered the room. They wore flak-jackets and night- vision goggles. And they brandished nine-millimeter handguns. They stepped forward in a triangular formation and the point man shouted, "Alright! Everyone hit the floor!" The three other members of the Strike Team had put in their appearance. Brentsky's bodyguard aimed his pistol at the men and the sound of gunshots reverberated throughout the room. The bodyguard crumbled to the floor. Brentsky arose and darted into the darkness. Steve gave chase and lunged at him. He wrapped his arms around Brentsky's legs and tackled him to the ground. Steve heard a loud whooshing sound as his prey's chest made hard contact with the basement floor. Steve arose and turned Brentsky onto his back. He planted his left knee on Brentsky's chest, pinning him to the ground. He looked into his small eyes. "You're not only a scumbag hoodlum, Brentsky, but you're a cheat too. That bag was two ounces light. And you were going to fucking kill me? Well guess what asshole? You've been stung." Steve grabbed a handful of Brentsky's hair and pulled his head off the ground. He then let his right fist fly and enjoyed the sound it made as it crashed into Brentsky's face. He liked the crackling sound of Brentsky's head landing on the cement floor even better. *** Steve walked down the stairs and into the basement. He took a few steps to his left and opened the door to the detective's lounge. He entered the room and stepped over to the worn green leather sofa. He sank into it. He removed a Macanudo corona from his shirt pocket and slipped the cellophane off. He clipped the cigar's head with his Swiss Army pocket knife and lit its foot with his Zippo. He drew smoke into his mouth and exhaled it from his nose. He enjoyed the smoke and contemplated. He'd successfully completed another venturous mission. He'd just turned Brentsky over to lockup and delivered the drugs and cash to the uniformed officer in the evidence room. He smiled in satisfaction of a job well done. Steve leisurely puffed the cigar and reflected on his career as a police officer. He'd graduated from the New York City Police Academy with honors seven years earlier at the tender age of 22. He'd been assigned to the 60th Precinct on West 8th Street in Brooklyn. Like every other new cop assigned to the 60th he'd begun his career as a uniformed officer on foot patrol in Brighton Beach's business district. But Steve had aspirations. He had no desire to remain a uniformed cop. It had been his life-long dream to become a detective. And to achieve his goal he'd volunteered for every dangerous mission that came down the pike. He was determined to make a name for himself. Steve was brave but he was smart too. He had a firm grasp of all the technical rules of evidence from reading the pertinent State and Federal court rulings. He knew when to give arrestees their Miranda rights. He knew when he needed to secure a search warrant before he entered someone's home or place of business. And he knew the precise circumstances under which he was permitted to use physical or deadly force to subdue a suspect. As a result of his studied approach to police work, Steve's arrest record had been perfect. The Brooklyn District Attorney's office always secured a conviction when Steve had been the arresting officer. In stark contrast to the other police officers in the precinct, not one of Steve's arrestees had ever walked on a legal technicality. He'd received many compliments from prosecutors, his superiors, and even presiding judges. And Steve took and passed all the difficult departmental tests needed to advance his career. While his peers partied or relaxed in their spare time, Steve put in long hours studying. His hard work paid off. He became a detective just three short years after he'd entered the police force. He made sergeant detective two years later and two years after that, he attained the lofty position of lieutenant detective. At the relatively young age of 29, Steve had become the precinct's second-in-command. There were 112 cops attached to the 60th and only Tom Grayson, the Captain, was above him in the precinct's pecking order. Last year Captain Grayson had asked Steve to head up a Strike Team comprised of four undercover detectives. The Captain was concerned that the Russian gangs in Brighton Beach had become a bit too audacious. He'd heard they'd begun hawking heroin on the main thoroughfares. The relative availability of marijuana and cocaine in the precinct's jurisdiction had always been a problem but Captain Grayson had no intention of allowing the Russians to take it to the next level on his watch. Steve had eagerly accepted the new challenge. He'd recruited three detectives from other precincts throughout the City to compose the Strike Team. He'd stepped on some toes by passing over the detectives in his own precinct but he was motivated to pick the best available talent. If he'd hurt the feelings of a few cops at the 60th then he'd simply learn to live with it. The Brighton Beach Strike Team turned out to be a huge success. Its four members had a wealth of experience in undercover police work and it showed in their results. Since its inception, the team had averaged two major drug busts a month. They'd effectively chased the Russian heroin dealers back into the shadows. Steve was under no illusion that the team had eradicated the community's heroin problem but he knew they'd effectively placed it under reasonable control. Smack wasn't being dealt near the schools or in the neighborhoods anymore. If the lowlife junkies wanted to score horse in Brighton Beach then they'd have to chase it down in the business district after hours. Steve heard the door open and turned his head to see Sam Conroy enter the room. "Nice work tonight, Sam. But do you think you guys could get there a little quicker next time?" "Sorry about that Steve. We ran into a little unexpected resistance. A Russkie at the warehouse entrance set us back a few seconds. By the way, I just heard that Brentsky's bodyguard died at the hospital." "No big loss." "And Brentsky apparently has a broken cheekbone and a fractured skull. They're taking him to the hospital right now." "Good. He deserves it." "You got that right. Hey, Captain Grayson's looking for you." "What for?" "Don't know. He didn't say." Steve wondered what the Captain wanted as he watched Sam leave the lounge. He pitched the cigar into the ashtray and went into the bathroom. He stood before the sink and gazed at his face in the mirror. He removed the scraggly blond wig from his head. He peeled off the false mustache. Then he carefully tugged at the pseudo latex nose, which slowly stretched until it snapped off his face. He looked at his true reflection. Realizing that things had returned to normal, at least for the moment, made him smile. He turned away from the mirror and left the bathroom. It was time to see what the Captain wanted. *** Steve sat down in the wooden chair in front of Captain Grayson's large mahogany desk. "You wanted to see me Sir?" "Yeah. Congratulations on the Brentsky collar Steve. You and your boys did a fine job." "Thanks Captain." Although he appreciated the compliment, Steve suspected he'd been summoned here for some other reason. He curiously waited for Captain Grayson to continue. "Have you heard of Andrei Kovalov, Steve?" Steve had. He was aware that Kovalov was the head of the largest Russian gang in Brighton Beach. Although Ivan Brentsky had led a Russian gang too, Steve knew that Brentsky was small potatoes compared to Kovalov. "Isn't Andrei Kovalov the leader of the Crimson Brigade, Captain?" "That's right. I intend to put together a sting operation to nab him. And I'd like you to head it up. What do you say?" "Absolutely, Captain. Just tell me what you want me to do." Tom Grayson smiled. He was fortunate to have Steve Endicott under his command. He'd never balked at any assignment. And he got results. He was possibly the best detective Grayson had ever seen during his 33- year-career as a cop. "Let me give you a little background on Kovalov first, Steve." "Okay, Captain." "As you've noted, Andrei Kovalov's the leader of the Crimson Brigade. That's the predominant Russian gang not only in Brighton Beach but in the entire City." Captain Grayson momentarily paused. "He opened up shop here about eighteen years ago Steve. He built his empire through gambling, loan-sharking and extortion. The cocksucker preyed on his own people." "Isn't that always the way, Captain?" "It seems so. One of these days I'll figure that out. Anyway, about five years ago Kovalov broke into the drug trade. Mostly grass and coke. And last year he added heroin to his line." "So we're talking about a drug bust?" "No. Here's where it gets interesting. My source tells me that Kovalov's expanding his operations into a new venture." Grayson paused. Steve grew impatient. "What?" "Counterfeiting. He just took delivery of two perfect printing plates for twenty-dollar bills. He has them tucked away in a wall safe at his home on Stillwell Avenue. But they're not going to stay there long. He intends to move them down to his compound in Costa Rica, where he's set up the printing operation. The Secret Service is on to him and they intend to make their move in a week or so." "So why not just let the Feds handle it?" "Kovalov's in our jurisdiction. If anyone gets the credit for busting him it should be us." Steve silently considered. Grayson saw the doubt in Endicott's face. "Did you know I'm being considered for Associate Police Commissioner, Steve?" "No." "A bust like this can give me a clear advantage over the other candidates. And with me out of the way there's no one better than you to sit in this chair." Steve softly nodded. "'Captain Endicott.' It has a nice ring to it, Steve." Steve silently agreed with Grayson's assessment. "Do you have a plan, Captain?" "It just so happens I do." He paused for a moment. "Kovalov's very fond of the ladies. Every Saturday night he cruises Coney Island Avenue for a whore. He picks one out and takes her home for the night. Rumor has it he pays the hooker $500." Steve was perplexed. He couldn't see where Grayson was going with this. "So?" "This Saturday night he selects you. When you get back to his house, you subdue him and break into his safe. You lift the plates and then you bust him." Steve shook his head in bewilderment. "What?" Grayson twisted his mouth into a wry smile. "A year after you reported to this precinct you were assigned to the Decoy Patrol. You masqueraded as a hooker. And as I recall you made a pretty convincing lady, Steve." Steve recalled his assignment to the Decoy Patrol. He'd posed as a prostitute and collared more than twice as many johns as any other officer on the squad. As with all the other missions he'd tackled, he took the assignment to the Decoy Patrol seriously. But he knew that his relatively slight build and refined facial features had served him well in fabricating the illusion. He recalled that he'd taken a good amount of ribbing from the other officers about the whole thing. "You can't be serious Captain?" "Oh I'm quite serious Steve. I want you to play a prostitute." "Why don't you just use one of our female detectives? How about Mary Timlin over in Homicide? She's as good as they get." "I don't want anyone else in on this. With the Feds involved, it's too sensitive. One wrong move and it can blow up in our faces. Bottom line is I know you and I trust you Steve. I'm not so sure I can say the same about Timlin." Steve shook his head again as he considered the proposition. "What makes you think he'll pick me from all the other prospects?" "Kovalov usually cruises the strip at around 8:00. We'll sweep the area and round up all the whores before then. You won't have any competition." Steve thought some more. "But how do I get into his safe? I have no experience doing that." "You overpower Kovalov when you get to his house. I'll leave the means up to you. Then you call Murray Garner on his cell phone. He'll be nearby. Here's his number." Grayson handed him a slip of paper. "Garner's a confidential informant on our payroll Steve. He's an experienced safecracker. He'll crack the safe." Steve reflected on the plan. He begrudgingly decided that it wasn't necessarily bad. He knew that once he was invited into Kovalov's home to perform an illegal activity the defense of entrapment would be compromised. He didn't like the idea of playing a prostitute but concluded the plan might very well work. "Alright Captain. I'll do it." "Good. Here's the file on Kovalov. It contains everything we know about him. You should find it helpful." Grayson handed him the file. "And touch base with Marsha Wright over in Personnel. She'll help you with your disguise for Saturday night. Her mother owns a salon and she worked there before she joined the police force. I'll bring her up to snuff on what needs to be done." Steve looked at the file in his hands and swallowed. "Okay Captain." "This could be big for both of us, Steve. Good luck." He got up to leave. "There's one more thing." He faced Grayson. "What?" "No one knows about this operation but you and me. I don't want you telling the other members of the Strike Team. Or anyone else for that matter. Which means you're going into this thing without backup. You'll see from the file I just gave you that Kovalov's a dangerous man. So be careful Steve. Bring your piece with you. Understand?" "Understood, Captain." *** Steve slipped into the bed and nudged his back up against the headboard. He reached for the file on the night table and opened it. He immediately set his sight on an 8"x11" black and white photograph of Andrei Kovalov. He studied the picture. He saw that Kovalov had jet-black hair that he combed straight back. His eyes were brown and small and his eyebrows bushy. He had a linear nose, thin lips and a long chin. He was clean- shaven but his underlying beard was clearly discernible. He had a sinister look about him. Steve turned the photo around to its rear side and saw a few penciled annotations: "Subject 6'3" tall and 210 pounds. Born 8/14/57 in Alexandria, Russia. Armed and dangerous. Exercise extreme caution." He heard footsteps and looked up to see Monica enter the bedroom. She wore a bathrobe and a towel was wrapped around her hair. It was obvious she'd just stepped out of the shower. "Hey babe. You coming to bed?" "Yeah. I have an early day tomorrow. We're opening a new Monet exhibit." "Sounds French." Steve had no interest in art and Monica had no real interest in police work. Nevertheless, they'd immediately hit it off when they met at a singles bar a year earlier. They'd gone home together that night and two months later Monica moved into Steve's apartment in Sheepshead Bay. Although the mutual attraction had initially been chemical, the relationship had grown into one of deep love and friendship. "Yeah. Claude Monet was a French impressionist painter. We have some terrific pieces on loan. I'm really excited about it." Steve watched as Monica slipped into the nightie and considered that she liked her job as an art director at the New York Museum of Art as much as he liked his job as a detective. He also considered that she looked very sexy in the lingerie. He wondered whether she was in the mood. Steve kept his eyes trained on Monica as she sat at the vanity and brushed her long black hair. He thought of her fondly. She was really all that he had. His mother and father had tragically died a year after his graduation from the Academy when a drunken driver crossed the dividing line on a Long Island parkway and crashed into their car. He'd been an only-child and loved them dearly. Their untimely demise at the hands of a degenerate drunk had left him bitter and heartbroken for years. Then Monica came along. His loving relationship with her had served to assuage the painful memories. She was the lone emotional attachment he'd made since the grievous loss and he needed her as much as he loved her. As for Monica, she similarly had no emotional connections to speak of other than the one she'd made with Steve. She'd relocated from Sacramento to New York two years earlier after graduating from the Sacramento branch of California State University with a degree in art. There'd really been nothing to anchor her to the environs she'd left. Her mother had died of ovarian cancer three years after her birth and John Bassett, her father, had remarried two years later. She'd never been close to her stepmother. And her father's job as a hotel manager had kept him away from home for long stretches of time. As a consequence, she'd sadly drifted apart from the only parent she'd known and loved. So she'd accepted the timely offer of employment in New York without hesitation. The position paid well and it was in the field she cherished. But more importantly, it was the linchpin of her master plan to build a meaningful life for herself with new people in a fresh environment. If there was one thing that had troubled Monica about making the cross-country move, it was the difficulty she'd always had making friends and sustaining relationships. So the enduring romantic tie to Steve had taken her completely by surprise. The relationship had prosperously evolved into a bedrock of stability that facilitated her adjustment to her new surroundings. And it had unexpectedly become a crucial part of her life. Much to her delight, Steve had developed strong romantic feelings for her and she'd reciprocated. She'd lately even entertained the notion of marrying him. Monica finished brushing her hair and walked to the bed. She slipped under the covers. She softly kissed Steve. "I need to get some sleep. I have a long day ahead of me. I hope you don't mind?" He tried to hide his disappointment. "No problem. Sleep tight. Do you mind if I read? I'll dim the lights." "It's fine. Good night, Steve." "Good night." He dimmed the lights and returned his attention to the file. He placed the photograph on the bed and saw the underlying intelligence report. He read that Kovalov had been a senior KGB agent who'd immigrated to the U.S. shortly after the breakup of the Soviet Union. He'd set up house in the Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn where thousands of former Soviet citizens had settled. And he preyed on his own ethnic community just as the Italian mobs and the Asian gangs had done to their own people before him. Kovalov had acted with total impunity since his fellow immigrants had a deeply entrenched historic distrust of authority figures and refused to cooperate with the police when they were robbed or brutalized. Steve saw that Kovalov had accumulated wealth and power over the years to the extent that he'd become the most powerful and influential Russian mobster in New York. He had an appetite for money and a reputation for ruthlessness. The Crimson Brigade had become a force to be reckoned with in the City's underworld. It was by far the largest and most effective Russian gang and underscored the rising significance of what had been dubbed the 'Red Mafiya' in the hierarchy of New York's organized crime scene. Even the more established Italian mobs and Asian gangs were reluctant to cross swords with Kovalov. Steve read of an instance of the man's malevolence. Kovalov had discovered that one of his men furnished confidential information about the Crimson Brigade to Sonny Polvino, the consigliere to the Benvenuto Family. Kovalov had personally punctured the traitor's eardrums with an ice pick and sliced off his tongue with a straight razor. He'd then shipped the near-dead deaf mute to Polvino in a bloodstained wooden crate. The packing slip had contained the message: 'He belongs to you now.' Steve shook off the repulsion and turned to the second page of the intelligence report, where he read that three years ago Kovalov purchased an enclosed compound in Costa Rica on the rolling hills of the Delicias overlooking the coastal city of Montezuma. The enclave was spread over four secluded acres and boasted a scenic view of the Pacific Ocean. Steve's interest was provoked. He read on and saw that Kovalov regularly invited corrupt officials, rebels and drug dealers from Central and South American countries to his Costa Rican residence, which was readily accessible via seafaring vessels. He wined and dined the men and provided them with girls in his safe haven. And he conducted business with them. Generous bribes to local officials and the Costa Rican Coast Guard had left him free to act without interference. Steve read that Kovalov seemed to be particularly fond of members of the Columbian Cali cocaine cartel. He'd furnished them AK-47 assault rifles and rocket-propelled grenades to use against the Columbian authorities who'd sought to dismantle their illicit drug trade. It had even been rumored he'd recently sold them several assault helicopters for use against the surveillance aircraft deployed by the Columbian militia to reconnoiter the cartel's illegal drug factories. Steve wondered about Kovalov's source for the weapons and when he turned to the next page of the intelligence report, he found the answer. He'd secured them from former associates of the KGB and Red Army who'd absconded with the armaments when Communism had crashed to the ground. Kovalov shipped cocaine to his cronies in Russia and they, in turn, shipped the weapons to Kovalov's customers. Steve read on and saw that Kovalov also had a working relationship with the Mafia in Sicily. He bartered cocaine for heroin, which he then supplied to his clientele in New York as well as the rapidly growing market in Russia and the former Soviet Bloc countries. And, consistent with his discussion with Captain Grayson, Steve read that Kovalov was in the process of establishing a counterfeiting operation that he planned to run out of his Costa Rican compound. Steve placed the folder on the bed and rubbed his eyes. He considered that Andrei Kovalov was a powerful and dangerous man who'd go far to protect the empire he'd so carefully constructed. He knew he'd have to be very careful in his dealings with this man. He turned his thoughts to Captain Grayson. Like Steve, the Captain was an ambitious man. Steve appreciated that frying a big fish like Kovalov would separate Grayson from the competition in his quest to advance along the food chain. But Steve also wondered whether the Captain was motivated, at least in part, by personal considerations. Three years earlier Ben Grayson, a detective at the 60th and Captain Grayson's only child, had vanished while running an undercover surveillance operation of an extortion ring in Brighton Beach's business district. Ben had been disgusted at the way the Russian thugs extorted protection money from their own people. He was determined to put an end to it. "This is America and the honest Russian shopkeepers are entitled to live in peace," he'd often said. Ben Grayson was a good cop. His desire to help the Russian immigrants was grounded on solid motives. As a police officer, it was his sworn duty to fight crime. But Ben also had been dating Sasha Polsky, the beautiful daughter of a Russian jeweler he'd met during his rookie year as a foot patrolman in the business district. Her stories of how the hardworking Russian shopkeepers struggled to etch out a living while being fleeced by the gangsters had repulsed him. He couldn't idly sit by and let the outrage continue. And he'd vanished without a trace while trying to put a stop to it. Ben's disappearance had crushed Captain Grayson. And although three years had passed since he'd vanished, Steve knew that Ben's father still felt the pain. He also knew that Tom Grayson desperately clung to the slim hope that Ben would turn up alive. Before he'd disappeared, Ben had come close to exposing the extortion ring. It had been widely assumed that the Russian gangsters were behind his disappearance. But there wasn't even a scintilla of evidence to prove their complicity. It was as if Ben had simply vanished into thin air. Steve knew that Captain Grayson blamed the Russian mobsters for his son's disappearance. And Andrei Kovalov was the biggest Russian mobster in New York. Steve wondered about the extent to which Ben Grayson's disappearance had been responsible for the Captain's decision to take down Kovalov. He forced himself to stop speculating on Captain Grayson's motives. In the end, it really didn't matter. He had a job to do and that was all there was to it. He knew that he needed to focus on the task at hand and not become sidetracked by peripheral issues. Steve put the material back into the folder and placed it onto the night table. He shut off the light and sank into the bed. He stopped thinking about his new assignment and concentrated on falling asleep. *** Steve ran the razor over his right leg. He then wiped away the remnants of the shaving cream with a hand towel and lowered his leg off the bathtub's ledge. He placed his left leg onto the tub and lathered it up. He shaved it. Then he shaved his armpits. He carefully examined his legs and armpits. He didn't have much hair in those areas to begin with but it looked like whatever had been there was now gone. He walked out of the bathroom and entered the living room, where he saw Marsha Wright watching television from her position on the cozy- looking sofa. He felt a little embarrassed standing there in nothing but his boxer shorts but it couldn't be avoided. He cleared his throat. Marsha swung around and faced him. "You're done?" "Yup." "Good." She stood up and walked to him. She carefully inspected his legs and underarms. "You did a good job." Then she looked at his face. "Nice job there too. I'll get the underwear." She walked into her bedroom. Steve enjoyed watching Marsha's shapely butt wiggle as she walked away from him. She was a pretty girl. He knew from the station house gossip that she'd just broken up with her boyfriend of six months. Steve considered that if he weren't already involved with Monica, he'd definitely make a play for her. He lifted his hand and rubbed it against his smooth cheek. The last time he'd actually shaved his face was yesterday but he wasn't about to admit that to Marsha. She'd instructed him to shave his legs, underarms and face when he'd arrived at her apartment in Bensonhurst a half-hour earlier. He was clean-shaven in those places and she didn't need to know all the details. Steve thought of his sparse facial hair. He shaved only once or twice a week and was actually pleased about it. He knew some men down at the station who had to shave more than once a day. He was glad he wasn't in their company. He found shaving an annoying experience. He heard footsteps and turned to see Marsha approach him. He amusingly watched her breasts jiggle as she took each footstep. Then he noticed what she carried. He frowned. Marsha flashed him a friendly smile. "Okay Steve. You know what these are." She handed him the panties and padded bra. Then she gave him the package of nude pantyhose. "Do you need any help?" "I can manage." Steve walked back into the bathroom. He replaced his shorts with the panties. He struggled a bit with the brassiere's rear clasp but finally secured it. Then he opened the plastic package and slipped into the nylons. He took a few steps and felt the erotic sensations on his thighs and calves as his legs softly brushed against each other. He recalled having the same pleasant sensations from his days on the Decoy Patrol. He didn't think he'd ever have them again. He'd been wrong. He walked back into the living room and tried to avoid brushing his legs together. It couldn't be done. Then he tried to ignore the resultant delightful sensations. That was futile too. Marsha looked him up and down. She nodded in approval. "Okay. It's time to put on your makeup, Steve." They went into the kitchen and Marsha told him to sit at the small round table. He did as directed and glanced down at the dizzying array of cosmetics. He shook his head. For the next half-hour, Marsha busily applied makeup to Steve's face and glued red plastic nails onto his fingers. She capped off the process by firmly securing the long blond wig onto his head. Marsha looked at him approvingly. "You look nice Steve. Follow me. Let's get some clothes on you." Steve followed her into the bedroom and watched as she went to the closet. He noticed a full-length mirror on the far wall and he stepped over to it. He gazed at his reflection and almost believed he was looking at someone else. Marsha had done a terrific job. He really looked like a woman. "Come over here Steve. I think I've found something for you." Her voice startled him. He pulled himself away from the mirror and approached her. He saw her clutching a black leather miniskirt and a silver silk blouse. "I haven't worn these in years. They should fit you fine. I think we're about the same size." What she'd just said saddened Steve and he silently reproached his misfortune. He'd always wanted to be a few inches taller. However, he'd reached 5'7" by his 18th birthday and that was all she wrote. It just wasn't meant to be. He sighed in exasperation. He slipped into the clothes with her assistance. She'd been right. They fit just fine. Again, he quietly grumbled at his modest stature. Marsha returned to the closet and knelt down. She found the 3?" black leather pumps and took them. She walked back to Steve. "Here you go. Try these on for size." He stepped into the heels. They fit him well too. He walked in them until he felt comfortable. He'd worn high-heels when he worked on the Decoy Patrol and the prior experience helped him adjust to the shoes in short order. He walked back to the mirror and took it all in. There was no doubt about it. He looked like the total package. "You know Steve, Captain Grayson asked me to dress you provocatively. What type of undercover assignment are you on anyway?" She'd broken his concentration. "Sorry Marsha. I'm not at liberty to discuss it." "Oh. Sorry I asked." "No problem. Sorry I can't tell you. By the way, you wouldn't happen to have an extra purse around, would you?" "Sure do." She went back to the closet and selected a black leather handbag from the overhead shelf. She gave it to him. He examined it and decided it was large enough for his needs. He then retrieved the paper bag he'd brought with him and transferred its contents to the purse. "I guess I'll be going now." "One more thing Steve. Try raising the pitch of your voice a bit. It's not deep but I'm sure you'll want to be totally convincing." "Uh... okay." For the next ten minutes, Marsha taught him a few techniques to modulate his voice to sound more feminine. He appreciated the extra yard she'd gone. "Thanks Marsha." "My pleasure. Good luck on your assignment." "Thanks again." Marsha curiously considered that Steve resembled a high-priced hooker as she watched him leave the apartment. *** Steve stood under a streetlight on the corner of Coney Island Avenue and Emmons Avenue. He looked up and down both blocks and saw no prostitutes in their customary positions. Captain Grayson had obviously taken care of that problem. A cool breeze whispered over his legs and he shuddered. He felt defenseless dressed as he was. And standing on the street corner all alone with no available backup certainly didn't help relieve his perception of vulnerability. He squeezed the purse and felt the nine- millimeter handgun. That made him feel a lot more secure. Over the next fifteen minutes, he was propositioned three times. Unfortunately, the johns weren't his quarry. He'd quoted an exorbitant price of $1,500 and two of the men had quickly driven off in disbelief. The third man had protested and demanded a lower fee. Steve flashed him his police shield. He'd scurried away like a cockroach exposed to sudden light. Steve became impatient. He'd been on the corner for a half-hour and Kovalov was nowhere to be seen. He decided he'd give it another ten minutes and if his prey didn't emerge then he'd abandon the sting for now. Steve was ready to pack it in for the night when a black Lincoln Towncar pulled up to the curb. He walked over to the vehicle and watched as the darkened window lowered to reveal his target. Andrei Kovalov had finally crawled out from under his rock. Steve looked at him and seductively smiled. "Hi there." Kovalov eyed the pretty blonde and smiled back. "Where are all the girls tonight?" "Melanie's mother died yesterday. They're all at the wake. They should be back out on the street in an hour." "Why didn't you go?" "Couldn't afford to. My rent's overdue. Landlord said he'll throw me out if I don't pay up by noon tomorrow." Kovalov eyed her again. "I haven't seen you here before." "I'm from Canarsie. Heard the action's better down here. Everyone says the Russians are nicer too. Hey, are you Russian?" "Yeah." "What's your name honey?" "Andrei." "I'm Sally." Kovalov considered. He could do a lot worse than this one. "I pay $500 for the whole night." Steve nodded. "That's acceptable." "Okay Sally. Get in the car." *** Steve sat on the luxurious black leather couch in the spacious living room of Kovalov's Tudor house on Stillwell Avenue. He waited for him to return with the drinks he'd gone off to make. Steve considered. He was in no mood to monkey around with this man. He wanted to get the job done as fast as possible. He decided to take care of Kovalov now. He reached into the purse and came away with the dart gun. He inspected it. It looked fine. But he also retrieved his handgun for insurance. Steve stood up and kicked off his heels. He stealthily approached the kitchen clutching the dart gun in his right hand and the revolver in his left. He approached the archway from the side. He craned his neck and peered into the kitchen. He saw Kovalov standing at the counter mixing drinks. Kovalov's back faced him. 'Perfect.' He raised the dart gun and aimed. He slowly squeezed the trigger. The tranquillizer dart struck Kovalov squarely in the back of the neck. He immediately reached up to it but collapsed to the floor two seconds later. He never knew what had hit him. Steve walked to Kovalov and knelt down. He nudged the limp form and got no response. He walked back into the living room and slipped his heels back on. He put the guns into the purse and retrieved the cell phone and the small slip of paper. He rang up Murray Garner who said he'd be there in a few minutes. *** Steve and Murray Garner stood before the wall safe in Kovalov's study. They'd found it behind a large painting of the Kremlin on the rear wall of the room. Garner attached two small mechanical devices to the safe. Steve had no idea what they were. He was curious but he didn't want to bother Garner as he went about his business. He was eager to get custody of the printing plates. Then he could arrest Kovalov and call it a night. Steve watched as Garner placed the stethoscope's small chrome disc onto the safe's door and slowly spun the dial. Five minutes later, he heard a click. He saw the safecracker smile and he smiled too. Garner engaged the lever and pulled the door open. Steve shone the flashlight's beam into the safe. He immediately saw the plates. "Bingo." Garner detected a pungent odor. His legs wobbled. "What the fuck...? Oh shit!" "What's wrong?" Steve smelled something funny. His knees buckled. "The safe. It's fucking booby-trapped!" Garner coughed and fell to his knees. Steve's eyes burned. He turned away from the safe and slowly stepped toward the door. He coughed. He knew he needed to get to the bathroom to splash some cold water onto his face. Garner was woozy. He fought hard to stay up on his knees but failed. He lay down on his side and lost consciousness. Steve took three more steps and staggered. His leg muscles melted away and he fell to his hands and knees. He vigorously shook his head in an attempt to remain conscious. He crawled a few feet and collapsed onto his padded bra. *** Kovalov slowly came around. He got onto his knees and rubbed his eyes. He was muddled. He had a dull ache on the back of his neck and reached around to it. He felt something embedded there. "What the fuck?" He pulled it out and inspected it. "What the hell is...?" Then it came to him. He'd been subdued with a tranquillizer dart. "Motherfucker!" He recalled the whore he'd picked up at 8:30. He looked at his wristwatch and saw that it was a few minutes before midnight. She'd undoubtedly done this to him. But why? Then he recalled the valuable contents of his wall safe. He pulled himself up and faltered. He captured his balance and slowly walked to the study. He immediately saw the opened safe. And he saw the whore and an unidentified man lying unconscious on the floor. Kovalov smiled. He'd just had the safe rigged last week. A tiny button installed at the base of the lever had to be pressed to deactivate the gas before opening it. He'd paid the locksmith two grand for the job but it had turned out to be the best investment he'd ever made. Kovalov walked to the safe and reached in. He grasped the printing plates and stared at them. They were safe and sound. He smiled once more. He placed the plates back into the safe and stepped over to the unconscious whore. He looked down at her. He spit into her face. Kovalov watched as the saliva hit the whore's forehead and slowly slid down her cheek. He stared at her and noticed something amiss about her hair. It looked askew. He knelt down and grabbed her hair. He pulled and it came off. He looked at her and saw that her hair was really blond but it was rather short. Kovalov studied the whore's face and wondered, 'Could this be a man?' There was only one way to find out so he tore off her blouse and skirt. He ripped off her bra and saw the flat chest. Then he noticed the bra was padded. He became angry. He roughly removed the whore's nylons and panties and saw the male genitalia. "Motherfucker!" Kovalov stood up and marched into the living room. He took the purse from the couch and turned it upside-down over the coffee table. He watched as its contents spilled out. He saw the dart gun and revolver. And he saw the police shield too. He picked up the shield and inspected it. "So you're fucking Steve Endicott, a lieutenant detective?" He flung it away in anger. It bounced off the wall and landed on the floor eight feet away. He gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into tight fists. He walked to the shield and ground his heel into it. Kovalov now felt what he'd usually made his enemies feel: humiliated. He didn't like it one bit. Blood darted into his face and his embarrassment, in turn, enraged him. "Motherfucker!" A need for revenge mobilized. It had never been enough for Andrei Kovalov to simply destroy his adversaries. That would have been too easy. The suffering would end too fast. On the contrary, Kovalov preferred to prolong their pain. He wanted his opponents to perpetually regret the day they'd decided to tangle with him. He walked back into the study and stood over the naked detective. He spit into his face again. "You will fucking lament this day for the rest of your life!" Kovalov studied the cop's face. He knew exactly what to do with him. *** Steve slowly drifted downward. He sniffed the salty sea air and gazed at the crystal blue water below. He watched as the shoreline approached. He descended toward the beach. He gently landed on the white sand and felt its warmth on the soles of his feet. He took a few steps and felt an odd sensation. He looked down and saw the fleshy growths dangling from his chest. He was confused. 'Who am I?' His nose itched and he lifted his hand to scratch it. He glimpsed the long red nails on his fingertips. 'Is that my hand?' He scratched his nose with the nail rim of his forefinger until the itch dissipated. Then he brushed his cheek with the back of his hand. It felt so soft and smooth. 'Whose face is that?' Steve was perplexed. He wasn't sure who he was. He knew he'd had these thoughts before. He tried to remember what had happened to him. He couldn't. His head ached. It wouldn't stop. He wept. He stretched his arms outward. A stiff breeze came along and swept him away. He gratefully ascended into the cottony white clouds until his thoughts evaporated into plumes of steam and slowly vaporized into nothingness. *** Dr. Anatoli Pinski carefully slid the speculum into his patient's vagina. He knelt down so that the light beam on his headgear illuminated the vaginal canal he'd so carefully constructed six weeks earlier. He inserted two fingers into the tunnel and palpated. The sedated patient reflexively sighed. Dr. Pinski removed his fingers and smiled. He turned around and faced Lenska, who'd been watching from a chair six feet away. "It is an excellent result. We can take him off sedation now. He is completely healed. Put him into a room in F-block with the others." "Yes doctor." Lenska watched as Dr. Pinski returned his attention to the patient. He removed the speculum and unfastened the stirrups. He lifted the bed's side railing and left the room. Lenska stood up and approached the bed. She clutched the cool metal railing and gazed down at the patient. He was without a doubt the prettiest one yet. Dr. Pinski had been working on this one for the past few months and his efforts had shown truly dramatic results. Lenska studied his face. She admired its oval shape. His skin appeared smooth and soft and his neck was long and straight. His pert nose, full lips and high cheekbones made him look so feminine. Lenska was jealous. This one was more attractive than she was. But then again, she considered, he'd undergone a staged series of five cosmetic surgical procedures on his face and neck. And he'd had laser electrolysis, liposuction and hormonal therapy too. Lenska had no desire to undergo surgery to improve her appearance. She'd never had surgery before and feared it. She even dreaded visiting the dentist for a cleaning. She'd accept what God had given her and leave it at that. She returned her attention to the patient. She approvingly viewed his breasts. She reached down and felt them. They were so supple. The hormones and implants had given him a beautiful pair of B-cups. Lenska focused on his groin. She studied his vagina and vulva. They looked so authentic. She wondered how he'd react when he looked down there for the first time. The thought made her smile. She resolved to be there when he took his first glimpse. She knelt down and unlocked the bed's wheels. She stood back up and covered him with the blanket. It was time to move him into his new living quarters. *** Lenska ran the emery board over his fingernails and shaped them into soft oval points. She then carefully applied two coats of bright red polish onto them. She noticed how soft his hands felt. She gave him a pedicure too and then she made up his face. She applied the red lipstick last and studied his visage to gauge the results of her efforts. She nodded in approval. This one was a real looker and the cosmetics took him to a higher level. He was more attractive than most real women. She retrieved the gold-hoop earrings from the vanity and secured them onto his pierced earlobes. Then she brushed his golden blond hair. It had grown considerably over the past few months and now flirted with his shoulders. Steve felt his hair being slightly pulled. He also noticed that he was a little dizzy and his muscles were stiff. He softly shook his head to clear out the cobwebs and slowly opened his eyes. Lenska looked down at him as she continued to brush his hair. "Ah. It is about time you awoke my dear." The sedation had been stopped the previous night and he was awakening right on schedule. Steve looked up at the woman. It appeared she was brushing his hair. He realized he was lying on his back in a bed. He saw that he was in a rather large room. "What...?" His voice was hoarse and his lips dry. He was unable to continue. "I shall get you some water my dear." Steve watched as the woman stepped into the bathroom. She returned with a cup, which she placed on the nightstand. "Let me help you sit up, Stefanya." She pulled him up so that his back rested against the headboard. She retrieved the cup. "Here. Drink." She handed it to him. Steve wrapped his hands around the cup and raised it to his mouth. He gulped the water down and then held the cup out to her. "More." He watched as the woman took it and walked back to the bathroom. Then he saw them on his hand. He pulled his hand closer to his face and studied the long red nails. He lifted his other hand and saw them there too. He pulled at them but they wouldn't come off. He was perplexed. The woman returned and offered him the cup. He ignored it. "What... what's happened to my hands?" "What do you mean my child?" Steve raised his hands and showed her. "My... nails. I don't understand." "Ah yes. They look quite pretty, do they not?" Steve was confused. "Where am I? And... who are you?" "I am Lenska. Your custodian." "Custodian?" "It will all become clear soon enough." She comfortingly smiled. "I think it is time for you to get out of bed my dear. Here, let me help you." Steve slowly slipped out of the bed with the woman's assistance. He stood up and his knees wobbled. He was very weak. He was grateful for the support the woman furnished. "Let us take a few steps, Stefanya." She held onto his arm and slowly guided him away from the bed. Steve wondered why the woman had been referring to him by that strange name. Then he felt a tugging sensation on his chest as he took each small step. He was curious so he halted and looked down at himself. He saw breasts dangling from his chest. He looked at the woman in confusion. "Why do I have these... on my chest?" "Yes, I know my dear. You have such lovely breasts. Do you not like them?" Steve was bewildered. He wanted to say something but his mind was blank. He felt the woman pull at his arm. "Let us take a look in the mirror. Come my dear." Steve let the woman guide him to the wall mirror in the far corner of the room. She maneuvered him so that he stood directly before it. "Look at yourself Stefanya. Do you not look beautiful?" Steve gazed at the attractive naked woman who stood before him and wondered who she was. He turned to his left and faced Lenska. "Who is she?" "Why that is you my dear. You are looking into a mirror." Steve faced the mirror again and carefully studied the nude woman. She moved with his every move. Then it came to him that he was looking at his own reflection. The revelation made his heart race. "What... how did this happen? It can't be me. I don't believe..." He was stuck for words. His knees buckled. He would have fallen to the floor if Lenska hadn't grabbed his arm. *** Steve was back in the bed. He watched Lenska as she covered him with the blanket. She sat on the bed's edge and rubbed his face with the back of her hand. She affectionately smiled. "You are so pretty. You are the prettiest one in the compound, Stefanya." Steve's head swam. He tried to figure it out but none of it made sense. He looked up at her. "Why do you keep calling me that?" "Stefanya?" "Yes." "Because that is your name now. It is the name Mr. Kovalov has chosen for you." The name 'Kovalov' sounded familiar and he struggled to remember while Lenska soothingly rubbed his face. It suddenly came to him. He recalled that Kovalov was the mobster he'd pursued. Then he recalled the booby-trapped safe. That was the last thing he could remember. He looked at Lenska. "Where am I?" "Why you are in Mr. Kovalov's compound in Montezuma. Do not worry. You are perfectly safe here." "What has Kovalov done to me?" "You have seen for yourself when you looked into the mirror my dear." Steve recalled the reflection he'd just viewed. "But it can't be... it isn't possible." "It is all true. You have seen it with your own eyes. Mr. Kovalov has changed your appearance. He has molded you into a beautiful woman." "I don't... you can't be ... it's not..." He quavered to a stop. "Shhh. Do not excite yourself. All will be well." Lenska went to the bathroom and returned with a small yellow pill. "Sit up and open your mouth, Stefanya. This will help you relax." Steve complied and she placed the pill onto his tongue. She retrieved the cup from the nightstand. "Here. Drink." Steve took the cup and sipped the water. He swallowed the pill. "Good. Now I want you to go to sleep. You will feel better when you awake. Do you understand me?" "Yes." He slid into the bed and Lenska tucked him in. She bent down and kissed his forehead. "Sweet dreams Stefanya." Lenska walked to the door and flicked the light switch on the wall. The room went dark. She exited and locked the door behind her. Steve lay in the darkness. His arms and legs quaked. Thankfully, he was drowsy. He trembled himself to sleep in five minutes. *** A flock of sea gulls flew over the compound and squawked. The birds hadn't seen anything worthy of closer investigation on the ground below and headed back out to sea. The wailing fowls had disturbed Steve's restful sleep. He opened his eyes and saw faded beams of daylight encroach into the room through the breaks in the window's curtains. He reached around and felt for Monica. 'Where is she?' He slowly got out of bed and stood up. He immediately felt the tugging sensation on his chest. 'What the...?' He reached for the lamp on the nightstand and turned it on. Soft light suffused the room. He looked down at himself and saw the breasts. They were actually hanging off his chest. "What the hell's going on here?" He glared at his chest and waited for them to vanish. They stayed right there. His heart raced and his legs teetered. He quickly sat on the edge of the bed. He concentrated and recalled the conversation he'd had with the woman Lenska. She'd told him he was in Montezuma. In the mobster Kovalov's compound to be precise. Steve also recalled he'd asked Lenska what Kovalov had done to him. And her reply sluggishly floated to the surface of his mind: 'He changed your appearance. He molded you into a beautiful woman.' He abruptly stood up. "It can't be true!" He gazed down at himself again and saw they were still on his chest. He marched to the wall mirror and felt them bounce. He looked at his reflection and a sense of general malaise pervaded him. "How is this possible?" He studied his face. It was no longer the one he remembered. He had a woman's face now and it was framed by long hair that fell onto his shoulders. "I don't believe it." He shifted his gaze downward and viewed his breasts again. "Oh my God." He raised his hands and cupped them from underneath. He felt their soft weight. Then he glimpsed the long red nails that capped his fingertips. He released his breasts and extended his arms. He studied his hands. "They can't be mine." A thought occurred to him and his heart jumped. He looked back into the mirror and slowly shifted his view downward until he came upon his groin. He stared at it and shook his head in unequivocal disbelief. They were gone. And in their place, he saw what had somehow been left behind: female genitalia. "It can't be so." He couldn't take his eyes off it. "I've got... a pussy down there." His heart pounded like a bass drum. He was dizzy. His legs dissolved and he fell to his knees. He shook his head again. "This can't be happening. I must be dreaming." Steve heard someone at the door and he abruptly stood up and faced it. He watched as it swung open to reveal Lenska. She entered the room and closed the door behind her. "Ah. I see that you have awoken Stefanya." "What's happened to me? I demand to..." Lenska abruptly cut him off: "Quiet! Go to the bed and sit down." Steve complied. He wondered why. Lenska walked to the bed and sat next to him. She stared at him with a stern expression. "I am going to tell you something and I want you to listen closely. Do you understand?" "Yeah." "I want you to say 'Yes Lenska' when you respond to me. Say it now." "Yes Lenska." It just popped out of his mouth. "Good. Now listen to me. You shall obey all directives that Mr. Kovalov and I give to you. You will not question our commands. You will comply as directed. Do you understand?" "Yes Lenska." Steve wondered why he'd so readily agreed. "Good. Now you must dress. It is extremely embarrassing for a shy young girl like you to be naked in the presence of another. It is not ladylike. Would you not agree?" "Yes Lenska." Steve looked down at himself and his face reddened. More than anything in the world, he wanted to cover his nudity with clothes. Lenska walked to the dresser and opened a few drawers. She returned to the bed with several items. "These are your panties, Stefanya. You put them on as you would do with shorts. Here." He took the panties and stood up. He quickly slipped into them. He felt better until he saw that his bosom was still exposed. His breathing hastened. "Here is your brassiere. Place it over your breasts and fasten the rear clasp." She handed it to him and amusingly watched as he rushed to get it on. Steve finally secured the rear clasp and his breathing slowed. "Do you not feel better now my dear?" "Yes. I do Lenska." He was so glad he'd finally covered his private parts. The embarrassment had been too much for him to handle. "Now you must put on your nylons." She opened the package of nude pantyhose and handed the stockings to him. "Carefully roll them up one leg at a time and then pull them onto your waist." Steve slowly slipped into the nylons. Lenska assessed his appearance. She admired the contours of his body. He was slim yet so well-rounded too. She considered that the hormones and liposuction had done their intended jobs. "I think you would look so nice in blue, Stefanya. Would you not agree?" "Yes Lenska." He'd immediately concurred without even considering the question. 'What's wrong with me?' Lenska walked to the closet and returned with a dark blue sleeveless silk dress. She handed it to him. "Slip this over your head and pull it down onto yourself." Steve complied. "Good. Now reach around to your back and pull up the zipper." It was a chore for him to raise the zipper but he finally succeeded. The dress hugged his body. He looked down and saw that it was a bit low-cut. It revealed about two inches of his cleavage. He became embarrassed. "This dress shows a little... of my..." "Your breasts. I know my dear. But you will dine with Mr. Kovalov tonight and you must look nice." "I'm... dining with Mr. Kovalov tonight?" His heartbeat accelerated. "Yes Stefanya. And you must look enticing. Do you not want to please him?" "I don't really think I..." "Quiet! You must always please Mr. Kovalov. He is your superior. Do you understand?" "Yes Lenska." Steve watched as she walked to the closet. She returned with a pair of shoes. She placed them onto the floor. "Step into your heels now." Lenska watched as he stepped into the matching 3?" leather pumps. She held onto his arm and walked him around the room. She curiously saw that he quickly learned how to navigate in the heels unassisted. She then directed him to sit at the vanity where, for the next half-hour, she applied makeup to his face. "Watch closely so that you may learn how to do this on your own, Stefanya." Steve paid close attention as the woman worked on his face. He wanted to turn his head away from the mirror but couldn't. 'What the hell's wrong with me?' Lenska brushed his hair and then she checked his earrings to ensure they were securely fastened. She nodded her head in approval. "Go have a look at yourself in the wall mirror my dear." Steve stepped over to the mirror and gazed intently at the attractive blonde-haired woman. She stared straight back into his eyes. He couldn't break eye contact with her no matter how hard he tried. He was puzzled. Lenska stepped to his side. "You look absolutely lovely, Stefanya." Steve curiously glanced at Lenska. "Look back into the mirror my dear." Steve complied. "That is you Stefanya. You are looking at your own reflection. Do you not look lovely?" Steve studied the girl and silently agreed with Lenska's assessment. She was lovely. He wouldn't mind having a girlfriend as attractive as this blonde. Lenska saw that he still didn't understand. 'He must be in denial.' She considered for a moment. "Repeat this: 'I am looking at myself in the mirror. That is me.'" Steve said it and suddenly realized that he was the attractive blond girl staring into his own eyes. He glanced at Lenska and then turned back to the mirror. "That's... me." "That is correct my child." She grasped his arm. "Come. It is time for you to meet the other girls." *** Lenska guided Steve down the long corridor. He noticed the doors on both sides of the hall were bright red just like the door to his own room. They contrasted brilliantly with the shiny yellow walls and the dark green floor carpet. They reached the end of the corridor and stood before a blue door. Lenska looked at her wristwatch and turned to him. "This is the dining room, Stefanya. It is 5:30. The girls are having dinner. Come." Steve watched as Lenska opened the door and entered. He followed her in and set his sight on a large rectangular room with a long table in its center. He saw that three girls sat at the table. They were eating. He scanned the perimeter of the room and saw a large refrigerator and an oven range. He also noticed a sink and a long countertop with a microwave on it. He saw a fourth woman remove something from the microwave and place it on the counter. "Come Stefanya. I will introduce you to your colleagues." Lenska approached the table and Steve followed. They came to a halt a few feet from it. The girls stopped eating and looked up at Lenska and the stranger. They wondered who the newcomer was. Lenska smiled at the seated girls. "Good evening ladies. I apologize for interrupting your dinner. I have someone I would like you to meet. This is Stefanya. She is joining the group. Isn't that nice?" The girls nodded and replied, "Yes Lenska." "That is right ladies. Business is brisk. We could use another girl." Lenska turned to her left. "Say hello to the girls, Stefanya. Tell them how nice it is for you to meet them." Steve looked down at the women. "Hello girls. It's nice to meet you." "Good Stefanya." Lenska faced the table. "Introduce yourselves girls. You first." Lenska pointed to the nearest one. The brunette spoke: "I am Irina. Hello Stefanya. Welcome to our group." Steve immediately noticed she had a rather husky voice. He saw she had a long nose and an angular chin. However, her skin was smooth and soft looking and she wore bright red lipstick that worked together with her long brown hair to make her look slightly feminine. If her gender were in doubt from examining her face then the curious observer would need only to inspect her body and clothes to settle the matter. Irina wore a sheer silk peach floral print dress that gripped her body and broadcast her curves at the bust, waist and hips. From the neck down, she looked one-hundred percent female. Lenska pointed to the next one. "I am Tanya. It is so nice to have you join us, Stefanya." Steve noted that the redhead had a throaty voice too. He studied her face and concluded that under the smooth skin and makeup, she had facial features that were somewhat unrefined. Her nose and chin were slightly hardened. Nevertheless, the redhead's tight low-cut black silk dress boasted her ample cleavage and substantial curves so that the complete picture was that of a moderately appealing woman. Lenska pointed to the third girl. "I am Berishna. It is a pleasure to meet you, Stefanya." Steve scrutinized her. He saw that she had long dark blond hair that fell past her shoulders and onto the top of her back framing a well made-up face. She couldn't be described as pretty but she certainly wasn't unattractive. Her facial features were insubstantially straight-edged but her makeup combined with the sexy pink cotton sundress to make her look quite feminine. There was something peculiar about her but he couldn't determine what it was. Lenska looked at the fourth girl standing at the counter. "Come here, Maruska." Steve watched as the tall woman approached. He saw that she had long straight black hair. She wore a light blue cotton dress that revealed curves in all the right places. She had rather long and sha