BLOOD DIAMONDS Chapters 1 - 5 free porn video

(((Just combining chapters to reduce length of my POST lost.)))

BLOOD DIAMONDS

Chapter 1

The Present... A Trash Dumpster, New York City

"Rambo to Sugar Tits. Rambo calling Sugar Tits. You awake Sugar Tits? This is your wake up call."

"Yeah, I'm awake Rambo," I groaned. Rambo's irritating, nasal whine wasn't something I wanted to wake up to. Ever! "And, stop calling me Sugar Tits."

The earpiece/microphone was coming lose from my ear and I seated it firmly back into place as Rambo continued. "Hey, you were the one who agreed that I could pick our call signs for this job."

"What was funny then isn't all that funny after 50 hours in this sweat box," I croaked back through a phlegmy throat.

I felt around in the gloom created by the tiny amount of daylight filtering in through the small air holes I'd drilled in the steel walls and pressed the glow light, the battery kind some used in closets, and a weak, red light lit the confines of the space I'd been in since mid-day Friday. It was now three hours till nightfall Sunday.

I found the bottle I'd filled from the water reservoir before sleeping and took a long drink, almost spitting the vile, warm and metallic tasting stuff out. But, I didn't. After all day in this box I needed the fluid to replace what I had sweated out. After clearing my throat I finished drinking almost all the water.

What kind'a idiot thought that doing this job in June was the thing to do? Oh, yeah, I was the idiot, I thought as I used the last inch in the bottle to pour over my face. It didn't wash away the skin oil and sweat, but at least I was able to get rid of the salty crust from my eyes.

"Anyway, Sugar Tits, you wanted me to wake you early today if no one was around." Rambo paused and I could hear the crunching sound of what I guessed was a full handful of potato chips being munched on. My stomach rumbled loud enough that I was sure it could be heard the entire length of the alley my sweat box was in. I hadn't eaten solid food in five days. Just protein drinks, vitamin pills and water. Trying to pee in a mason jar when unable to sit up straight was hard enough. I didn't even want to think about trying to... Well, I just didn't want to think about that.

I'd done my thinking before sealing myself in here, so three days before closing the door behind me I'd gone on an all liquid diet with regular enemas up the ol' backside to flush me out. My colon was as empty as any human could manage. Between my diet and sweating in my metal box I was sure I'd lost at least 15 pounds. Though I certainly don't recommend this as a weight lose regimen, I'm sure there are at least some fucking idiots who might try this at home so here is a warning. Ladies, do not try starving and locking yourself into a metal sweat box for three days. It fucking sucks!

I suddenly had thoughts of all the food I wanted and was about to start drooling when Rambo finished chewing the last chip and continued, "...and no one's around. Not even that cat who's been pissing on your container all weekend."

"Great. I was wondering what that new smell was." I'd lined the top part of my metal prison with the stinkiest garbage I could find. I wanted to keep people away and after days in the hot June sun, it had ripened to a nice blend of stink. I would have thought that by now I'd be accustomed to the smell, but every now and then a new stink would rise up to overwhelm me.

"Just give me a few minutes to collect myself, Rambo. Since it's dead around here on a Sunday, I wanted to get an early start if no one is around. Keep watch and I'll call back when I'm ready."

Rambo came back with a 10-4 and an extra loud, extra long slurp of his icy drink just to piss me off. Bastard...

I laid back down and kneaded the palms of my hands against my forehead while trying to forget how much I wanted a cigarette. And food. And a shower... Especially a shower. I'm normally a two shower a day girl. I love being clean. Clean skin, clean hair, clean clothes, clean bed sheets. God, how I love the feel of just laundered 500 count cotton bed sheets on my skin. I sleep in the nude, BTW.

Glancing down between my boobs at my filthy body just made me want to cry. Yeah, I was naked in here, but, what the hell, it was too damned hot for clothes. Putting my head back down on the pile of clothes I was using as my pillow I sighed and tried to clear my mind to think about what I was going to do tonight. Of course, with the stink of rotting garbage in my nose and on my skin, my thoughts veered to thinking of Mother...

Chapter 2

Several Years Past...

Mother was a crack whore. No, that's not being truthful. Mother was a whore for anything she could smoke, drink or snort up her nose. Probably would have whored for anything she could've shot into a vein except for her fear of needles.

Dear Ol' Dad was a picture in a high school yearbook. He took off before my birth so I don't know what the fuck he was like. Mother always just referred to him as, 'that fucking bastard who knocked me up and stayed around making promises just long enough that I couldn't get an abortion'.

Grandparents on both sides didn't care if I lived or died. Neither set bothered to show up the night I was born. Mother's parents disowned her before I was born. They bought her a run down trailer and a lot to put it on at the edge of a town two states away and called it the end of their parental duties. Dad's parents never even acknowledged I was their granddaughter. A one-way ticket for Dad to somewhere far, far away where Mother couldn't find him for c***d support payments was their sole concession to my existence.

I'll tell you the truth. I have no fucking clue how I lived long enough until I was able to start taking care of myself. I can only attribute it to two facts. First, was that Mother cared enough about the welfare check she got to feed me once in a while. Second, I grew up fast. Potty training was a study in survival every time Mother had to change my diaper after she'd decided I was old enough to sit on a toilet.

I have a pretty good memory. I'm not stupid! My earliest memories are of having my own room and a small, single bed where I spent much of my time. If Mother didn't see me, she couldn't hit me. So my training to become, and to remain, invisible started at an early age.

So, too, did my training to become a thief. After Mother and whatever man was currently my new 'Uncle' finished making strange noises at night, I knew it would be safe to make a food run to the kitchen while they were passed out on the couch or in Mother's bed. If they were passed out on the couch I didn't dare turn on a light. I just grabbed whatever can my fingers touched and took it back to my room. I once ate an entire can of beets. I hate beets. To this day the thought of beets makes me sick. Why the hell did we even have a can of beets!

Somehow, on free food from a local food pantry and clothes from a church charity, I managed to stay clothed and fed enough to make it to first grade. I think Mother lied to get me enrolled early. After all, school was free daycare to her. As for me? I loved school. Mother wasn't there to hit me. There was food at lunch time. And there were books. I learned to read while the other k**s were learning their alphabet. I read everything! I went from Dick and Jane to Frank and Joe The Hardy Boys in nothing flat. When other k**s were trying to figure out the logic that 1+1 does actually equal 2, I'd already read my math book from cover to cover.

The other k**s started making fun of me. They called me Nerd Girl and Teacher's Pet and Weirdo because I was always raising my hand to answer all the questions. After that I never raised my hand again and I was careful not to show I already knew things they were struggling to learn. I needed to stay invisible. I wanted to fit in. Yeah, like I had a chance in Hell of that ever happening.

I guess Mother's rep as the town whore was pretty much established by the time I got into school. Invites to other k**'s parties just never seemed to make it to me. I sure as hell couldn't invite them to my place. Seeing Mother passed out in a pool of her own vomit just wasn't a thing I wanted to share with another k**. Now that was a Kodak moment.

I was halfway through 2nd grade when I got the nickname I was stuck with for the rest of my time in school. Stinky. Like, you try and keep clean when Mother forgets to pay the water bill and the company shuts off your water for a month. I did try. There was a small stream in the woods out back of our trailer and no matter how cold it was, I'd strip down and wash myself as good as I could. But, the stream was just too small and muddy to really get my hair clean or to do my clothes in.

Since I couldn't keep my clothes clean I expanded my invisible thief rampage to include things other than just food from the kitchen cabinets. I snuck out of the trailer at night to raid the Salvation Army drop off boxes I'd seen from the school bus for clothes. I went to the drop off area behind the Goodwill store where people left clothes and other items after hours. I got clothes and shoes that didn't always fit but at least they were cleaner than what I had.

Behind the Goodwill store I got one more thing. A black-and-white TV. The screen was only nine inches and one of the rabbit ears was broken off, but after I lugged it home it was enough to pick up the local stations. Most of them. That TV was to be my mentor and guide for many years because through it I found a world that I hadn't known and couldn't understand.

There were people, grown-ups, moms and dads that actually seemed to give a damn about k**s. Who lived in houses like I'd never seen the insides of before. Mothers who were called Moms, who cleaned and did laundry and made food that didn't come from a can. Men who weren't called Uncles and who stayed around longer than a couple of months. It was all so weird. I'd put the TV on the floor and close my door and turn the volume down very low while I read a book. I'd just spend hours trying to understand.

I watched every show I could and read every book I could check out of the school library. TV crime dramas and The Hardy Boys led me to novels and internet searches in the school library. I began to get a small understanding of how crimes were solved. Little things like fingerprints. I'd never known I had fingerprints. I got a pair of gloves that fit. After all, invisible girls don't leave behind fingerprints.

I learned there was this DNA stuff from blood or hair left behind. I got a stretchy cap to bunch my hair into. That Summer I was seven or eight, or maybe I was six or nine. Mother was never too clear what year I was born and got really mad when I asked, I expanded my invisible thief persona to include breaking into houses.

On the other side of the woods behind my trailer were houses like I'd seen on TV. With school out I had a lot of time to sit in the bushes and watch a house until I was sure everyone had left for work and the house was empty. After several days of casing the joint, another something I learned from TV, I'd pick a day to go to the back door. I had a small pillow with a city skyline on it that someone had donated to Goodwill. Putting the pillow against a pane of glass and then carefully leaning my elbow against the pillow until the pane of glass broke. The pillow muffled the sound and protected me from being cut and leaving that DNA stuff behind.

After listening carefully to make sure no one was in the house and coming to find out what the sound was, I'd pick a few shards of glass out, reach in and unlock the door. Once in, I never took much. I took any money and jewelry I found 'cause I could spend the money and hide the jewelry in the woods so my Mother couldn't find it. Cans of food would go into a backpack. I couldn't steal clothes because then the cops might start looking for a k**.

I really couldn't steal anything else. I sure as hell couldn't take laptops and things like that because if Mother found them she'd take 'em to the pawn shop. I'd seen one show on Law And Order where the cops broke a case wide open when a thief tried to sell things to a pawn shop. Pawn shops were bad, bad places. So I ate the food, spent the money on things like clothes that fit and hid my stash of rings and jewelry in a coffee can I buried in the woods.

I watched other cop shows where thieves were caught after trying to do the same thing in one area once too often. So I began to go to other neighborhoods that had houses that backed up against woods where I could hide and case the joints. For the first time in my life I had money to spend on things. I had money to go to a fast food place and eat hamburgers and fries and chocolate milk shakes.

Once I found a bundle of cash in a sock drawer. Five hundred beautiful dollars all in twenties. I had new notebooks and pencils for school. A new coat that fit from Goodwill. I was able to sneak out of the trailer and eat at Burger King for the rest of the Summer and on into the school year. I stopped my petty crime spree for quite a while and laid low until the heat was off.

As I got older, school was still my favorite place. Even if I never had friends who sat with me at lunch and was never invited to parties, school was away from Mother. Before the first week was over I'd read all my textbooks from cover to cover and begun reading everything in the school library. But I never raised my hand to answer questions and if the teacher did call on me I made sure to give stupid answers most of the time. Stinky had to stay invisible or the other k**s would pick on her.

I always made sure my clothes were ready for the next day before setting my little wind up alarm clock. In the morning I'd take a quick shower, crossing my fingers that it wouldn't wake Mother, dress, grab my bookbag and be at the school bus stop 15 minutes early like my bus driver said we should be.

That was my life until I was eleven. Or maybe I was ten or maybe twelve. I could never find my birth certificate to make sure! In the Summer I'd hit houses for money, jewelry and food. In the Winter I'd go to school. No matter the season, I spent as much time as possible away from Mother and Uncles. I was doing okay. And then I was maybe eleven, maybe ten, maybe twelve...

Chapter 3
The Present... New York City

I came out of my heat and smell induced nightmare shivering. I tried very hard not to think about parts of my past. I sometimes threw up afterwards. More water to loosen the lump in my throat and, "Rambo, what time is it?"

"Two hours until dark, Sugar Tits. I was about to call and see if you'd gone back to sleep."

"Nope, just daydreaming of a better place. Anyone around? I'd still like to get started a bit early today in case there's any little glitch later on."

Rambo didn't answer for several seconds and then that whining voice in my earpiece again, "All is quiet, Sugar Tits. Just took a good look around through the binoculars and no one is anywhere close to you. Close circuit TV shows Frick and Frack seated at the front kiosk. One returned from his rounds about ten minutes ago. Still another fifty minutes before one goes around again."

Once an hour a guard would walk the building turning keys into his time clock thingy to show that the round had been made. One key was in a little box that was located just outside the door of the room I hoped to break into.

"Okay, then, Rambo. I'm starting early, but let me know the second a guard begins his rounds. I'm so close to being in I don't want to make even a sound while he may be near."

"10-4, Sugar Tits."

"I swear to God, Rambo. If I didn't think you'd enjoy it so much I would really hurt you later," I muttered as I undogged the small door to my side and slowly slide it open to one side. The only response I got was more crunching of potato chips and a long slurp of some icy drink that caused my stomach to growl. God, he's such a Bastard...

Scrunching in my confined space I looked out the door and saw what I knew I'd see. My trash dumpster's secret door was only four inches away from the wall of the building I was breaking into and the piece of cardboard I'd glued to the wall earlier was still in place. Pulling it away from the wall I looked at the hole I'd burrowed through solid concrete with satisfaction.

First thing I did was to take a stiff rubber rod and make sure it fit sideways the length of the almost three foot tunnel in front of me. Every piece of equipment I had in the false bottom of my dumpster had been carefully measured. The dumpster door I was working through had been carefully measured so that said equipment would fit through. The tunnel had to be large enough, too.

Satisfied about the dimensions, I put on my protective helmet with face guard and then checked every inch of the long, rubberized glove I put on. One crack in the rubber and... Well, my skin was very precious to me and I made certain there were no holes or cracks before carefully picking up the glass bottle from its holder. Setting the bottle down, with my gloved hand I worked the handle that forced air into it to pressurize the contents.

Picking the bottle up and making sure I didn't come close to any surface that might crack the glass, I extended my gloved arm down the tunnel and pressed the trigger. With a quiet hisss, a film of moisture began coating the concrete wall at the far end of the tunnel and I played the nozzle back and forth until every inch had been covered.

A thin haze began to form where the liquid had hit concrete. I put the bottle down carefully and holding my breath, brought my gloved arm back. I used my other hand to unhook the water tube attached to a metal wall and sprayed a film of water over the rubber to make certain any residue of the acid I'd used was neutralized. Only then did I bring my arm all the way in. Closing my sliding door, I expelled the breath I'd been unc0nsciously holding.

"Rambo, first coat is on. Let me know when time's up."

"Will do. You know, you could wear a watch and not bother me for things like that."

I never wore a watch on a job. If I wore a watch I'd spend all my time looking at the time instead of getting on with the task at hand. Rambo knew that so I didn't bother answering. Instead I waited and wished I'd brought my smokes with me. I was really into nicotine withdrawal. I'd left them behind to remove any temptation. A stray wisp of smoke at just the wrong time might cause a fucking concerned citizen passing by to call the fire department to report a trash dumpster on fire. World would be a much nicer place if assholes minded their own fucking business. At least I could smoke a fucking cigarette. ARRRGGGHHH!!!

Instead of smoking I inspected my glove again. No signs of any holes or cracks. It wasn't long before Rambo came back with a, Time's up. I put on the glove and helmet with face protection and slid the door open. Only a stray wisp of fog remained and extending my arm with the water hose, I played the stream of water to cover every single inch of the wall that the acid might have touched.

This was some heavy duty acid shit Rambo had come up with, but I won't tell you what it is. Do your own fucking homework if you ever want to tunnel through concrete. I can tell you one fact. Acid plus water produces heat and that fact was at the heart of the cracking and crumbling of the wall in front of my spray.

After making sure every damned part of the wall had been sprayed, I put away the water hose and pulled out my rubber squeegee and rubbed it against the wall up and down. As before, I was rewarded with a cascade of now loosened concrete pebbles that I pulled to the lip of the tunnel. Gathering handfuls of pebbles I thrust my hand up through a hole in my 'roof' and tossed the pebbles on top of garbage bags. I was another quarter of an inch closer to being inside.

I measured the sides again to make sure my equipment would fit and after another radio check to make certain the coast was clear, repeated the acid treatment. Counting downtime while a guard made his rounds, I estimated that I would be through just about as night fell.

And I was! Watching the last bit of wall fall away to reveal a large dark room beyond, I felt a sense of accomplishment to rival Neal Armstrong's first step onto the moon!

Some people think that three feet of concrete will keep me out. Silly, silly people.

Am I good or what?

Chapter 4

New York City... The Present

Checking with Rambo to be sure the guards weren't walking around, being as quiet as possible I began dragging all my equipment from the dumpster into the janitor's room. That was harder than I'd anticipated. I was running on empty as the last carton was dragged through the tunnel. My hands, knees and other more tender parts of my body were scrapped and sore. I should have put on my clothes, but this janitor's space I'd broken into wasn't air conditioned and it was just too... damned... hot... EVERYTHING was just too damned hot!

On my way out later I planned on spraying everything down with the acid anyway. Good luck finding DNA after that. Just as I was tugging the last box through, the adrenaline boost I'd gotten for having made it inside disappeared.

Luckily I was on my hands and knees so I didn't have far to fall as a wave of dizziness swept me down into a faint...

Some Years Before...
I was maybe eleven, or maybe ten or maybe twelve, and a few weeks from finishing the sixth grade when I started bleeding from a part of me I hadn't given much thought to except when I pee'd. Also, hair began growing where hair hadn't been before. I'd read about how girls become women in library books so I didn't need to ask Mother about what to do. I bought sanitary napkins and began using a better hygiene routine between my legs during that-time-of-the-month.

My school biology books had led to other books so I knew what a girl had inside. I was surprised but not grossed out when I woke that morning to find blood on my thigh and sheets. I was surprised that this might start so early, but more reading showed that each girl 'developed' when their body was ready. I guessed I was just one of those girls who'd developed a bit early.

For the last couple of months I'd noticed my boobs swelling around my nipples and my chest was tender and sore all the time. Just my shirt rubbing against my nipples caused sensations that I didn't like. My nipples seemed to stay hard all the time, too. I took money from my stash in the woods and bought training bras. The rubbing was lessened and they did mostly hide my hard nipples.

Mother never seemed to notice that I now had bra straps showing under my t-shirts, but my newest Uncle in the long line of Uncles seemed to notice. Uncle Dave wasn't the worst guy who'd moved into the trailer to live with Mother. He actually had a good job as a mechanic and seemed interested in keeping food in the kitchen. He'd lasted longer than any of my other Uncles. Mother seemed to be better and sometimes even cooked something for Uncle Dave's supper. To be honest, I didn't know why the hell a guy like him stuck around.

I really thought that Summer between sixth grade and seventh grade that things might become something like I saw on my little TV. The only thing that creeped me out was the looks Uncle Dave sometimes gave me. I was right to be creeped out. I also found out why Uncle Dave had stuck around.

On nights when Uncle Dave didn't have to work the next day he and Mother would party with booze or pills or booze and pills before making strange sounds in their bedroom or the couch. One Friday evening Uncle Dave brought home two fifths of whiskey and Mother was passed out on our couch when I heard him come into my room. He smelled of booze, but wasn't near being passing out drunk.

He grabbed my chest and it hurt. Other things he did hurt and when I tried to move away he made me hurt more. When I made to much noise he put his hand over my mouth. My nose was so clogged with snot that I couldn't breath and things went away for a while.

When things began coming back into focus he was moving on top of me and I had a deep pain between my legs. I hurt really bad and there was a lot of blood on my bed sheets when he finally moved away from me. If I didn't move it didn't hurt so bad but the hurt never really went away. Uncle Dave got up from my bed and I heard him drinking more whiskey.

As I laid there trying to be still and quiet, it dawned on me what had happened. Of course I'd seen Mother with an Uncle between her legs. I knew what it meant for an Uncle to be between my legs. I blew my nose over and over into my sheet trying to clear it. Finally I could breath better and with better breathing came a wave of exhaustion. I felt like I was drifting away into a grey place...

The next day when I woke up the pain was still there. My sheets were brown with old blood. When I put my hand between my legs my fingers came back red so I knew I was still bleeding. For the last time in my life I went to Mother for help.

When I told Mother what Uncle Dave had done the night before, it didn't matter that my face and throat were bruised. It didn't matter that I was hunched over from the pain between my legs. It didn't matter I had fresh blood on my thighs. Mother just started beating me and calling me a whore. Accusing me of trying to take 'her man' away from her. I guess she was more afraid of losing Uncle Dave's paycheck than in trying to help me.

I ended up curled into a ball on the floor while she kicked me in the side over and over until I was pee'ing blood for the next week. When she went and picked up the baseball bat she kept for protection, I figured I was gonna die and just closed my eyes and hoped the pain would go away with me dead. I'd heard some weird shit about people believing in life after death. I didn't want to live after death if the pain went on and on.

Mother wasn't interested in me any more though. She went into her bedroom where Uncle Dave was still sleeping and from the sound of it, got in a few good hits before he woke up enough to wrestle the bat away from her. There was a bunch of yelling and screaming after that, but I was back drifting in a grey place and wasn't paying much attention to what they were yelling.

I don't know how long they yelled at each other before Mother came back and kicked me in the leg hard enough to bring me back from the grey place. At least, long enough to hear her name a price in pills, booze and cash. "Give me that each week and you can do anything you want with this whore."

Had to be Uncle Dave who carried me to my bed. Who sounded scared when he saw the amount of blood on my sheets. Pretty sure it was Uncle Dave who had the common sense to put tampons in me to help stop the bleeding. I know it was him who called in sick Monday so he could take care of me.

I had to move really carefully or I started bleeding. It was Uncle Dave who brought me things to eat and drink for two weeks. It was him who carried me to the bathroom to pee and poop. Him who held me up under the shower long enough to wash off.

At the end of three weeks I'd stopped bleeding and most of the pain was gone. My bruises were completely gone and I'd stopped pissing pink. Most of my strength was back, but although I could stand long enough to shower by myself, Uncle Dave would make me wait until he came from work so we could shower together.

I survived the bleeding, the beating and the infection that set in so I decided I was like a cat and had lost the first of my nine lives.

As I got older Uncle Dave wanted me to do other things in the shower and my bed. After a while some of the things felt good. I began to learn what to call each part. I already knew the correct names, vagina, uterus, cervix... Now I began learning what people called them.

Uncle Dave bought me a bigger bed and took my side when Mother yelled at me. I started thinking that maybe... Maybe, since he did things with me like he did with Mother, maybe I'd convince him we didn't need her. Maybe, he'd take me away.

Chapter 5

New York City, The Present...

I was still dizzy when I came around on the cool, concrete floor. I'd pushed my strength to the breaking point. Not eating and living for three days in a sweat box takes a little out of a girl. Crawling over, I lifted the top off of one carton and dug out the high-energy protein bars I'd put there for something solid to eat just for this kind of need. Going to the sink against one wall I turned the water on and gulped down the cold water to wash down the chewy bars.

I felt better, stronger with something in my stomach other than pills. I noticed that my earpiece had come undone. Putting it back in my ear I heard an almost frantic Rambo calling me over and over.

"Calm down, Rambo. Everything is ok."

"What the hell, Sugar Tits? You almost gave me a heart attack over here. Where the fuck you been?"

"My earpiece came loose and I was so busy I didn't notice until now," I lied. No way was I going to admit I'd passed out.

"Okay. Okay, then. You've still got about 20 minutes before Frick or Frack starts a round." That was good to know. I'd only passed out for a few minutes instead of half the night at least. "You wanna try to make this round or wait another hour?"

"Fuck waiting, Rambo. Give me five minute counts and let me know if they start early."

"10-4, roger wilco, over and out, 20 minutes and counting."

I was moving before Rambo finished his sentence. I knew exactly which box I needed since I'd packed every one of them and color coded the top of each. I'd practiced everything I'd need to do so there was no wasted time as I dressed. The unitard was a tight, stretchy material that had long legs and arms. I cringed a little bit putting clean fabric over such a filthy body.

The next item was a bit more bulky. A one piece workman's overall with padding in all the right places. I did up all the zippers and then grabbed the work boots that were Men's size 12, but with a padded interior that fit comfortably around my woman's size bare feet. They were second hand from a thrift store and nicely broken in. Instead of shoelaces, I'd superglued on Velcro pullovers to save time. I knew the soles wouldn't squeak on a linoleum floor because of the coating I'd put on the treads. Quiet as a mouse was my motto for this stage of my plan.

"Fifteen minutes."

Next were the two pressurized CO2 cartridges. One each going into a specially designed pellet gun. A quick screw and pop and each gun was charged and on the floor beside me. Next out were two syringe darts like zoo keepers use to sedate large cats. Next were two color-coded vials, one blue, one pink.

Next out, a syringe that I filled and squirted an exact amount of the blue into each dart. Next was a measured amount of the pink into each dart. Seal 'em, a quick shake to mix fluids together and then one dart into each pellet gun. This stuff was another gift from Rambo and very fast acting, but it had to be mixed within half an hour of use or it would just turn to crap. It also wouldn't knock out my targets for very long.

"Ten minutes."

I made sure the guns were safed before putting them into separate, specially designed pockets of the jump suit. Be a tad bit embarrassing to get shot by one of my own darts. Wouldn't necessarily be fatal to my plan, but it would definitely set me back by an hour. Next out of the box was a stretchy stocking. A quick twist of my hair and it was up and out of the way held under the stocking. Last out of the box was a cap/wig/facial mask all in one. The latex mask wouldn't fool a damned fool if seen face to face, but to the low resolution cameras like they had here? No problem.

"Five minutes."

Standing, I settled the padded work suit just so and made sure to tuck all excess latex from the mask down and under the collar of the overalls. I used my fingers to settle the latex around my eyes, assumed a crouched over attitude and before you knew it, I went from a slender girl to a rather short, fat man with three day old stubble who was putting on gloves.

I was ready and waiting by the door when Rambo began his next report. "Looks like Frick is going to make this walk through. He's standing up... Adjusting his belt and pants..." I tried to slow my breathing. This next part was entirely up to too much luck for my sense of well being. It all depended on the the guard left behind to NOT look at the bank of small CC screens and instead keep his attention fixed on watching the baseball game I'd targeted this night to coincide with. After weeks of watching these two I knew Frick and Frack were die hard Yankee fans and they always brought in a small TV set on game nights.

"Frick is interested in the game... Picking up the watchman's clock... Frack is watching the game... Frick is turning to start his round... Frack is watching the game... Watching the game... GO! GO! GO!"

I was out the door and into the hallway before the third GO! I had forty feet to cover before I would be out of sight of the camera at the end of the hallway. Another unknown was if Frick would take one of the two elevators up to the other floors to start his rounds or come to this hallway first. I had to move quickly and quietly. Soon I was crouched against the wall under and out of sight of the camera above me. I had one pellet gun out, safety off and pointed at a spot where Frick's thigh would be if he turned the corner. A split second later Frick appeared.

I don't know who was more surprised, me or Frick? I do know I gave a little Eek! as I jerked the trigger and it was sheer luck it went into Frick's nice, fleshy side instead of the watchman's clock. The rest was just muscle memory from so many hours of practice. Set pellet gun down, up out of crouch, wrap arms around Frick with gloved hand over mouth before the surprise wore off for the poor guy. It was touch and go as he instinctively drew away from me as I moved up and in, but I was over my surprise and he wasn't. I'd rehearsed this and he hadn't. Rehearsal made the difference. Frick made a few muffled sounds against my gloved hand over his mouth, but just as he was drawing in a larger breath to yell the special concoction in the dart took effect and he went limp in my arms.

"Sugar Tits, did you just eek?" A question like that was below my dignity so I declined to answer.

Easing Frick down onto the floor, I tapped the earpiece three times to signal Rambo I needed a status update but couldn't talk.

"I'm assuming Frick is down?" I tapped the earpiece once. "Okay. Frack is still watching the game. I have the game on here, also. One out, bases loaded and a batter coming out to the plate... Frack's attention is all on the game. On the game... You are go for lift off, Sugar Tits."

That was all I needed to hear as I rose and took the second pellet gun out. Turning the corner I flicked off the safety, walked past the elevators, then down another short hallway and without stopping sighted my target thirty feet away. It was almost too easy after all the stomach churning tension. With Frack's full attention on the game and the voices of the game announcers covering any sound I might make, I was close enough to put the muzzle against his neck before he sensed my presence and began to turn. A neck shot is a perfect shot. The sedative had only inches to travel to the brain. Before Frack even began to wonder what hit him, his eyes glazed over and he slumped over unc0nscious.

I didn't stop to gloat. Keeping my head down I tapped the earpiece two times and began walking back to the janitor's closet. There would be no running while I was in sight of any pedestrians that might see me through the large windows in the front of the building. Walking, I was just a workman who belonged here.

"I watched it all in glorious color, Sugar Tits. No alarm. Repeat, no alarm. No one on the street to see anything that I noticed. I'm monitoring all channels and will alert if anything, repeat anything, tweaks my interest."

"Perfect, Rambo. Keep watching." Grabbing what I needed from another box, I returned and soon had Frick trussed up in thick zippy ties cops have started using instead of handcuffs. I changed my workman gloves for surgical gloves. A piece of duct tape and an IV bag of D5W saline with another of Rambo's magical formulations mixed in was taped to the wall. A length of IV tubing and a much practiced 'needle in a vein' puncture on the back of Frick's hand and I started a very slow drip. This stuff was much slower acting than the hypodermic dart mixture, but it lasted a good long time. When these guards were found in the morning it might be hours before they would be conscious enough to answer questions.

Another trip out front and working crouched down behind the kiosk so no one could look through the large plate glass windows and see me, I soon had Frack zippy tied to his chair by both wrists and his ankles. Another IV bag taped to the TV set, a quick connection between bag and hand and just as Rambo's original sedative soup was wearing off the new one kicked in and Frack went back to Sleepy Kittyland with a soft sigh.

Next out of my pocket was a small spray can of black paint. Soon every camera lens on the first floor was solid black. Then the cameras in both elevators and after a quick trip up to the third floor, those were painted over as well. I didn't bother with the second and fourth floor cameras. I'd never go there so let 'em record a whole lot of nothing.

I didn't worry that someone at the security company might trip an alarm. These cameras were on a recording loop and not monitored. As long as an alarm didn't go off no one would see these recordings until after I was far away.

Back to the ground floor and the closet where I stripped off that damned mask and padded workman's suit. Surgical gloves off and tossed into dumpster, thick workman's gloves back on. Spay paint went through the tunnel. I put the huge boots back on. I wanted any shoe print they might discover to be man size. I was certain I'd sweated off another five pounds because of all the padding. More gulps of water from the sink, three more protein bars and I was as fit as a very sweaty and dirty fiddle could be. I remembered to take the darts I had used from my pocket, wiped them free of any prints with my gloved hands and tossed them through the tunnel into the dumpster.

"Rambo? Anything?"

"Nothing, Sugar Tits. All is quiet and you are exactly one hour and forty-five minutes ahead of schedule."

I gave a silent, triumphant fist pump and twirl. God, I love it when a plan comes together!