Author's Note: Welcome readers. This is another story featuring Penelope Bishop who we have met before in my stories: Cop Town Girl, Sleeping Beauties, A Dish Best Served Cold and All The Pretty Girls. Penelope joined Jennifer Jones, the heroine of my story Click Bait, in my last story Strange bedfellows. These two gorgeous, hard-headed, trans-women work on different sides of the law: one is an uber-criminal, betrayed by the FBI and seduced into a life of crime, the other a brilliant but flawed detective in a small Texas City. I'm sure that once again they are going to have their ups and downs (pun intended).

Michele Nylons

February 2022

Jennifer Jones was a multi-tasker. She had lured Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich and his arch enemy Alexi Reznik to their deaths in a warehouse outside of Balwyn Texas and had taken over Dmitriy's empire: his Bratva. While she had been in Balwyn Jennifer had her trusted lieutenant Katya Kuznetsova seduce Special Agent Dan Murphy of the Texas Department of Public Safety Criminal Investigation Division prior to them conducting interviews with prostitutes at an institution called Supergirls.

Supergirls was a strip club which offered a 'full-service' experience to selected clientele and was located in Balwyn's Bridge Street free zone: a street lined with titty-bars, adult stores and greasy spoons where locals and visitors could taste something spicy whether it be something narcotic or sexually adventurous. The police deliberately kept a low profile on Bridge Street but diligently patrolled the adjacent streets and were intolerant of any miscreants who attempted to bring their unsavoury behaviours outside of the delineated area. Bridge Street was called an island of crud in a sea of resplendence by the Balwyn's genteel population.

Supergirls was owned by Alexi Reznik under a subsidiary of his Belarus International conglomerate which had dissolved on his demise. Jennifer had allowed the other Pakhans to squabble over the remains of Alexi's empire but she had claimed Supergirls for herself.

The other Pakhans had little interest in a nightclub-come-brothel in a small Texas City but Jennifer realised its potential.

The girls who worked at Supergirls were mostly Slavic illegal immigrants who had been smuggled into the US through Mexico and coerced or forced into prostitution rather than the domestic jobs they thought they were going to undertake on arrival in the land of milk and honey. Most were pragmatic and realised the earning potential that went with their employment. They were indentured for two years and allowed to keep twenty-five percent of their earnings, which was considered generous. They could send money home if they wanted. The Bratok didn't charge them for board or victuals and they had a stipend for clothing.

Some of the girls working at Supergirls had completed their two year 'contracts' and stayed on anyway, able to keep fifty percent of what they earned and had the freedom to move out of the dormitory and in the community.

One such girl was Olena Svetlana, a twenty-three-year-old blonde with a decent body, a pretty face hardened by her trade, strong long legs well-muscled from pole dancing, a cocaine habit and a biker boyfriend who didn't mind sharing her with his friends.

When Katya had told Jennifer about Supergirls she had seen potential in the dive that others did not. Balwyn was located some 150 miles west of Austin and was a four hour drive to Laredo; close enough to the border for special cargoes to be conveniently and expeditiously transported and held in storage prior to distribution elsewhere in the US but far enough away not to attract the attention of law enforcement agencies whose prime purpose was controlling what passed between the borders of the US and Mexico.

Jennifer's Bratva had 'counting houses' located strategically across the USA. The thing is that people paid cash for their vices and Jennifer was in the vice game. Men paid their hookers, strippers and pole dancers with cash. They paid cash for 'special services' from 'special women'. They paid cash for drugs. They paid cash for porn. They paid cash for contraband and guns. Ransoms were collected in cash, hits were paid for in cash, people gambled with cash. Cash was everywhere in the businesses that Jennifer controlled which was good because it was unreportable income but bad because it was a pain in the ass to handle when it was in large quantities.

Jennifer's Bratoks had their lieutenants collect the cash for their businesses once a month and take it to one of her counting houses where it was counted, bundled and packaged. Some of the money remained in the US to be washed and circulated but most of the money was shipped overseas to countries that used the USD as their currency or it was put into foreign bank accounts.

Supergirls was the counting house for the south central region of the US. There was a room on the second floor that was primarily used as a 'workroom' by the prostitutes who plied their trade in Supergirls but once a month it became the counting room.

The door to the room, whilst it looked just like the others, had steel plating and heavy-duty locks fitted and the cameras in the room had been deactivated. The money arrived there in the early hours of Monday morning delivered in suitcases by men driving rental cars from all over the southwest. Two trusted lieutenants with counting machines counted, bundled and packaged the money then put it in a U-Haul where the money was hidden amongst innocuous looking cargo and driven south across the border for transshipment.

Jennifer's counting houses had never been hit by her competitors or by law enforcement. The system was simple and safe and Jennifer was proud of it.

The only problem was that system relied on humans and humans were fallible.

The only person at Supergirls who was supposed to know about the counting room was the manager, Sandy Spiffle. The cash arrived after closing time when the girls and the staff had gone home and before the cleaners arrived in the morning. One time the lieutenants had asked that if they arrived early could they get a freebie from the girls and Sandy had replied that there was no such thing as freebie but he could get a couple of the girls to stay behind and entertain the money counters if they kicked him a bundle from all that cash they were counting.

The two lieutenants figured what the hell, before they counted the money nobody knew exactly how much cash was on hand so an arrangement was made. The counters tipped the manager twenty grand and he kept two trusted girls behind after closing who looked after the counters carnal desires and treated them to drinks and snacks while they went about their business and while Sandy stood guard outside the door.

Once all the money arrived, the two lieutenants and the two hookers were locked in the counting room until it was time to leave so there was no problem; everybody got what they wanted.

The problem was that Olena Svetlana who had been sex trafficked three years ago and was an emancipated prostitute and an illegal alien just couldn't stop thinking about all that cash. She didn't mind fucking the cash counters, pouring them drinks and ducking under the table to blow them while they counted the money. Being around all that cash actually made her horny but she wanted some for herself.

Olena eventually told her asshole biker boyfriend Harlan Decker about the money. He gave her a slapping for not telling him about it sooner but was careful not to leave any marks on her. After saying he was sorry and fucking Olena happy he grilled her for the details and told her that they were going to be rich.

Olena dreamed of riding around the USA on the back of a Harley Davidson with Harlan, the wind in her hair, the panniers stuffed with money. They would go wherever they wanted and live the high life.

Harlan Decker didn't quite have the same dream. Harlan was the Sergeant at Arms for the Balwyn Chapter of the Beasts of Burden Motorcycle Club. The club was small with only six patched members and four prospects. Harlan had the Club President, Duane McAllister, call an extraordinary meeting of the patched members and Harlan told them what Olena had told him.

"Fuck this, I vote no. Those Russian mafia guys will fuckin' torture you to death when they catch you, and they will catch you because they don't give up... ever!" Bob Livingstone, the club Vice President said.

The rest of the committee voted with Bob and Harlan's motion was defeated but he wasn't. He wanted the money in that counting house and while he had Olena working at Supergirls there was always a chance he could get it. He just needed a good plan and the right people.

He ended up with neither but he went ahead with the robbery anyway.

Harlan's brother Pete was a no-hoper who had recently been released from prison after serving seven years for armed robbery. He was mean and stupid. So stupid that he made Harlan look intelligent. Harlan didn't want his brother in on the robbery because he was gun happy and when the guys who had been robbed came looking for the perpetrators Pete's name would already be in system.

Pete had also shown an unhealthy interest in Olena. Harlan didn't mind sharing Olena with his fellow bikers at the clubhouse when they partied, she wasn't his old lady, but Pete was his brother and it didn't seem right that he and his brother fuck the same woman.

They say that fortune favours fools and that's exactly what happened. All of Sunday night and into the early hours of Monday morning couriers arrived in their rental cars and delivered suitcases full of cash to Supergirls and Sandy Spiffle took them up to the counting room where the counters were busy counting and fucking Olena Svetlana and her coworker Alina Kunis between deliveries. Sandy Spiffle stood guard by the door, bored by the whole proceeding but grateful for the twenty grand that one of the counters had slipped him for the services of the two hookers and the booze and snacks.

It was a bumper month and nearly twelve million dollars had been counted, bundled and packaged as the early morning light dawned.

Harlan and Pete Decker waited across the street from Supergirls in a Ford F-150 Raptor. On the back seat was a canvass carryall with an array of weaponry for them to choose from. Just sitting in the truck would send Pete back to the slammer because he was a convicted felon in a vehicle with firearms but this was the 'Free Zone' and they hadn't seen a police patrol all night.

"That's a lot of deliveries," Pete commented, breaking the silence.

"Yeah. Olena says there's over a million dollars in each suitcase," Harlan replied, never taking his eyes of the front doors of Supergirls.

The club had been closed for a quite a while now and it was dark. Harlan knew that the counting room had no windows; the only light coming from the club was from neon beer signs and the exit signs.

"Why didn't we just take out one of the guys making a delivery?" Pete asked.

Harlan turned to face his younger brother and glared at him.

"Because that would mean gunfire on the streets stupid. Also I don't want some of that money; I want all of that money. Do you ever listen to a word I say?" Harlan growled.

Pete changed tack.

"You don't mind that Olena is inside there fuckin' and suckin' those cartel guys?" Pete took a dig at his older brother.

"She's a prostitute, dummy! That's what she does every day. So long as she shares what she makes with me and treats me right why should I give a fuck? It's not like I'm going to marry her." Harlan turned back to the Supergirls shopfront.

"Then why can't I get freebie?" Pete whined.

Harlan said nothing. The phone in his pocket vibrated. A signal from Olena that the count was just about done.

"Let's go. We do it just like I told you," Harlan hissed and pulled down the ski mask over his face and put on his hard-knuckle tactical gloves.

Pete gave a rebel yell and pulled down his own mask and put on his gloves.

Out of the arsenal in the back of the pickup they both selected nine millimetre semi-automatic pistols fitted with suppressors and Harlan grabbed his go-bag and they walked across the quiet street. They were both dressed in black jeans and dark shirts and jackets. Although the morning was chilly their jackets remained unzipped because they wanted freedom of movement.

They knew that there was a camera mounted over the door and more cameras throughout the club but they weren't concerned. With their masks and obscure clothing no one would recognise them and they intended to delete or steal the security video footage which Olena assured Harlan was kept in Sandy Spiffle's office.

From his go-bag Harlan produced a snap gun, also known as a lock pick gun, which is a tool that can be used to open a mechanical pin tumbler lock without using the key. He inserted the steel rod into the lock and the snap gun briefly fired the rod against all of the lock pins simultaneously, momentarily freeing the cylinder and enabling Harlan to turn the lock using a tension wrench.

Olena had unlocked the bolts located at the top and bottom on the inside of the door when she had come downstairs from the counting room ostensibly to get more ice and booze.

Harlan and Pete Decker entered the club as quietly as they could, closed the door behind them and stood listening in the gloom. There were some dim lights behind the long bar which reflected in the mirror and they could see the layout of the place. All of the chairs and tables faced the raised stage on which three poles were mounted. There was a line of booths along two of the walls. The carpets were sticky underfoot and the place smelled of stale beer, cheap perfume and despair.

Harlan nodded to the door that led to the VIP rooms where the girls provided lap dances and the two men entered the passageway, leaving the door open. The stairs to the upstairs bedrooms where the girls fucked those customers who could afford it were located at the end of the passageway and Harlan nodded that way.

Harlan had been in the VIP rooms a few times getting free lap dances and one time a blowjob from Olena but he hadn't been upstairs. Why should he pay for what Olena gave him for free? Olena had described the upstairs layout to Harlan: a short corridor with three bedrooms either side with a bathroom at the end. The counting room was the last room on the left.

Things started to go wrong almost immediately. Harlan's plan was not well thought out and his brother was gun happy. Texas has capital punishment and Pete had no intention of sitting in prison waiting for the needle if anyone got killed during the robbery and he got caught. He had a tattoo on his chest Kill em all - let God sort them out and his intention was to ensure there were no witnesses left alive.

As Harlan and Pete came to the top of the stairs and peeked over the last rung they could see Sandy Spiffle with his back against the counting room door asleep on his feet.

Pete Decker loped down the corridor and put his suppressed nine millimetre pistol against Sandy's forehead and pulled the trigger just as Sandy came out of his fugue, alerted by Pete's footsteps. Pete's pistol didn't fire because in his rush Pete had not disengaged the safety.

"You motherfucker!" Sandy Spiffle cursed as Pete knocked him to the floor.

Sandy was using one hand to try to get own pistol out of the waistband of his jeans whilst pushing Pete's gun-hand away with the other. Pete found the safety and pulled the trigger and his gun made three muffled 'phut' sounds but the rounds entered the wall three feet away from Sandy's head.

"Hey! What is going on out there?" a Slavic voice called through the steel-reinforced door.

"Fuck!" Harlan hissed and bounded down the corridor to help his brother.

He put his pistol against Sandy Spiffle's temple and pulled the trigger twice and Sandy stopped struggling.

"Sandy? What the fuck is going on? We are ready to leave!" the Slavic voice sounded muffled behind the door.

Harlan helped Pete to his feet and pushed him against the wall adjacent to the door to the counting room. He put his finger to his lips indicating that Pete should shut the fuck up.

Sounds of the door being unlocked came from inside the counting room.

"Sandy?" the door opened a crack and the muzzle of pistol emerged followed by a wrist.

Harlan grabbed the wrist protruding through the door and yanked as hard as he could and a thin besuited man with neck tattoos was caught off guard and pulled into the corridor. Pete shot him three times in the chest before the man even realised what was happening.

"Fucking assholes! Do you know who you are dealing with?" an angry roar came from inside the counting room followed by the screams of two women.

A fusillade of gunfire erupted from the room. Rounds ricocheted off the steel reinforced door and embedded themselves in the plaster wall.

Pete poked his pistol through the gap in the door and blindly sprayed the remainder of the rounds in the magazine of his pistol around the room.

"Fucking Olena is in there you fucking moron!" Harlan pushed his brother's gun hand down.

The doorway was filled with gunsmoke and Pete and Harlan's ears were ringing from the Slavic man's fusillade. They could hear groaning. The girls had stopped screaming.

"Harlan? Is that you?" Olena's voice sounded shaky.

"It's me and Pete. Is the guy dead?" Harlan called through the slightly ajar door.

"You motherfuckers! You nearly shot me and Alina!" Olena called out.

"Is the guy fucking dead!" Harlan growled.

"He's lying on the floor bleeding. He isn't moving," Olena called back.

Harlan burst through the door and found a big man in a dark suit lying on his back trying to lift his.357 up to a firing position. Harlan shot him twice in the head.

"Get the fuck in here Pete!" Harlan called through the door.

Olena Svetlana and Alina Kunis were crouched down behind the bed, Olena peeking over the mattress. Five open suitcases lay on top of the mattress full of bundled banknotes.

"What happened to your plan?" Olena stood and glared at Harlan.

"Pete happened," Harlan pointed at his older brother.

Alina Kunis got to her feet and looked around the room in a state of shock. Olena hadn't told Alina about the robbery. She didn't want her getting scared and ratting them out to Sandy or behaving suspiciously in front of the Russians.

The girls were dressed identically in pleated micro miniskirts, tube-tops, sheer pantyhose and black high heels. They wore heavy makeup and Olena's long blonde hair was tied in a ponytail and Alina's brunette hair was mussed around her face.

Pete Decker stood there staring at the girls, taking in their bare midriffs, long legs and pretty faces.

"What is going on?" Alina whispered.

Olena pulled Alina into an embrace and began to whisper in her ear. Watching the two young women embrace caused Pete to get a boner despite the gravity of the situation.

Harlan Decker was not watching the girls. He was mesmerised by the suitcases full of bundled cash.

"Jesus," he whispered.

Then the gravity of the situation hit him. The Russian had been firing unsilenced large calibre pistols and although the free zone was deserted at this hour of the morning there was no telling if anyone had heard the gunfire.

"Let's get the cash and get the fuck out of here," Harlan slapped his hand down on Pete's shoulder to bring him out of his reverie.

Olena brushed Alina aside and began closing the suitcases, helping Harlan take them off the bed and place them outside the door.

"Put those fucking cash-counting machines in there too. No need to make it too easy for the cops," Harlan snarled and Olena tossed the counting machines and a bottle of vodka into the last suitcase before she closed it.

They had five suitcases, two dead Russians and a dead Sandy Spiffle to deal with.

"What do we do with the other chick?" Pete pointed at Alena.

Harlan raised his pistol and pointed it at Alena.

"We can't leave any witnesses," he said tonelessly.

"I'm Olena's friend. I can help. I can be good," Alena said in a thick Slavic accent.

"What do you think?" Harlan asked Olena.

Olena shrugged.

"She's ok I guess," Olena studied a split nail carefully.

"Can I have her?" Pete grinned at the pretty girl who instantly recognised an ally when she saw one.

She smiled back at Pete and winked.

"Ok but she's your problem," Harlan lowered his pistol.

"She's not my only problem right now brother," Pete tugged at his shirt.

The expanding stain of fresh blood was hard to see on Pete's black shirt but blood from the wound was dripping on the floor.

"I'm pretty sure it's just a graze but anyway let's get going," Pete hefted a suitcase in one hand and beckoned Alina to come to him which she dutifully did.

"You take one of those other suitcases sweetheart," Pete nodded at the cluster of cases.

Harlan and Olena picked up the remaining cases and carried them downstairs.

Harlan opened the front door to the club and looked out. The streets were still silent and deserted.

"What about the camera footage?" Pete grunted, his wound was starting to sting.

"Well we were supposed to put a gun to Sandy Spiffle's head and make him erase it or at least show us where the computer is where the video is stored but someone decided to get all hot and bothered and now he's fuckin' dead," Harlan cursed.

"Fuck the footage. We got masks on. Let's get the fuck outta here," Harlan kicked open the door and the two men and two women struggled across the street with the five suitcases full of cash.

*****

Jennifer started at Katerina's ankle and used her tongue to trace the dark seam on the back of her stocking along her leg up to the gauzy welt where she stopped briefly.

Katerina wriggled her ass invitingly, a little annoyed that Jennifer had stopped.

Most women undressed for bed. Jennifer Jones and Katerina Kuznetsova actually dressed for bed. They were both wearing black, sheer, fully-fashioned stockings clipped to black and red satin and lace suspender belts, four-inch black high heels, black and red see-through nylon panties and nothing else. They were both wearing heavy makeup and swathed in Dior Poison Perfume.

Jennifer continued her journey and lapped at the dark silky welt of Katerina's stocking and then she moved to the other welt and tasted that. Jennifer was tiny and she was able to straddle Katerina, putting her body on Katerina's legs whilst rubbing her cock on Katerina's calves.

Katerina loved having her petite lover lie on top of her like this; her tongue licking and lapping at her thighs and her hard flesh pressing on her legs. Butterflies of delight radiated from wherever Jennifer used her tongue and Katerina's sex was becoming moist in anticipation.

Jennifer nipped and played her tongue over Katerina's soft buttocks through the delicate fabric of her panties and Katerina opened her legs a little in anticipation of what she knew was coming next.

Jennifer teased her lover. Instead of putting her tongue on Katerina's sex, which she could smell was ripening, she continued to nip and slather her creamy buttocks and stroke her nylon-swathed thighs with her fingertips whilst grinding her cock against her calves.

Katerina moaned and wriggled, trying to coax Jennifer to move her face to her sex, she opened her legs a little wider and Jennifer would see the dewy droplets of Katerina's vaginal secretions clinging to her vulva through the transparent panties.

Jennifer moved her tongue between Katerina's legs and licked at the gusset of Katerina's panties, pressing her tongue on her pubis. Katerina growled and rolled over and opened her legs wide.

"I win," Jennifer giggled.

"Shut up and do that again," Katerina sighed.

Jennifer eased aside the gusset of Katerina's panties and lapped at her labia, pushing the tip of her tongue inside the folds of Katerina's mound and finding her clitoris with the tip of her tongue. Jennifer had been teasing Katerina for nearly an hour, bringing her to brink of climax and then backing off. She decided that Katerina had earned her orgasm.

Katerina entwined her hands in Jennifer's hair and pressed her face into her cunt, raising her buttocks off the bed. Jennifer licked and softly nibbled Katerina's clitoris and lapped at her vulva; she drove two fingers into Katerina's swollen, musty cunt being careful of her nails.

Katerina's body convulsed in a paroxysm of pleasure as her long-delayed orgasm coursed through her body. Jennifer could hardly breathe as Katerina pushed her face into her sodden minge. Jennifer sucked up Katerina's juices as she drove her fingers deeper into Katerina's tight vagina. Jennifer's cock was throbbing in anticipation and she lifted her face from Katerina's crotch.

Katerina whined for only a second before Jennifer scrambled up Katerina's body and thrust her engorged throbbing member deep into Katerina's buttery quim. She kissed Katerina deeply and as Jennifer drove her cock in and out Katerina's tight young flesh. Katerina wrapped her stocking-sheathed legs around Jennifer's; their nylons whispered and whished as they rubbed together.

Katerina could taste her cunt on Jennifer's breath, their lipstick smeared and their bodies pressed against each other as Jennifer impaled Katerina on her huge phallus and Katerina willingly held her lover close as Jennifer rutted against her. The sensual intimacy had given way to rampant lust as the two women ground against each other, wresting pleasure from their partner.

Katerina's orgasm peaked just as Jennifer drove her cock all the way inside her and ejaculated, grinding her pubis into Jennifer's fiery crotch to elicit as much pleasure as possible from her bruised and sensitive clitoris. They clung to each other, writhing and shaking, kissing and clawing until their orgasms slowly subsided and then they held each other, caressing each other gently, kissing each other softly, whispering terms of endearments.

They fell asleep in each other's arms having kicked off their heels.

Sometime later Jennifer's valet and personal bodyguard Peter Small knocked on the door to her bedroom.

She knew that Peter would not disturb her unless it was important.

"Go and shower and change and meet me in the office," Jennifer smacked Katerina playfully on the buttocks and pushed her towards the ensuite bathroom.

Jennifer slipped into a satin robe and padded over to the bedroom door and opened it a crack.

"The counting house in Balwyn," Peter looked discretely away as he spoke.

Not that Jennifer cared. Peter Small was as gay as a Boy Scout jamboree.

"How much?" Jennifer asked.

"The Bratok for the southwest, Pavel Ivanoff, isn't sure yet. He's calling together his lieutenants to get some idea how much cash was delivered to the counting house but he thinks its north of ten million," Peter sniffed.

"Law enforcement?" Jennifer asked.

"All over it I'm afraid Ma'am," Peter sniffed.

Jennifer thought briefly about the situation and then smiled wickedly.

"Have the jet prepared. Give me fifteen minutes and then get Ivanoff on the secure line in my office. This is something I need to take care of myself," Jennifer said.

"Indeed Ma'am; I thought so. I took the liberty of ordering the jet fuelled and lodging a flight plan to Balwyn Texas," Peter said in his clipped British accent.

"What is it?" Katerina asked when Jennifer joined her in the waterfall shower.

"One of my counting houses got hit. Don't get your nose out of joint but this is something I need to take care of myself and I need you here to keep everything else running smoothly," Jennifer pulled Katerina into her embrace and kissed her.

"I'm not like you Jennifer. I'm not trained in that part of the business but should a Pakhan really be out in the field doing that kind of work? What about the Bratok? Isn't that what they get paid for?" Katerina stroked Jennifer's back.

Katerina was as tall and lithe as her mother and towered over Jennifer. Katerina had to lower her face to kiss Jennifer. But Jennifer Jones' petite stature had caused many a man to underestimate her lethality and most of those men were dead.

The boss and her Girl Friday took a minute to kiss and cuddle under the shower. An attentive observer would have noticed that they both had matching scorpion tattoos just above their left ankles.

Jennifer was dressed in her Dior short-skirted navy power-suit with a white silk blouse and Louboutin heels and sat behind the modern steel and glass desk she had had installed to replace the ancient wooden relic that her predecessor was so fond of. She leaned back in her modern office chair with the phone to her ear and listened to Pavel Ivanoff trying to justify to her why her counting house had been hit.

She assured him that all would be made well because she was on her way to Balwyn Texas to take care of the matter herself and he was to join her there. Peter had booked two suites at the Balwyn Hilton and she would see Pavel there in a few hours.

Jennifer kept herself busy during the flight attending to other business matters and talking and texting Katerina who, although she had only been Jennifer's PA for two years, had everything under control. Katerina was a quick learner and knew that even though she was Jennifer's lover as well as her Girl Friday, if her performance wasn't up to standard, she would soon be replaced.

*****

Penelope Bishop arrived at Supergirls just after dawn. She parked her BMW across the road from the club and alighted and saw her partners Steve Edwards and Silvia Bickle standing just inside the crime scene tape drinking coffee and chatting.

The Balwyn PD Special Task Force was odd mixture of police professionals put together by the Chief of Detectives Gary Rasmussen.

Sargent Silvia Bickle was forty two, slim but powerful and was wearing her signature dark-grey pantsuit, dazzling white blouse and polished black low heels. Her makeup was perfect and complemented her flawless caramel complexion; loose black curls cascaded to her shoulders. A native Texan, Silvia was a proud African American lesbian and had been Penelope's partner and best friend for many years.

Steve Edwards was the newest member of the Task Force. In his mid-thirties, he was tall, handsome and laconic; comfortable in his handsomeness and quite the flirt. He was married to Balwyn's famous drag queen Felicity Goodnite whose legal name was Felicity Benson. Felicity became famous by appearing on RuPaul's Drag Race. She didn't win but she gained a cult following internationally and people made the journey to Balwyn just to see her perform at her club Ride em' Cowgirl.

As well as being a drag performer Felicity was transgender and she and Steve were very much in love and trusted each other but for convenience had agreed to an open relationship whenever Felicity was on the road performing; the caveat being that Steve was not to fuck any of the queens at Ride em' Cowgirl nor Jill Graham, the new manager of the club. Jill was one of Felicity's best friends and a trusted employee but Jill and Steve had a chemistry that was far more than just the ribald banter they engaged in whenever Steve was at the club.

Penelope was wearing her usual charcoal skirt-suit with a crisp white blouse and high heels, heavy makeup and flesh-toned sheer pantyhose. Her weight had fluctuated over the years and she had battled with the booze on and off but she had been sober for a few years. She was far from skinny but she carried her weight well and was mostly lean except for her bosom and buttocks, both of which had had work done on them over the years. She wore her hair down and despite being forty four years of age she still turned heads with her long legs, blonde hair and big green eyes.

Gary Rasmussen and Penelope Bishop went way back. He had handpicked Penelope to lead his Task Force over the objections of other senior police officials; she was still not popular with some of the hierarchy.

Penelope had history and came with considerable baggage. Her first year on the force she was a whistle-blower who had found the men who had killed her father and brought down the Chief of Police and several highly placed political figures. She had become a brilliant detective and solved several cases, often putting herself in extreme danger to do so. She had worn out two marriages and was currently living with Jaylene Foster, a fashion designer who made a good living, initially designing and constructing gowns and costumes for Felicity Benson and the queens at Ride em' Cowgirl. Then Jaylene had become a popular designer throughout the drag scene and made gowns for many of the famous queens.

Gary Rasmussen was close to retirement and Penelope was the hot favourite to replace him.

Gary pulled up behind Penelope in his old Crown Vic which he steadfastly refused to trade in on a newer model car. Gary came from an age when cops smoked twenty Tareytons a day, drank their whisky neat, wore cheap suits off the rack and wore comfortable shoes.

He put a cigarette in his mouth and offered the pack to Penelope knowing that she had been trying to quit for years. Penelope shook her head and led Gary across the street to join the other detectives. Gary checked out Penelope's long legs appreciatively because he was the kind of man who believed that it didn't matter where you got your appetite so long as you ate at home. Besides, as beautiful as Penelope was, she was still packing a pistol in her panties and that was not Gary's thing although he did sometimes wonder what Penelope and Jaylene got up to in bed. Did they toss a coin to see who would be on top?

"What have we got?" Penelope waved hello to Silvia and Steve.

"Looks like murder in commission of a robbery," Silvia said, opening her note book.

"Sandy Spiffle, the manager. Thirty-five year old white male, deceased. Gunshot wounds to the head. Two other unidentified deceased males with multiple gunshot wounds and a shitload of shell casings and bullet holes in the walls and ceiling," Silvia referred to her notes.

"Can you better define 'shitload'?" Gary asked.

"Two of the deceased males were carrying pistols which had been fired. The shell casings and bullet holes came from a number of different weapons but the crime scene guys will be able to give us a better appraisal," Silvia replied.

"It's like the gunfight at the O.K. Corral took place up there," Steve added.

"The O.K. Corral is in Tombstone Arizona. This is Balwyn Texas Steve," Penelope didn't like it when Steve was flippant on the job.

"Yeah and the guys killed at the O.K. Corral didn't look like extras from The Boondock Saints," Silvia quipped.

"What does that mean?" Penelope asked but she felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

"See for yourself," Silvia shrugged and led the entourage to the door leading into Supergirls.

Just inside the door was a counter usually manned by the doorman-cum-bouncer and the crime scene unit found it a convenient place to set up. Penelope signed into the crime scene and put on the Tyvek boots and surgical gloves provided by Alice Leasingham, a member of the CSI team who was seconded to the Task Force when needed.

Alice was brilliant at her job and she abhorred those CSI TV shows where glamorous men and women wore Armani suits, sported coiffed hair and had large calibre weapons slung on their hips, never put on PPE at crime scenes and solved crimes in thirty minutes by using zillion dollar futuristic machines in which they dropped a single hair sample.

Up until a while ago Alice seldom wore makeup. She used to be a curly faired, freckle-faced young woman whose normal attire was skinny-jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt and Nikes. She went unarmed when processing crime scenes and although she had a police issued weapon she seldom wore it.

All that changed during a case where Alice met a Ukrainian civilian named Katya Kuznetsova who was assisting the Task Force. Alice was immediately attracted to Katya and developed a huge girl crush. It wasn't sexual, Alice just loved the way Katya looked, spoke and presented herself confidently and since then Alice had mimicked Katya's style.

Alice's dyed jet black hair was cut into a severe bob which accentuated her hazel eyes. She was wearing a tailored burgundy business suit cut to accentuate her small breasts and long legs which were clad in gossamer-sheer nylons. Her face was pale and freckled and she wore heavy eye makeup and blood-red lipstick. Her high heels were locked away in the crime scene processing van and she wore Tyvek booties over slip-on flats.

"They came in through the front door?" Penelope pointed at the double doors at the club entrance.

"They used a snap gun to pick the doorlock. One of the girls had come down earlier and unbolted the barrel-bolts at the top and bottom of the door. There's a No Cash Held On Premises After Hours sign on the door and security isn't that tight so it might be true. There is no alarm system," Alice answered.

Penelope pointed at the security cameras and raised an eyebrow.

"That's how we know one of the girls unbolted the door. There are cameras everywhere as you might expect in an establishment like this but interestingly enough the cameras in the room where most of the action took place are turned off," Alice continued.

"It's amateurish to leave behind video footage of the crime," Steve interjected.

"The two male perpetrators wore masks and gloves. You should have no problems identifying the two female accomplices. The two unidentified deceased males are a different story," Alice gave Penelope a knowing look and the cold shiver reappeared.

"I'll have video from the surveillance cameras copied and brought to the Task Force office and we can go through it in detail. Myself and Bob just gave it a cursory onceover to make sure it was useable," Alice led the three detectives through the club, past the VIP booths to the stairs leading up to the bedrooms.

"If you remember Penelope, Dan and Katya came here to interview two prostitutes during the Alexi Reznik case," Alice said over her shoulder as she led the way.

Silvia and Steve gave each other exasperated looks. They were away in Austin when the Reznik case took place and everybody that worked on the case spoke about it in awe and wonder. One again Penelope Bishop had walked away the heroine.

Penelope said nothing and the entourage stopped at the top of the stairs.

Plastic tiles had been laid out down the corridor to preserve evidence. Sandy Spiffle lay crumpled up on the carpeted floor and beside him a thin man in a dark suit lay dead, a pistol still clutched in his hand. The tattoos on the pale skin of his neck, wrists and hands could be seen even from this distance. There were multiple shell casings on the floor and bullet holes in the wall.

"Sandy Spiffle, the manager, was shot twice in the head at close range and the suit beside him was shot three times in the chest," Alice said as they approached the last door on the left carefully stepping on the tiles around the bodies.

"We found this on Sandy Spiffle's body," Alice held up an evidence bag with twenty thousand dollars in it.

They all squeezed into the small room where they found Bob Tanner, Balwyn PD's CSI team leader and Brendan Scott the medical examiner hard at work.

"Ah... my three favourite ladies and the illustrious Steve Edwards," Bob Tanner smiled up at them as they entered and indicated the tiles that the CSIs had placed on the stained carpet to prevent cross-contamination.

Only Bob could get away with such a condescending comment because the women knew he was genuine and Steve respected him. They worked closely with him and considered Bob a colleague and a friend.

"What have we got here Bob?" Penelope stepped on the tiles and studied the room.

A big man in a dark suit lay on his back, a Smith and Wesson.357 revolver lay close to his outstretched hand. He had been shot several times in the body and twice in the head. This man was also heavily tattooed. The Medical Examiner Brendan Scott was leaning over the body.

Beside the body was a low table on which there were bottles of vodka, an ice bucket, drinking glasses and a small mirror with cocaine residue on it.

"If you check out the door you'll see that it's steel reinforced and has been fitted with heavy duty locks. Not what you would expect on your basic short-time knocking shop. There is evidence of drinking, drug use and a lot of sex but I don't think that's why the men were here," Bob postulated.

"You can check out the video later but a preliminary fast-forward viewing shows several men arriving with suitcases which were handed over to Sandy Spiffle who brought them up here to this room. One of the girls went downstairs to get more booze and ice and during that sojourn she unbolted the front door."

"Two men in dark clothing entered the club, made their way upstairs and confronted Sandy and he fought one of the intruders until the other man came over and shot him. One of the men in the room opened the door to investigate and... well you can see what happened to him yourselves."

"We don't know what happened inside the room here but a lot of rounds were fired by the intruders and the tattooed guys. What we do know is that the two intruders left with the two girls carrying the suitcases, which looked heavy. So the intruders came for whatever was in those suitcases and the two girls were accomplices," Bob ended his summary.

"You think the intruders didn't take the surveillance video because of all the gunshots?" Silvia asked.

"The two intruders had suppressors fitted to their weapons. It looks to me like things didn't go to plan and all the wild shooting and loud gunfire scared them. I don't know how the girls weren't hit in the crossfire," Bob licked his lip.

"So the big question is: what was in the suitcases?" Steve espoused.

"Drugs and/or money is everybody's favourite," Silvia replied.

"No... the big question is why here? Why Balwyn? Why this club?" Penelope chewed a nail.

"Bob, I'd like Alice seconded to the Task Force for this one. Silvia, Steve, start looking around, see if you can find anything to help us identify the girls; employment receipts etcetera. I'm going down to talk to Gary," Penelope tiptoed on the crime scene tiles and made her way downstairs.

Gary was leaning against his Crown Vic smoking a Tareyton and sipping coffee which he'd had one of the uniformed officers get for him from a bodega down the street which had just opened to catch the early morning foot traffic. He handed Penelope a coffee and she took it and waggled her fingers at him and Gary handed over his smokes and lighter.

Penelope leaned her back on the car beside him and took a sip of coffee and then blew out a stream of smoke.

"Very stylish," Gary nodded to the Tyvek overshoes.

"Can't trundle through a crime scene wearing Jimmy Choo," Penelope took another drag of her cigarette.

"Tell me it's a simple fight over pussy and drugs. Sandy Spiffle was a lowlife but he's hardly a master criminal," Gary sighed.

"Sorry it's a lot more complicated than that. And two of those guys... they look like Russian mafia. It looks like a robbery went bad and if those guys are Russian mafia or Odessa mafia or whatever the fuck, I think we might need help," Penelope sucked on her Tareyton, leaving lipstick on the filter.

"I got the Staties to put checkpoints on the all the roads leading out of town. I don't know how long they will keep it up for us," Gary said.

"The last time we got involved with the Russians we took it up the ass. Do you think you can handle this case using our own resources? No FBI, no CPS?" Gary dropped his cigarette butt into the dregs of his coffee.

"I'll take it as far as I can using the Task Force and see if we can solve it or at least put a bow on it and hand it over to the Feds," Penelope finished her coffee and dropped her cigarette into the cup.

She handed her cup to Gary and started walking back to the crime scene.

She stopped and turned to Gary.

"We didn't take it up the ass Gary... I, did," Penelope called back to him and then walked back into Supergirls.

"I don't wanna know about your sex life," Gary called after her, laughing at his own joke.

"Fuck I'll be glad when I'm retired," he opened the door to the Crown Vic which screeched in protest.

Penelope and Alice took a copy of the Supergirls security video back to Police Plaza and Penelope began to write up her crime wall while Alice Leasingham spiced together the video footage from the cameras in chronological order. Steve and Silvia canvassed the neighbourhood as the various establishments began to open for the day. None of the business had been open when the crime took place but an Adult Shop across the street had a surveillance camera over the front door.

The camera only covered the doorway and the curb outside the shop but footage from it showed two masked men alighting from a Ford F-150 Raptor and returning sometime later with two women wearing micro-miniskirts and fuck-me heels hauling five suitcases. The tags weren't visible and there were no other distinguishing marks on the vehicle. The cassette tape had been used and reused about a thousand times and the imagery was fuzzy but Steve and Silvia took it anyway.

Around noon Alice plugged her laptop into the wall-mounted flat screen TV and put a USB into a port on the laptop.

The four of them sat in front of the TV, Alice with the laptop on her lap.

"Let's watch it all the way through. Keep your comments to the end and then we can go through it slow time," Penelope said.

They watched the spliced and edited video and each of them took contemporaneous notes as they watched.

"Silvia; you first," Penelope said.

"Go back to when the girl comes downstairs," Silvia said to Alice who rewound the video.

"Is she really doing what I think she's doing?" they all craned their necks at the screen.

On the screen Olena Svetlana walks over to the bar, leans over and pulls some sheets of paper towel off a roll behind the counter. She pulls her panties and pantyhose down her thighs and wipes her crotch and throws the paper towel in the trash and pulls up her underwear. Then she walks over to the front door, looks around, and unbolts the barrel-bolts at the top and bottom of the door. She goes back to the bar puts a bottle of vodka on a tray and fills an ice bucket with ice and then heads back to the staircase corridor.

"Well there was definitely some fuckin' goin' on in that room. She used half a roll of handtowels to wipe her cooch," Steve pointed out the bleeding obvious.

"Go back further. Let's see the deliveries," Penelope said.

Alice rewound the video and they watched the time stamp change as the five suitcases arrived one at a time over a three hour period. They never saw who delivered the suitcases, just Sandy opening the door and collecting the suitcases and bringing them inside.

"I wish we had audio," Penelope sighed.

"Ok. Let's see the cowboys," Steve said.

They watched Harlan and Pete Decker come through the door and the crime play out.

"Why didn't the girl leave the front door unlatched?" Steve asked when he watched Harlan Decker put the snap gun back in his go-bag.

"Maybe the girl was worried that Sandy might notice if he came downstairs. Maybe the perps wanted us to think they'd picked the lock but the barrel bolts had been accidently left unbolted. I'm not sure that the killings were planned. Why bother with masks if you intend to kill all the witnesses and take the security tape with you?" Silvia espoused.

"I think these guys are amateurs. Either way the job was poorly executed. That one guy nearly got shot by Sandy Spiffle because he forgot to take the safety off his weapon. They had suppressed weapons. Professionals would have taken down Sandy and the other two guys easily," Steve commented.

"Ok. I agree the job was planned reasonably well but poorly executed. Those guys obviously knew where and when the stuff was arriving. They had the right tools and weapons and the girl working inside for them but the execution was piss poor," Penelope agreed.

"But what exactly was the stuff and why was it at Supergirls in that room with those gangsters?" Penelope posed.

"I say its cash. You don't get large quantities of drugs delivered like that to two guys in a brothel. Large drug shipments arrive at stash houses where the drugs can be stepped on, packaged and sent out to the dealers. I don't think those guys were taking delivery of drugs. There was no evidence of drugs in the room other than the recreational cocaine on the table," Silvia proposed.

"I agree. I think its cash. The door was reinforced and fitted with heavy duty locks. If the girls weren't there I bet the only reason that door would be opened would be to take the cash deliveries. Sandy Spiffle was supposed to be on guard outside the door. I bet those girls weren't supposed to be in that room, nor the booze nor the coke," Penelope said.

"The twenty-K found on Spiffle. Maybe he was providing entertainment to the gangsters while they were working?" Steve added.

"You think it was a counting house?" Silvia realised that Penelope was onto something.

"Yes but whose?" Penelope tapped a pen against her teeth.

"Supergirls used to be owned by a subsidiary of Belarus International Enterprises before Alexi Reznik was killed. Who owns it now?" Penelope began writing on her crime wall.

"Ok. Alice find out who owns Supergirls and collate all the forensics from the crime scene as they are processed," Penelope began to issue tasks.

"Steve and Silvia; find out who the girls are, particularly the one concerned with her vaginal hygiene. I'll see what I can find out about the vehicle they used. Let's go team; asses and elbows please," Penelope clapped her hands and then began scribbling on her crime wall.

*****

As the Raptor sped out of the free zone Pete Decker let go another rebel yell, scaring the shit out of Alina Kunis who was sitting beside him on the back seat.

"Can that shit!" his brother growled, concentrating on driving.

Harlan forced himself to slow down to the speed limit as he drove through Balwyn and got onto Route 377 and headed north.

Pete put his gun on the seat and unzipped his jacket and Alina helped him take it off. The front of his jacket was blood-soaked and he dropped it on the floor and pulled up his t-shirt and turned on the dome light.

"It's just a graze bro but I need fixin' up," Pete winced as he touched the furrowed flesh on his hard belly.

Pete was psychopathic but so far had never killed anyone except when he played video games. He had committed armed robbery before but had never pulled the trigger; as much as he had wanted to. The gunfight at Supergirls, putting real bullets into real people, had excited him. He had a boner in his jeans that was downright painful.

Pete ripped a swatch of fabric from his t-shirt.

"Press this against my belly," he instructed Alina and she did as she was told and pressed the bloody rag against the wound.

Pete turned off the dome light and put his hand over the wound and moved Alina's hand down to his crotch and gave Alina a maniacal grin. Alina dutifully squeezed Pete's cock through his jeans.

"There's a Buc-ee's down the road away. We'll stop and get some medical supplies," Harlan half-turned and smiled at his brother.

Harlan knew that Pete's wound was really his own fault but Pete was still his brother.

"You two stay in the car. Olena and I will get supplies," Harlan said as they turned into the service station and pulled into a parking space well away from the other vehicles at the Buc-ee's.

As soon as Olena and Harlan got out of the car Pete unzipped his flies and smiled at Alina.

"You know what to do girl; aint it what you do for living?" Pete put a hand on Alina's neck and pushed.

Alina knew four things: she was in the company of killers, Harlan and Olena were not her friends, these psychos had a lot of money, she wanted some.

Alina took Pete's hand away from her neck and smiled at him.

"No need to push. I know what you need Pete," she leaned in and kissed him and took his cock in her hand.

She stroked him slowly but firmly while her tongue flittered in Pete's mouth, listening to the low growl as his lust inflamed. Pete raked at her tube-top and freed Alina's small firm breasts from her bra. He pinched her nipples and kissed her harder.

None of this was having any effect on Alina but she was used to men pawing at her. She decided to get it over with and wrested her face away from Pete's and dutifully lowered her face into his lap. She could smell the blood from his wound and some of it had found its way to his cock.

She licked it off and swallowed, grimacing at the taste and then she went to work.

Pete was so horny that Alina only sucked on his wang for a minute or two before he shot his load in her mouth. Pete gave his signature rebel yell as he ejaculated two-days' worth of semen into Alina's mouth, her lips and tongue driving him wild.

Pete wasn't a bad looking guy and he was fit and muscular but his stupidity and crassness scared away the women he approached with romance on his mind. Sex for him was almost exclusively with hookers or the type of drunken pig-ugly women he found in seedy bars who would lie down in the back of his flatbed once he'd plied them with enough Lone Star or well liquor.

Alina might be a prostitute but she wasn't hooking right now. She was pretty and she was hot and he loved her accent. Maybe she really did like him?

Pete pondered this as he zipped up and put the bloody cloth back over his stomach wound while Alina rolled down her window and spat his jizz onto the blacktop the put her tits away and pulled down her tube-top.

Olena could just make out the pickup through the windows of the Buc-ee's and she grinned to herself as she watched Alina's head bob up and down in the back seat of the Raptor. She knew a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get along in this world but she still preferred the idea of splitting the money three ways instead of four.

Harlan and Olena returned to the pickup with a small bottle of antiseptic, a package of cotton balls, a package of adhesive surgical bandage, a twelve pack of beer and sundry snacks, none of which would actually be considered as sustenance by the FDA.

Pete took a beer and sucked on it while Alina cleaned his wound with the antiseptic and cotton balls and put on a dressing. She did a pretty good job and Pete only winced a little when she cleaned the wound. Alina was turning out to be useful and Pete was getting hard again wondering what she had hidden under that little pleated skirt.

Harlan got back on the 377 and Olena put her head on his shoulder and held his beer so could take sips when there was no passing traffic. The last thing they wanted was traffic stop.

*****

Steve and Silvia contacted Robert Sangster, the assistant manager of Supergirls and told him to come down to the club to be interviewed. Robert was a rat-faced little man with a permanent scowl who chain-smoked roll-your-own cigarettes. The girls at Supergirls despised him because he was a pervert who not only insisted on freebies, but they suspected him of stealing undergarments from their dressing room.

If a search warrant had been executed on his residence, an extensive collection of panties, bras and nylons would be found in a box next to his desktop computer, most of them crusty with his dried semen.

Robert knew very little about the managerial side of Supergirls, his main roles were keeping track of stock, ordering booze, overseeing the small greasy kitchen and supervising the cleaning staff. Sandy Spiffle did most of the work that required brains and tried his best to keep Sangster away from the girls and under no circumstances allowed him to deal with the Russian mobsters who actually owned the place.

It took Robert the best part of an hour to find employment records for the strippers and pole dancers and he laid them out on the bar. They found the employment records for Olena Svetlana, Alina Kunis but under false names. The grainy photographs stapled to the records matched the faces of the girls in the surveillance video.

Steve and Silvia soon realised that the documents weren't worth shit because most of the girls were illegals and the details in the documents were fake. Robert handed over a pile of paperwork from Steve's desk but he claimed he didn't know who actually owned the club.

They stood just outside the club, Sangster with a foul-smelling rollup cigarette dangling from his lips, when the body bags were carried out. Sangster had been belligerent and deliberately evasive during questioning and he kept glaring openly at Silvia's breasts and had made a couple of racial slurs.

"How long 'til I can reopen the club?" Sangster glanced at the body bags on the trolleys and spat a loogey into the gutter.

He had visions of himself taking on the manager role, fucking the girls whenever he wanted and skimming the profits.

Steve looked around and saw that the mortuary guys were busy loading the corpses into their van and the uniform cops were mostly studying their phones; bored with keeping the looky-loos away from the crime scene.

He grabbed Sangster by the ear and lifted him by it. Sangster spat out his cigarette and began to whine and Steve pushed against brick wall and punched hard and fast in the gut. Sangster would have fallen to the ground if Steve hadn't held him up.

"I think I might just take you down town and put you in the can while we sort out these documents. I figure it will take the best part of two days, don't you Silvia?" Steve grinned at Silvia and then glared at Robert Sangster.

"I don't know nuthin'. Why don't you go down to the pussy palace and ask the girls there," Sangster whined.

"What and where is this pussy palace?" Silvia asked, closing in on Sangster from the other side.

Sangster flinched expecting another blow but when nothing happened he gave up what he knew.

"The Russians bring the girls in from overseas and at first they have to live in a big house all together with some witch-bitch running the place. She keeps their passports and makes sure they behave. They're well cared for and after they've been in country a while and know the ropes they're allowed to move out but they have to keep working for the Russians. Some of them move around and some of them stay," Sangster opened up.

"This one hangs around with some wanna-be biker and the other one lives in the pussy palace I guess, she aint been here long," Sangster tapped the photographs of Olena Svetlana and Alina Kunis with a filthy fingernail.

"Olena and Alina something. Who the fuck knows their last names and who the fuck cares," he spat another loogey, feeling a little confident now.

"Thank you for your cooperation. We'll be in touch," Steve gave Sangster a farewell punch in the belly and let him slide down the wall.

"Douchebag," he said as he went back inside the club to find the address of the pussy palace.

Author's Note: As an internationally tolerated transvestite purveyor of pornographic literature I would appreciate your feedback and comments on my work if you have the time.

To be continued