Models and Super Spies Ch. 04

This is the fourth chapter of a 13-chapter novella. All has been written and will be released over the next month. For a greater appreciation of the story as a whole, I'd suggest reading the previous chapter. Many thanks to HallidayTee for helping me put this story together, and please make sure to vote!

Models and Super Spies

Chapter 4: Gabrielle Dubois

"Rise and shine, Tommy dear."

When Trey opened his eyes, he had two questions: where was he, and why was the sun so bright? "Alicia?" he asked. The brightness was translating itself into pain in a very efficient manner.

"Not today. Get up, Trey. We need to get on the road."

The hues of orange and yellow resolved themselves into a smiling Liz. Her red hair was wet and she smelled fresh. "You have time for a shower if you want, but we need to be out of here in 30."

He vaguely remembered last night. His mouth tasted foul, vaguely of tequila, mostly of morning breath. His body felt even worse, although a shower would help.

"What time is it?"

"One o'clock. Which means you've gotta move!"

In the shower, memories of what he'd done began to return to him like partiers straggling in after a long evening. The dancing. The kisses. Liz's sister's mouth as it slid along his girth.

He emerged from the bathroom, more tattered than he'd gone in. He felt sick to his stomach, and when a chipper Kathy offered coffee, he nearly lost it.

She was still in her night clothes – a delicious little pair of boy-shorts and a cami top that had tempted him the night before – and was sitting on the couch with her long legs pulled up against her full chest.

"I can't believe you watch this reality garbage," Liz told her little sister as she fixed herself a cup of coffee. Trey shook his head when she held the pot in his direction.

"This is quality TV!" the younger brunette argued. Trey rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on what they were watching. The couch looked so tempting, if it weren't for Kathy's tight little body. "It's so much better than America's Next Top Model…"

"It's the same thing, only with a French model instead of an American one!"

Kathy ignored her sister, thrusting her nose in the air as she went back to the 50-inch plasma.

Apparently there was a marathon of the last season of Supermodel. Alicia watched it on occasion, so inevitably Trey had caught a few episodes. It really was a bit smarter than Tyra Banks' show, although only because Gabrielle Dubois was less of a diva than her counterpart. Otherwise, it was your standard reality show: 12 girls picked at the beginning; each week one is eliminated after a couple challenges that involved some silly bit of modeling; a lot of camera time devoted to the inter-personal relationships between the girls.

The famous French model was the host and one of the judges, although she was pretty hands-off other than introducing each episode and wrapping it up.

As Trey leaned against the island counter in the sisters' sun-filled Hawaiian beach house, watching reality television off a screen that wouldn't fit inside his living room, the surrealism of the moment struck him like a flash of lightning. What was he doing here? Was this really what he wanted? Was this the life of a spy?

Kathy did a good job pretending that nothing had happened the night before, although he'd catch her grey eyes sweep down between his legs when she thought he wasn't looking.

Thankfully, Liz moved things along, getting them out of there before the episode of Supermodel had run its course. "I had fun," Kathy whispered as she hugged him, making sure to push her full breasts against him. Despite his guilt, he couldn't help it when his cock stirred to life. Leaning close enough that her sister couldn't hear, she added, "Next time, I won't let you get away."

As they drove out, Liz asked, "What did she say?" Trey just shook his head, feeling his face fill with color.

On the road in one of Kathy's spare cars – a new Mustang convertible with the top down – Trey finally began to feel like his former self. "I don't think I'm cut out for this work," he said after a long period of silence. The redhead turned to him, her expression blank behind her over-sized sunglasses.

"What, my sister didn't try to jump your bones when you went outside last night?" Busted. Trey felt his stomach drop out. She knew… "Yeah, I saw. Hope you had fun last night." Was that sarcasm? Was that jealousy?

"N—nothing happened."

She barked a laugh. "If getting your cock sucked then sticking it into her is nothing, I'd love to hear what you think is something." Now she was teasing him.

"We didn't fuck…" was his only weak defence.

Liz shrugged. "Point is, she fell for our ruse. You passed, 'Tommy Geffin.'"

Trey sighed. "I guess that's the point. I don't think I'm cut out for this…" Could his wife ever forgive him for what he'd done? Would he ever be able to tell her? Just the thought brought a blush so hard to his face it felt like he'd dunked it in boiling water.

Liz watched him out of the corner of her eyes as she drove, finally saying, "You made your choice before we got on that plane. There's no turning back now."

Eventually, both receded back into their private thoughts.

***

It was well into the afternoon and Alicia still hadn't talked to her husband, other than that quick text the night before. He hadn't called her and she hadn't worked up the nerve to call him back. Her thoughts were a maelstrom of confusion, and she was still trying to resolve what was at the center: Alex or Vincent, Trey… herself?

She spent most of the day running chores and working out. An hour in the tanning booth, three at the gym, another half hour swimming. Anything but doing nothing.

Her phone rang at around 4 and for a moment, she froze up. Was it Alex? Could she have that conversation?

The number was blocked. "Hello?"

"Ah, so good to hear you again." Alexander Mishin's smooth, lightly accented voice greeted her on the other line.

"Alex!"

"Expecting someone else?"

"No, not really. How can I help you?"

"Well, my dear, actually, we can help each other. You see, I have a certain visitor in town that would love to meet you. Gabrielle and I are going to the Green Fairy Lounge tonight, say around 11:30…"

"Who?" Things were coming too fast. This conversation felt like she was having it in a dream.

Alex laughed, half-covering his mouth piece as he said, "She asked who you are, honey. Here, you give it a try."

There was some fumbling and a new voice came on. A female voice, heavy with a French accent. "Alicia, oui? Alex has talked so much about you. I am only in town for the night, but I would love for you to join us."

Okay, now she knew who "Gabrielle" was. There was no mistaking the voice of Supermodel. It was unmistakable.

"Um… sure!" Alicia said, hesitantly excited. She couldn't very well say no to the woman she's looked up to for the past couple of years. Gabrielle's astonishing success was what all models aspired to. There was nothing sleazy about it, no spreads in Maxim or even Victoria's Secret. The woman was a classic star, the likes of which the fashion world hadn't seen in a while.

"Magnifique. Alex will have a car sent tonight!"

She'd never heard of the Green Fairy Lounge, but anywhere that Alexander Mishin and Gabrielle Dubois were going to hang out at must be both exclusive and discreet. "What should I wear?"

"You are a sexy woman, Alicia." The woman pronounced her name "Alisia." The blonde liked it. "So dress in something sexy. I look forward to meeting you in person!"

Alex came back on and gave her some directions on what the car would look like and how to get into the club. She half-listened, glancing at herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that reflected back at her. She was still in her tight work out clothes, sweaty and exhausted. Her mind was already racing through her wardrobe. Nothing would do. She'd have to go out shopping once again.

"I'll see you tonight."

***

The training facility was actually located on an island a few miles off the coast. Liz garaged the Mustang in the boathouse and they climbed into a speedboat for the last leg of the journey. It was nearing dark when they finally arrived.

"I thought it was just you and me?" Trey asked. A single light illuminated the otherwise dark set of low buildings, as though accidentally left on. Another boat was moored to the dock as they tied up.

"Me too," Liz said, producing a sidearm from God-knows-where. "Follow closely, but stay quiet."

She moved with deadly efficiency, quick and soundless. Was this the same woman who'd been falling down drunk just the night before? They crouch-ran along the path leading up to the side building, where the light was coming from. They went in through the back, only the muffled click of the lock ringing out as they infiltrated in.

Trey tried to keep up, but for him, moving silently was a bit more difficult. Once they were inside, the redhead held her fingers to her lips and signaled for him to stay there. Without waiting for a confirmation, she slipped around the corner.

The thirty seconds that passed felt like hours. Trey's heart thumped loudly in his ears and his heart reacted to every little sound. He kept waiting for gunshots, or the sounds of struggle. He was psyching himself up to run in there when Liz shouted out, not in pain or fear, but annoyance.

"Jesus Christ, Vincent! I nearly fucking shot you!"

Trey waited a moment longer, still confused, when Liz called him in. As his nerves began to settle, his surroundings began to sink in. They were in what must have been the living quarters of the place, judging from the way it was decorated. The room that he entered was an office, with a wide window that looked out over the ocean. The sun was a sliver of orange on the dark horizon.

Sitting in a high-backed chair behind the desk was Vincent Silva, dressed garishly in a pair of khaki shorts and a bright Hawaiian shirt. "Good to see you, too, partner."

"Don't," she stopped him. "I assume you two have met?"

"Trey," Vincent nodded. "How is this little one treating you? Hope she's not being easy on you just because you're new."

Trey shook his head. "I can assure you, she hasn't."

After the last 24 surreal hours, it was almost comforting to see Vincent's familiar face. Like picking an old friend out of a crowd of strangers. Yet, Vincent wasn't his friend. He realized that as soon as he asked about his wife.

The man nodded, although gone were the friendly formalities. He tapped a red dossier on his desk. "Funny you should ask. Something's come up…" He paused for dramatic effect, looking from Liz to Trey. "It's top secret. Only a few people know what's in it. This is the real deal, not some training mission."

Liz, who'd taken a precarious seat on the edge of her chair, objected. "I don't think Trey's ready for—"

"It's an easy one," Vincent said, cutting her off. "Honestly, he can't screw it up, and if he does, well… you'll be there to bail him out." As he took a seat behind the desk, Trey watched as Liz's mouth tightened. She seemed to hold her tongue, though, sitting down across the desk in what would be a visitor's chair. "Besides, this could possibly be an alternative to using his wife in the field. How's that for motivation?"

His smile at Trey didn't touch his eyes. That was a detail the analyst-turned-agent didn't miss.

The pictures on the very orderly desk were of family members and what must have been friends. One of those pictures was of Kathy. Suddenly, Vincent's position behind what must have been Liz's desk took on a new meaning.

"So what is this easy assignment?" The sassy girl didn't even attempt to conceal her annoyance.

Vincent flipped open the folder and drew out a profile, much like the one Trey had seen on himself. He also reached for a remote and clipped on the monitor against the wall. The wood Venetian blinds closed automatically, locking out the night and any prying eyes.

The picture on the monitor matched that on the file in front of them. Liz took the papers into her hand, pouring over them as Vincent gave his brief.

"This is Erin Small," he began, referring to a snapshot of an attractive female wearing a pair of dark, designer sunglasses as she stepped out of a café. The trendy cut of her strawberry blonde hair and the tailored look of her suit suggested that this 35-year-old was successful – or at least wealthy.

"She was a supermodel in her younger years—"

"35's not young anymore?" Liz interrupted.

"Relax, Ms. Agitated. No, in the modeling world, 35 is not young. Anyway, she now runs some of the most trendy clubs in LA. Turns out, the former model had a real knack for business… of all kinds. Ms. Small also madams the most elite escort service on the West Coast." The next slide depicted the slender woman in a group of very attractive young women. "If you've got money and, more importantly, connections, she's the woman to talk to."

"What, we're going after a prostitution ring?" Liz asked, a bit incredulously. "I thought we were here to fight arms dealing and other matters of national security." Trey barely heard it. He was thinking of his wife, of Mishin Inc.

"I'm getting there," Vincent said, handling her more patiently than she handled him. The next slide was another distance shot of Erin Small, this time having lunch with a pale blonde that looked somewhat familiar. "We've been watching her for a few months now on a tip that she has some connection with Alexander Mishin. Just last week, we had our confirmation. This was taken three days ago. The other female in the picture is Sarah Ellis, currently under contract with Mishin Inc. The man is Mishin, of course."

That confirmed it. Trey shivered as he thought of his wife getting mixed up with that man.

"And you think Sarah Ellis's working double duty for Erin Small?"

"Not quite. We think Erin Small is working for Mishin. The circumstantial evidence supports it, but we need hard proof for the connection."

"And that's where we come in?" Trey asked, finding a voice at last.

Vincent nodded. The next still was a shot of the young model, Sarah Ellis, presumably shopping along Rodeo Drive. "We can't confirm how many of Mishin's models have been recruited for Ms. Small, but we know that at least Ms. Ellis is among them."

"She's our mission objective?"

Vincent hesitated. "Well, yes and no. A stranger can't just walk up to Ms. Small and order up a Maxim model to fuck. It's too obvious. No, you need to prove yourself as a wealthy couple looking for fun, whatever the cost. Once you get your 'in,' the next step is Sarah."

"I don't get it…" Trey said. Was Vincent implying—

"It's easy. You go out with a regular call girl first, then you can get to Sarah."

Trey's jaw dropped. "I can't—"

Vincent waved his protests away. "Relax. We have a plant inside. She hasn't been able to get us any good information, but at least she can keep your wedding vows intact." He could swear he detected a bit of sarcasm in his voice. "Just ask for a blonde by the name of Kelly."

"And me?" Liz asked.

"You'll monitor from the next room."

Her lips tightened. "Vincent, you can't really think that he's ready? He's not even had a week of training and—"

"I'm ready," Trey said bluntly. Anything he could do to get his wife out of there would be worth it. Even…

Vincent smiled happily at Trey's response. "Liz, I know your reservations, but believe me, this is something guys were borne to do. And he won't have to do anything but some idyll chit-chat with a pretty young woman. How hard could that be?"

"I still don't think it's a good idea."

"Well, we could have someone sent to your room if you want a little action. Kelly swings both ways, I think."

Liz rolled her eyes. "So once we establish that Trey's a good, honest paying customer, then what?"

"Then you'll get your next set of instructions."

Trey could feel the battle of wills between these two. For a moment, he thought that Liz was going to explode. But then it passed and she pushed back in her chair. "Let me show Trey around the grounds. There's still a little time for exercises before dinner."

Trey groaned. She was in a mood, and he had a feeling that her "exercises" weren't going to be a few jumping jacks and push ups.

***

The black Lincoln with its dark tinted windows pulled up in front of her apartment building. Alicia laughed a little at her own nervousness, like she was in some spy movie or something. She imagined herself the victim in some intricate web of intrigue and espionage.

"Don't be so blonde," she said aloud, rolling her eyes as she slipped into the cab of the car. The driver wore a little black cap and dark suit. He gave her a curt smile and pulled out into traffic.

The Green Fairy Lounge was in a much seedier part of town than she'd expected. It was unmarked, nothing more than a door squeezed in between a couple of office buildings. Not even a bouncer. "You sure this is it?"

"I dropped them off here earlier," the driver responded, shrugging. "They went in."

She got out of the car and glanced up and down the street. There was very little activity happening under the lamp lights, and what was happening just outside, she didn't care to think much about. The cars that rolled slowly up and down the cracked pavement were large and old, a few cabs mixed in.

"Well, this is an adventure," she laughed to herself, once again fantasizing about that "spy movie" she was starring in. I wonder if there's some kind of password to get in.

No password. Just a firm tug at the grimy looking door. A placard next to it read simply:

Welcome to the

Green Fairy Lounge

Dress code enforced

Immediately inside was a curtained-off reception area where a bored looking woman sat in a booth. She looked up when Alicia came in, giving the young model a once over. "$100 please."

"Excuse me?"

"Cover's $100."

"Um… I'm Alicia Kennedy? I think I'm expected." The girl just stared at her blankly. "Um… Alexander Mishin's friend?"

Now a reaction. A slow nod, followed by a playful little smile. "Ah, his friend… Of course, go right on in." Alicia didn't like the way she snickered. She very nearly turned around and left. But then, what kind of woman of mystery would she be?

The curtains were heavy, dark red velvet. The kind that sound died on. Still, as she pushed between them, she was surprised at the loud crash of conversation that assaulted her.

She didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this low-ceilinged, smoke-filled dive bar. Was the dress code bit a joke? No, she answered her own question, looking around and seeing everything dressed to the nines. Everywhere she looked, she saw designer clothing: Prada, Gucci, Louis Vutton (the real stuff, not the knock-offs). Her dress had set her back $300 and she felt like she might as well walked into the room wearing her sweats.

"Are you Alicia?" a beautiful, older woman with strawberry blonde hair asked as she gawked like a tourist fresh off the bus.

"Yes?"

The woman nodded. "I'm Erin Small. Welcome to the Green Fairy. Please, follow me. Alex has been expecting you."

The lounge was long and narrow, filled with nooks and alcoves armed with booths and curtains – many of which were closed. And everyone, it seemed, had a glass of milky green liquid in front of them, served in clear latte cups.

Alicia almost asked, then decided that doing so was uncool. She'd never felt so fish-out-of-water than now. Nothing in high school had prepared her for this level of high society snootery.