Red Violet

Slithering about the bed, she allowed her red hair to waterfall down her back. With moonlight bleeding through the shades, she swung her legs over the edge, smiling with the act done. Checking her bright red lipstick in her handheld, she pursed her lips and kissed herself. Catching a flash of her dual emerald eyes in the mirror, she smiled as she reached down. Slipping her lace panties off, she replaced them with ones from her purse. Rising, a fresh, red dress and a trench coat were next. Both hugged tightly to her hourglass figure. Tying the belt, she lightly laughed and departed her current pay for the moment.

Wandering through the apartment, she snapped a photo of the place, in complete detail, as she had done in the bedroom. It was not what she expected, but then it never was. Each was different. This one was immaculate. Dishes were organized according to size and function, even in the dirty pile. Rags neatly folded. Magazines properly spaced, so only half the cover was showing. The furniture was clean and spot free. Each piece arms length away from each other so it was possible to walk through without hindrance.

Smiling again, she made her way back into the bedroom with a little swagger.

From a distance, she snapped herself with her latest in the background. A simple wave and curl of the lips, she had enough. She turned back to him lying in bed with a smiled from ear to ear. His naked back reaching for the roof; his tattooed chest flushed against his crimson silks. The breeze from the open window moving his hair like a field of wheat. His eyes clouded with la petite mort.

“Thank you … and my pleasure.”

She smiled. Bowed. Curtsied. Laughed. Giggled like a schoolgirl before spinning about, collecting her spoiled goods, and slowly dancing her way from the brick-lined room. There was no rug or carpet in the entire apartment, so she had to tiptoe out of there carrying her blood-red, 3-inch heels. Only the creaking of the hardwood floors echoed. She turned on the radio adjacent to the refrigerator, levelled it at medium volume, and waved once more to the apartment. The apartment looked exactly as it should for what took place, except one thing.

A night of passion and expense came to fruition there. Even the crystals they used for champagne still sat on the counter. Placing her shoes down, she ran some hot water. The soap bubbled as she accidentally dropped the bottle in. She laughed and let the bottle just float there. She gently rang the crystals under the running water and allowed the water to gently wash over her smooth hands. Her red nails came clean, dirtying the soapy water that she allowed to wash clean the crystal.

The sweet, stingy smell of the soap mixed with the lingering scent of the cleaner that was used in the bedroom. Her exploit for the night had a severe paranoia about certain things, germs being one of them. Mysophobia was something extremely exploitable. As her watery finger slid down the tap, she turned off the water. She accidentally dropped one of the crystals into the sink, leaving the broken shards to mix with the water and the soap and the cleaner.

She picked up her shoes again and headed for the door. Stopping one last time, she took one last look around and admired her work. Everything perfect now. Closing the door as gently as she could with only the radio still playing its music to an empty apartment, she left her work done and behind.

Lifting her phone up, all she had to do was hit the send button. It was quick. A few minutes to watch the videos, few seconds to look at the pictures, and a few moments to confirm. By the time she reached the empty doorway of the apartment building, the night was beginning to die and her text rang out. Оплата по счету Швейцарии, как обычно. Хорошая работа.

Continuing her smile, she allowed her emerald eyes to reflect the full moon. Her smile was full and satisfying. She raised a hand and the typical taxi pulled over. “Where to?”

“Airport.”

Her trip through security and all regulations was quick. The usual blur of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers, with the occasional ‘nothing’ thrown in was all she had to suffer. Most of the men couldn’t take their eyes off her ample chest, pushed up and out. Or her forever legs.

Pausing at the bar, she waved the bartender over. Making sure one leg was planted and one leg up as she leaned over the bar, she displayed herself with a wave of her crimson hair and a soft fall against the construct of wood and brass. She played the role perfectly once more.

“Where ya from?” It was a random stranger that approached her. He was dressed for business.

“Russia. Вы говорите?”

“What?”

With that same smile on her lips, she placed her order for a drink and left him sitting at the bar, still looking for what he came to find. She sipped her wine, waiting for the first class call. Dawn was Lazarus. It sparked in her emerald eyes over top of the plane as it filed in. Her class was called and she boarded. The wheels spun. The engines roared. The plane was a dragon before long.

Peering out the window at the city, its skyline seemed so different these days. “Champagne, please,” she asked of the stewardess. When the plane reached peek height and was well out of jurisdiction, she laid back and closed her eyes. Placing the headphones on, she turned to the news, simply listening:

“The murder of Congressman Jonathon Edward Milfield shocked the public today. He was found in his studio-apartment in bed with his throat slashed to the bone. It is being reported as a violent attack. A crime of passion of a jilted lover. The killer attempted to clean the apartment, but left broken glass and what the police assume to be the congressman’s blood in the sink. The Congressman was on the verge of being indicted on several alleged accounts of child molestation and sexual misconduct with many of his staffers. He was also alleged to have arranged and contracted out the deaths of more than half his victims …”

A smile crossed her lips and she fell asleep.