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Dick lowered the sword in his hand and paused in his katas as Slade entered the gym and threw something red onto the pommel horse. Dick stepped over and felt the flimsy cotton it was composed of.
“What the hell is this?”
Slade crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s a dress.”
“I can see that. What’s it doing here?”
“You’re going to wear it for a hit.”
“Aw, no way! Why me?”
Slade raised his eyebrow. “Well, I just don’t have the legs for it, kid.”
“Very funny. What about Rose?”
“My little princess dress up like a street-walker? I don’t think so,” Slade smiled in a way that made Dick slightly nervous. “Besides, she’s too young and far too related to me for what might go down tonight.”
“I am too old for this shit, Slade.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. C’mere.”
Dick sighed and stood up straight as Slade came closer to prod him and poke him around the upper torso, studying him under the light. “Yeah, you'll do for now. Once the shoulders fill out you’re never gonna ‘pass’ again.”
Dick’s eyes brightened. “You’ll let me start bench-pressing then, yeah?”
“Eventually. It’s not something you should rush unless you want your joints to hate you when you’re thirty. For now, just slip into that little number and focus on the mission –” he smirked, “and how much fun Rose will have giving you a make-over.”
“I hate you.”
The wattage of Slade’s smile increased. “You say that so often, Dickie, it’s lost all meaning.”
*~*~*
As Dick started to descend the stairs from the upper floor of the house, Slade was already standing waiting at the bottom in a tuxedo and black eyepatch, looking like he was anticipating a hot night on the town rather than an assassination.
“You can balance for three hours on one foot on top of a twenty-foot pole, but you still can’t master a pair of stilettos?”
Dick straightened his spine, ignored the burn in his calf-muscles and concentrated on the heel-toe action. “Can you please try to enjoy this less?”
“Not even a little,” he let out a low whistle. “Damn, Grayson, you make a fine floozie.”
The dress was an off-the-shoulder number with long sleeves, but the hem barely skirted his mid-thigh region, making him glad of the little protection of the tight lycra thong to keep everything tucked away out of sight. His legs were bare – shaved and then bronzed by Rose, who shared her father’s revelry in his humiliation – as evinced by her uncontrollable laughter as he stuffed the foam pads into the cups of the strapless bra she lent him. It had also been Rose who helped curl his hair, and to apply the complexion-evening foundation, smoky eyeshadow and red lipstick, enthusing: “It’s like you’re the big sister I never had!”
Slade offered his arm. “Ready to hit the casino, baby?”
“Can I at least have a classy name?” Dick tucked a clutch purse under his arm. “I don’t want to be ‘Bambi’ or ‘Cherry’ this time. I want to be something like a... ‘Diana’.”
“The virgin huntress, huh? I guess that’s appropriate.”
Dick blushed furiously and shoved the older man out of the way, four-inch heels clicking a rapid-fire rhythm on the marble tiles as he headed out to the car, tugging at the damnable, too-short hemline.
“Hey, don’t stretch that out, kid,” Slade called. “It’s Dior.”
*~*~*
In the passenger seat, Dick eased the photographs out of a manilla envelope and began to look through them. “Who’s the mark?”
“Casino owner by the name of ‘Fast’ Eddie Mars.”
“What’s he into?”
“All the usual unimaginative rackets: loan-sharking, money laundering, counterfeit goods, pornography... oh, and a nice sideline in blackmail. A few people who owed him money have never been seen in this town again.”
“Chased off, or on-purpose ‘disappeared’?”
“I couldn’t say. Cops could never pin anything on him – not that that means anything.”
“I guess a man like that makes a lot of enemies. Who just happens to be footing the bill for our services?”
“You’ll like this – the wife.”
“Yeah? She find out about his not-so-legal sidelines and want out?”
“Oh, she liked his dirty money just fine. It was his other weakness she couldn’t stand.”
“Women?”
“Young ones. ‘Barely legal babes’ as they say in the industry. Or maybe not so legal at all, just with a fake ID.”
“And that’s where I come in I guess?” Dick smiled wryly. “How come we never have missions where we have to infiltrate a rest home to off an elderly billionaire and you get to impersonate my doting grandfather?”
“I guess some people still have respect for their elders, Dickie.”
“Diana.”
Slade laughed. “Never let it be said you aren’t dedicated to the role.”
Dick nodded curtly. “I’m a fucking professional.”
When they pulled up by the casino, Slade handed his keys to a valet and went around to the sidewalk side to open the door for Dick, offering a hand. The sight of two long slender bare legs appearing caught the attention of the bouncers, who watched with interest as the rest of ‘Diana’ appeared.
“Evening, gentlemen,” said Slade, settling one large hand on the small of Dick’s back as they made their way past the velvet rope.
*~*~*
“How do we play this?” Dick muttered as Slade conducted him towards the roulette table.
“For now, just look pretty – you’re an innocent little flower all mixed up with a bad, rich man.”
“So what else is new?”
“No wise-cracks now, nobody likes a bimbo above her station.”
They approached the table and Slade began putting down chips and making small-talk with fellow gamblers. Dick spotted the mark almost immediately – ‘Fast’ Eddie Mars was standing near the bar, conversing with a well-to-do regular while keeping one roving eye on the room. His gaze quickly fixed on Dick, who dipped his head and tried to look demure. Then he felt Slade’s hand squeeze his hip – and the flinch wasn’t faked.
“I think he likes what he sees,” Slade murmured, leaning in close.
“So, what next?”
“You’re about to pitch a fit at me and flounce past the bar. I’m guessing by the way he can’t take his eyes off you that he’ll follow. All you have to do then is to persuade him to take you to his office – make sure he doesn’t think he wants to be disturbed, if you catch my drift. And remember – don’t do anything drastic until I get there, capisce? We don’t want him trying to alert security until after I’ve taken them all out.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “How - exactly - am I going to persuade him to take me into his office?”
“Let him do the work. He’s a dirtbag who likes them young and confused, so just concentrate on looking... vulnerable.”
“Not exactly my strong spot, Slade.”
“Well, for chrissakes, act, then. Here, I’ll give you your motivation.” Slade’s hand, which had been resting fairly innocuously on his waist – slipped downwards and delivered a sharp pinch.
“Stop it,” Dick hissed. a little bit louder than he had intended - luckily it came out breathy and high, although not quite the soft, modulated tones of his ‘Diana’ voice.
“You know you love it,” Slade purred, just loud enough for it to be of benefit to the rest of the company around the table. “Give it up to daddy, you little tease.”
Dick actually did gasp at this, because it turned his brain into a jumble of yes, no, no, oh fuck, ‘daddy?’, and made him painfully aware of the tightness of his underwear. No thanks, hormones – not in this outfit.
Dick gritted his teeth and gave Slade a shove with the amount of force he reasonably thought a properly pissed-off young female civilian could muster. Then he pulled way, planning to make his dramatic exit at this opportune moment, but Slade grasped his wrist and yanked him back. “Or is the money all you love? Mercenary little bitch.” Dick could see Slade’s eye glitter with enjoyment.
He pulled his arm back and smacked Slade’s cheek – and ok, that was too hard, but yeah, satisfying – Slade turned his face back slowly as the handprint faded. The slight curve to his lip was an indication of the smirk he wanted to be flashing.
Dick yanked himself away and headed for the double doors leading to the corridor from which the restrooms could be accessed. From the table he heard a few low masculine chuckles and Slade’s voice saying “huh, women!”.
*~*~*
Out in the corridor Dick found a plush chair to sit down on and tilted his head back, pressing his fingernails into his palms to make his eyes water. Sure enough, no sooner had he done this but the doors from the casino swung open and their mark came swaggering towards him. Dick dipped his head and sniffed, affecting a little shiver.
“Seems your boyfriend plays a little rough,” said Fast Eddie. “Here.” He offered Dick a linen handkerchief.
“Oh, thank-you,” Dick said in quavering voice, dabbing beneath his eyes to blot up the tears before they could ruin his eyeliner. “I guess I got a little out of line there.”
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing with a brute like that anyway?”
“He’s not a bad man, not really... he takes care of me...” Dick let his bottom lip wobble. “Oh, I hope he’s not mad...”
Fast Eddie rubbed Dick’s shoulder reassuringly, his grip just a little too hard. “Hey, no more tears now, honey. Don’t you worry. You know, I’m the owner of this joint – I can have my boys run him off if you want.”
“No... no, please no. It’ll be fine. If I just... give him some time to calm down. He’ll forget all about it after a few drinks, I know he will.”
Fast Eddie paused for no more than a beat. “Well then, why don’t you come down the hall with me and have a nice glass of something while you wait?”
“Oh, well... if you think so...” Dick allowed a little doubt the seep into his expression, biting his bottom lip.
“I insist, miss...?”
“Oh, it’s Diana.”
“Classy name. They call me Fast Eddie.”
“Oh, why ‘fast’?” Dick asked making his blue eyes widen with false naivety. “Are you quick at dealing cards?”
The man laughed. “You’ll see, honey.”
The office was a large, low-ceilinged room dominated by an ugly abstract painting that looked like a fat grey dollar sign. Subtle, Dick thought.
Fast Eddie handed ‘Diana’ down onto the sofa that ran along one wall and threw the purse onto a chair opposite. Dick cursed silently while crossing his legs and flashing a smile.
The mark crossed to a drinks cabinet and began fixing what looked like whisky and sodas, turning his back. In the reflection of the glass of a darkened lamp, Dick watched him surreptitiously tip a white powder into one of the tumblers. Well, I’m guessing that is not sugar.
Next, Fast Eddie sat down right next to Dick and handed over the spiked drink. He then trailed a fingertip over Dick’s shoulder to the hollow of his collarbone and gave him a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but which was, in reality, exactly as predatory as his intentions. “So, why’d you come here tonight, baby?’
Dick set the drink down and returned the smile, then spoke up in his own voice: “you know, I thought you’d never ask.”
*~*~*
Ten minutes later Slade entered, closing the office door behind himself softly. “I distinctly remember telling you not to do anything ‘drastic’.”
“Believe me, this is the least of what this scumbag deserves,” Dick ground his stiletto into Fast Eddie’s neck and let him gurgle some more into the carpet. “I kept him quiet.”
Slade clucked his tongue. “Gee, don’t tell me he dared to get ‘fresh’ with you?”
Dick nodded emphatically. “He was not a gentleman.”
Slade came closer, flipping back his tuxedo jacket to draw the handgun from the small of his back. “Hey bozo,” he said, turning the casino owner over with the tip of his shoe in some already broken ribs, causing Fast Eddie to let out a muffled yell into the gag fashioned from his own tie and balled up socks. Slade then leveled his weapon and regarded the prone man with a contemptuous sneer: “the final life-lesson is ‘don’t touch the goods’. Especially what isn’t yours.”
By the time the punctuating shot sounded Dick was already across the room and tossing the painting aside to get to the concealed safe. “Hey,” he called to his mentor. “Throw me my purse.”
“Kind of an odd moment to touch up your lipstick, kiddo.”
“Fuck you, Slade – where else was I supposed to hide the plastic explosive?”
Slade laughed and then paused, shaking his head. “I don’t say this often enough Dick – I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah yeah – purse. Stat.” Feeling around the edges of the safe for the hinges, Dick glanced back at the other man and pouted coquettishly. “And careful darling – it’s Louis Vuitton.”
As Slade picked up the evening bag he gestured to himself with a smoothing down of his jacket. “Mm, there is a lot to be said for vintage, don’t you think?”
*~*~*
As they drove back Slade’s hand on the gearstick kept brushing against the side of Dick’s thigh. Dick shifted, feeling suddenly ungainly. The smoothness of his legs now felt odd and – for some reason – unbearable.
“You know something, kid... you really are a professional.” Slade’s tone sounded pensive – a little regretful, maybe.
Dick frowned. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
Slade squeezed Dick’s knee in what Dick belatedly realised was probably meant to be a paternalistic, affectionate gesture and therefore didn’t justify his almost jumping out of his skin. “I guess I’m just worried I’m running out of things to teach you. In fact, I was thinking that maybe it’s time for you to spread your wings, little bird.”
Dick flashed him a look that was half angry, half freaked-out. “Are you planning on kicking me out?”
Slade glanced over at him with some curiosity. “What makes you think I could do a thing like that?”
“I don’t know,” Dick replied sullenly, folding his arms, pushing the ridiculous foam padding covering his chest upwards.
“Well, let’s talk about something else, huh?” Slade fixed his gaze back on the road. “So, virgin huntress – it’s your eighteenth birthday next week. I bet I know how you’d like to celebrate – with the one thing I know you haven’t done before.”
Another knee-squeeze almost made Dick yelp. He pressed his thighs together and once more resolutely told his hormones to shut up, because Slade didn’t mean... Couldn’t mean...
Oh.