Sophie-Adette-Marie was also in the car, reclining silkily on the far side of La Tantesse. SAM was a veteran member of the team, based out of Mission Control, and Nancy knew to be deferential to her every whim. Sven/Sven-Ericc held the door open still. Nancy bent herself into the gleaming vehicle, and they sped off.
La Tantesse was exactly where she likes to be in life - surrounded by jaw-dropping sex symbols. Smothered by protruding cheek and collar bones, make-up and legs covering almost every inch of the luxurious backseat. La Tantesse lived to possess the things she could not be - beautiful, young, fashionable.
A fat, froglike woman of over 60, La Tantesse's brown skin was withered and wrinkled from a lifetime of moisturizing failure. She dressed in Carhart vests and other practical outdoor gear, right down to the Birkenstocks on her chipped and un-pedicured, reeking feet. But La Tantesse ran Mission Control. She was the very raison-d'etre of the Organization, the Head of its long and tentacled body. Every ILSM loved and feared her. Loved her for her power, her inconceivable wealth...and loathed her for the decision of life and death she held over them all.
As soon as the car veered away from the Lyon airport La Tantesse placed one hand on each Supermodel's upper, UPPER thigh. OK, more like placed one hand on each supermodel's lower Poonani. So to speak. "Together Again, My Lovelies!" she crowed. "And our little Nancy Drew is lost. She cannot solve the Case of the Curious Sushi without our help? hahahahahahahaha!"
La Tantesse stomped her one good foot on the ground in mirth, kicking away the Platinum Cartier cane (styled to look like a practical Alpine walking stick) that lay on the floor of the car. When Nancy bent to retrieve the cane, SAM and La Tantesse both noticed the curve of her sexy American leather-clad breasts. And they both liked what they saw.
"Well we will show you, our little Nancy. We will show you our little sushi problem. But it is you who will face this danger alone, in the end." She leaned forward, dangerously close to Sven/Sven-Ericc's perfect ears. "We will go see a Tunisian. We demand cocaine-laced Kebabs and gallons of wine!"
Nancy did not interrupt to point out that the gentleman selling kebabs and wine was probably actually Lebanese. One does not correct La Tantesse. In the shadows, SAM smoked slowly, watching the lights flicker by on Nancy's face.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Airport Security does not apply to sexy people.
Following ILSM protocol, a slim blond marched neatly up to Nancy after she had sat for only 3 minutes in her First Class flight. She was wearing a flight-attendant inspired disguise, as interpreted by Hermes. A nice look, thought Nancy. The Organization was outdoing itself in trendy top-secret disguises every day.
"Would you like black Tibet, or the grey earl, Ms. Drew?" The British agent asked.
"Yes, the weather in Moscow would be preferable." Nancy replied.
The British stewardess nodded neatly and slid a package into Nancy's palm. It was not a message from Mission Control, but a different type of package that must be consumed immediately to destroy all evidence - cocaine. Almost half a pound of it. The stewardess clicked away, disappearing off the plane as silently and fashionably as she had arrived.
The rest, for Nancy, is a blur. She did not think of Addidas. That package flew her all the way to London.
In London, a quick drug-hazed stop was necessary. Nancy was nervous, but she knew what was required of her. Lyon is the unlikely top-secret headquarters of International Lesbian Supermodels Fight Crime Mission Control. Arriving there is serious business, and terminal 5 of the London airport was one of the quickest ways to get ready. She ran through Prada and BCBG, shakily grabbing together a new, European appropriate ILSM outfit. Her lace-up thigh-high crime fighting boots, of course, stayed with her. But the rest of her violent pink and black leather spiky skintight jumpsuit was all 2009.
And then, she was in Lyon.
Up pulled a vintage Jaguar, the spokes on it's 20 inch rims creating a hypnotizing swirl as they turned. The color was an agrarian willow green, almost as if the XJ had congealed organically. Its features, however, were rather bestial. The quarters where haunched like a panther's rear legs as it prepares to launch. Its grille openings were like massive nostrils gulping in air to fuel an enduring and athletic velocity. Yet the stainless steel accents and cold staring headlights reflected the sinister macabre of a thoughtless machine, obligated only to fulfill the requests of its faceless driver. The Jag chirped to a stop, the abruptness of which was in stark contrast to the vehicle's former fluid grace. As the black-tinted window rolled down, the musky smell of fine Connolly hides and burled walnut veneer mixed with the heat emanating from the now restrained cat, overwhelming the senses of anyone within a two block proximity. In fact, a nearby gas station attendant got a little too excited upon witnessing these events. Only he knows whether his stimulation was inflamed by the car or by the driver.
Sven and Sven-Ericc poured themselves from the lean polished vehicle. Although normally Nancy was repulsed by men, these two bodyguards and Mission Control professionals were so thin and fashionable that all ILSMs accepted them as members of the team. La Tantesse would have it no other way. Sven (or Sven-Ericc - the two chiseled Swedish twins were mirror images of each other, an optical illusion of sexy blond features that Nancy could not distinguish) finally opened the door. And inside the Jaguar sat La Tantesse herself.
"Get in," she croaked.
"Would you like black Tibet, or the grey earl, Ms. Drew?" The British agent asked.
"Yes, the weather in Moscow would be preferable." Nancy replied.
The British stewardess nodded neatly and slid a package into Nancy's palm. It was not a message from Mission Control, but a different type of package that must be consumed immediately to destroy all evidence - cocaine. Almost half a pound of it. The stewardess clicked away, disappearing off the plane as silently and fashionably as she had arrived.
The rest, for Nancy, is a blur. She did not think of Addidas. That package flew her all the way to London.
In London, a quick drug-hazed stop was necessary. Nancy was nervous, but she knew what was required of her. Lyon is the unlikely top-secret headquarters of International Lesbian Supermodels Fight Crime Mission Control. Arriving there is serious business, and terminal 5 of the London airport was one of the quickest ways to get ready. She ran through Prada and BCBG, shakily grabbing together a new, European appropriate ILSM outfit. Her lace-up thigh-high crime fighting boots, of course, stayed with her. But the rest of her violent pink and black leather spiky skintight jumpsuit was all 2009.
And then, she was in Lyon.
Up pulled a vintage Jaguar, the spokes on it's 20 inch rims creating a hypnotizing swirl as they turned. The color was an agrarian willow green, almost as if the XJ had congealed organically. Its features, however, were rather bestial. The quarters where haunched like a panther's rear legs as it prepares to launch. Its grille openings were like massive nostrils gulping in air to fuel an enduring and athletic velocity. Yet the stainless steel accents and cold staring headlights reflected the sinister macabre of a thoughtless machine, obligated only to fulfill the requests of its faceless driver. The Jag chirped to a stop, the abruptness of which was in stark contrast to the vehicle's former fluid grace. As the black-tinted window rolled down, the musky smell of fine Connolly hides and burled walnut veneer mixed with the heat emanating from the now restrained cat, overwhelming the senses of anyone within a two block proximity. In fact, a nearby gas station attendant got a little too excited upon witnessing these events. Only he knows whether his stimulation was inflamed by the car or by the driver.
Sven and Sven-Ericc poured themselves from the lean polished vehicle. Although normally Nancy was repulsed by men, these two bodyguards and Mission Control professionals were so thin and fashionable that all ILSMs accepted them as members of the team. La Tantesse would have it no other way. Sven (or Sven-Ericc - the two chiseled Swedish twins were mirror images of each other, an optical illusion of sexy blond features that Nancy could not distinguish) finally opened the door. And inside the Jaguar sat La Tantesse herself.
"Get in," she croaked.
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