Fatal Flight
Slowly and quietly, the unwieldy ship "Luson" pulled away from the pier, carrying about 400 people. The old but luxurious vessel, built in the 1950s, began its tropical voyage, and none of its passengers could have imagined that such a happy start to the journey would have such a sad ending. No one, except for two women who had boarded three hours earlier. Nina Potakis, a general security specialist, and Griselda Fernandez, who had somewhat different tasks.
Just last week, Nina had learned the purpose of this confidential trip: to identify a potential killer of witnesses involved in the bankruptcy case of the company "Ledhouse-Rodstein"
and the alleged misuse of its employees' pension funds, according to Nina's boss, namely Detective Lipskikh, who believed that some of the money was circulating in Singaporean banks, and some was illegally invested in drug transit through Southern Europe.Griselda Fernandez, on the contrary, was tasked by her boss to eliminate potential witnesses who knew too much and talked too often. Rumors spread quickly and, fueled by the fear of crisis, surfaced in the press as scandalous but incoherent exposés, or rather incoherent for now, because the writing fraternity had only speculation instead of compromising material. Preventing this material from falling into the hands of the scribblers was one of the tasks of the killer Griselda.
Music played on the ship, mostly salsa, with some relatively quiet rap here and there, some liked classical music, and accordingly, the passengers' clothing was just as varied. Small, plump Filipinas in short skirts, tanned Venezuelans in high-heeled shoes, women from Eastern Europe, tall, fair-skinned, with various hair shades—hard to tell what kind, from raven-black to dazzling white, dyed of course. Some were very young, no older than eighteen, others were around fifty, and they looked very appetizing.
Yes, how many women of easy virtue are here, thought Nina, but then again, their wives are no better, organizing swingers, group sex, that is, with wives and secretaries; the ship is extraterritorial, and moral laws don't really apply here.
Meanwhile, Griselda had chosen her target. Mirabal De Soto, a lady of forty-two, very fond of cocktails... One of the company's accountants, knows too much and loves to chat, about how she acquired her wealth... With an imperceptible movement, Griselda took a wallet from her bag and a small reddish capsule from the wallet, so small it could be hidden unnoticed between the fingers of one hand...
A waitress, also an exotic dancer of Eastern type named Laila, wearing an apron instead of a skirt—everything on the ship was unusual, ornate, provocatively erotic, including the waitresses' uniforms—was moving down a long carpeted corridor towards the kitchen located at the stern of the ship. Suddenly, someone's strong but slender hand covered her mouth and scratched her cheek with nails, shoved something under her upper lip, something crunched in her mouth, she tried to break free, but her body went limp, drowsiness overwhelmed her, Laila tried to kick her legs a few times and faded into oblivion.
Holding the waitress close, Griselda dragged her down the corridor to the safe door of a utility room. Shoving the limp body inside, Griselda closed the latch. The dead waitress, illuminated by the sun's rays, looked like a fairy-tale princess who had fallen asleep a moment ago, but the absence of a pulse and the foam abundantly oozing from her mouth uncompromisingly testified to death.
Quickly taking off her jeans and T-shirt, Griselda began undressing the deceased, although removing the apron was not difficult, there were problems with the bra, which was half a size larger. Griselda did not remove the panties—thongs—firstly, they were black, like Griselda's, secondly, a size larger, and thirdly, it seemed the deceased... had wet herself... the poison relaxes the muscles and then paralyzes them. Now Griselda could proudly call herself a waitress. With a confident gait, Griselda carried a tray with a single cocktail to the upper deck. The second capsule simply could not help but dissolve in the mixture of alcohol, juice, and milk.
Holding a cocktail glass in her hands, Mirabal De Soto and her young lover Carlos retired to their cabin.
"A strange couple and a strange waitress," Nina noted to herself when they passed her in the corridor.
Carlos tenderly kissed Mirabal, the source of his well-being and at the same time a living, lustful doll capable of giving him wonderful sex. How charming these long, tanned legs, this firm skin, this dark red dress, this high slit...
The dress fell to the floor, now Mirabal was left only in panties and high-heeled shoes; she never acknowledged bras.
"Maybe you want a cocktail, Carlos? Let's try one for two, first you, then me..."
"Later, darling, let's focus on the main thing..."
Carlos's tongue slid over her full breasts, around her nipples, the panties fell off, their bodies merged, inflamed by summer, the sun, and mutual passion...
The hot sun was setting into the ocean.
The door to this cabin, resembling a room, opened without a knock... Right at the threshold, a cocktail glass lay slightly swaying, a little further a stick with uneaten fruit and a straw.
"What a mess," flashed through the cleaner's mind, but the next second what she saw made her shudder. A young man and a woman, completely naked, lay on the floor, lying shamelessly on top of each other near the sofa... on his back on the floor was the man, and on top, face to the ceiling—a woman around forty, with the man holding her breasts, and she, with her legs spread wide, stared at the ceiling with open, dull, unseeing eyes... The only clothing on her was dark red high-heeled shoes... A dress of the same color lay in the corner of the cabin... Both had white foam in their mouths.
Nina immediately understood—poisoning. The guy was holding the woman on his lap, obviously caressing her, then both tried the cocktail, feeling unwell—they jumped up, the guy from behind tried to hug and calm the woman, and then both collapsed on the floor... a beautiful, romantic death, they didn't even feel pain.
However, this is a miss, meaning the killer or killers are still on the ship, and no one prevented them from carrying out their plan.
The dead bodies were photographed and separated, then placed on stretchers on top of each other and, under the captain's guidance, taken to the ship's refrigeration compartment.
In such heat, decomposition sets in very quickly.
"There's another surprise for you here, it seems," the captain suggested Nina go out into the corridor.
In one of the utility rooms, an incident occurred—a young waitress's body fell out of a closet. Slightly bluish, as if having swallowed water, dressed only in thong panties, she looked like a drowned woman... And she was also photographed and moved to the ship's refrigeration compartment...
"So he's taken the matter seriously," was all the captain of the "Luson" could utter.
Despite the tragedy, which no one knew about, as the captain had ordered everyone to remain silent, the ship continued its cruise, and the merry life on board went on.
People were splashing in the pool, six or eight of them, some kissing in the water, some coming, others leaving and returning again, many carefreely drinking cocktails, unaware of the danger, although death never comes twice in the same guise, but here they didn't think about it at all.
Putting on rubber gloves stolen from the ship's utility room, Griselda cut a wire with pliers borrowed from the same place
"It's daytime now, and no one will notice the lack of light," she decided, "and the current is still flowing through it, albeit small—though what's small about it? Two hundred twenty volts is enough for everyone, and it doesn't matter that along with Erina, one of the company's secretaries, three Filipinas and two of their boyfriends will die..."
In the pool, Erina was chatting with Mila, a girl from Thailand, about Bangkok cuisine, ways of preparing exotic dishes, snake soup, and other nonsense.
Two Filipinas in tiny bikinis were kissing their European boyfriends.
Suddenly, something whistled in the air, Erina's muscles contracted, her breath caught, she managed to see how the young men hugged their girlfriends and, with a cry, fell into the water; Mila tried to jump out, leaped, but fell down and, bubbling, sank to the bottom.
Erina fought for life the longest, unwilling to let go of the handrails and kicking, she thrashed against the pool wall; finally, her hands weakened, and quietly and calmly, slowly, as if reluctantly, she sank to the bottom.
Meanwhile, Griselda prepared a pistol, previously hidden in the same ship's engine room. Climbing the stairs, she bumped into an unknown black woman who was so drunk she had even gotten lost looking for the toilet; without wasting a second, Griselda shot the unfortunate woman twice in the stomach and once in the left nipple; the black woman, without uttering a sound, crawled up the metal steps, her skirt riding up, revealing red panties with a slit in the middle.
"Another whore," thought Griselda.
Going up to deck number two, she looked for cabin number two hundred eight, where Mr. Arnberg and his wife Elsa were supposed to be. Trembling with tension, she pressed the handle down; it clicked easily. On a huge table in the middle of the cabin, a fair-haired guy, most likely Norwegian or Swedish, was having sex with an equally fair-haired, long-legged blonde. Seeing the pistol, they pushed away from each other but immediately fell, almost without a scream or squeal, one with a bullet in the heart that entered through her chest under the nipple, the other simply got his under the left shoulder blade.
"A mistake, this isn't Arnberg, wrong cabin! No, it can't be, the door had the right number—two hundred eight."
"Don't kill us," they pleaded, trembling with fear. The mulatto turned out to be more cowardly, trying to shield herself with her friend's body as she slowly moved towards the wall. Though even that didn't matter much.
"Shh," Griselda raised a finger to her lips, "is this room two hundred eight?"
The girls calmed down a little but were still trembling...
Pfft! The pistol jerked slightly, emitting a barely noticeable puff of smoke, the cartridge case clinked against the wall. A bright red hole appeared on the brunette's chest under her left nipple; thin scarlet streams of blood flowed from both their mouths, blood also flowed from under the mulatto, soaking into the sheet and staining the mattress. Quiet and calm, they lay on top of each other, slightly loosening their final embrace.
"Some cabins have up to four rooms," Griselda remembered, "so there must be at least a second room here." But the second room was also empty; a huge wardrobe for clothes stood lonely in the far corner.
Griselda, changing the magazine, opened fire on the wardrobe with short bursts. Thump, Thump, Thump, nine nine-millimeter bullets from a Beretta 93R in total.
The bullets pierced the wooden doors like butter. A second later, they swung open; a red-haired woman in latex panties and a fifty-year-old gentleman with a belly, an orange ball in his mouth and also in latex panties, tumbled out of the wardrobe. The man was covered in blood; the woman had two red spots on her stomach and one on her chest—right in the middle. Following them, a leather whip fell out of the wardrobe...
The door to the toilet in this cabin was also closed. Someone was sitting inside. Pfft! Pfft! Pfft! Something heavy thudded inside. Griselda couldn't know that Arnberg's sister Vitalina, also clad in latex, had hidden in the toilet, and that receiving a single bullet to the forehead, she slid comically off the toilet.
Griselda had no idea that something similar to what was happening here was going on in the neighboring cabin.
Sisters Almira and Isidora Fry had invited their longtime friend Emanuelle to a party; dressed in a chain costume, she brought Almira and Isidora to submission, first making them love each other, then making one sister lightly strangle the other. Almira and Emanuelle put a leather belt around Isidora's neck and began tightening it little by little, but the belt tightened more and more; suddenly, Emanuelle jerked the belt sharply towards herself; something cracked in Isidora's neck; limp and helpless, she slumped to her side, her tongue hanging out of her mouth, her face, which had been red, turned blue.
Knowing that she would become the heir to her uncle's fortune, Almira wasn't too upset about her sister's death, as she was a competitor, so she didn't take any measures to save her, though what measures for what kind of salvation? Except perhaps the salvation of the soul; artificial respiration is out of the question when the base of the skull or neck vertebrae are broken.
With her mouth open, indifferent to everything, the dead Isidora stared emptily upward.
Emanuelle, opening a chocolate bar, touched the deceased's tongue with it, licked it herself, and offered it to Almira. The soy sweetness melted pleasantly in her mouth.
Opening her purse, Emanuelle took out a small gilded dagger resembling a file but very hard; approaching Almira, she began stroking her hair, pinching her nipples, licked her ear and ran the tip of her tongue over it; Almira seemed to sink into another world of pleasure, wealth, and happiness. Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced the back of her head, burned her head, she couldn't breathe, and the light dimmed.
For about two hours, Emanuelle, using several types of dildos, made love to the dead sisters, not as they would have wanted, but as she liked; with pleasure, Emanuelle licked the blood from the back of Almira's head, performed cunnilingus on them, gently bit their nipples, engaged in anal sex, and finally, satiated, placed the bodies on the sofa and covered them with a throw. The sisters were young and therefore magnificent; Emanuelle had never seen such firm, tanned, elegant bodies on anyone from the weaker part of humanity.
Afterward, Emanuelle searched their belongings, transferring the diamonds and rings belonging to the sisters into her purse, and left the cabin.
"There's no police on the ship, so the killer, that is, her, is unlikely to be found," thought Emanuelle.
Entering her cabin, Emanuelle felt an object at her ear.
"Don't move, I'll kill you," the barrel with a silencer swayed at the back