Here's another tale from the world of Samantha Storm by Irving Krebb of Vellication Video. He's a member here too so go drop him a PM and demand he write more stories. The guy has buckets of talent. Anyway, you didn't click on this to read what I think so here's the story:
CLOAK AND FEATHER: I GET PAID FOR THIS
Samantha Storm sat on the hood of her recently acquired mini with a pair of night-vision goggles and a listening device so new even she didn't know what to call it. She had pulled off to the side of a small mountain road that wound, round and around until it peaked at what she was now sure, was the home of one Irving Krebb. She had been there four hours.
The house was unimpressive: two stories gently falling apart from the top down, but there was light in the windows and smoke billowing out of an old tin-covered chimney. The listening device was picking up music, strange, almost classical music, but not quite. The driveway that led up to the house was one more curve up and was lined with an ancient wrought iron fence all the way to the front yard giving the place an eerie, Halloween-like vibe. There were gigantic black skeletons of trees on all sides and it was obvious the grounds had not been maintained in well over a decade. She'd have to manoeuvre through a forest to get to this guy’s house.
She almost missed the only interesting thing to happen all evening. Sometime around eleven, a door opened and a man stepped out and looked around; he lit a cigarette and sat down in an ancient wooden rocker and gently smoked and rocked and surveyed the town below. She recognized the hat immediately and knew she'd found the right place.
Irving Krebb was just finishing up his cigarette and settling down to a nice evening of liquor and books when out of no-where the door threatened to bust in. He cocked his head and moved towards the door. "Can I help you?" He said.
The door bulged again but still didn't open. There was an unmistakable female grunt happening on the other side.
"Listen" he said, "you're going to hurt yourself, just let me open the door, okay?"
Silence.
"Okay" he said, "I’m open---"
He clicked open the door and it suddenly burst open and in less than a half a second Samantha Storm had a hand around Irving Krebb's thick throat.
"Hi" he croaked.
"You don't remember me?" Samantha demanded.
"Well, sure, yeah, but no, not really, I have this conditio-"
She cut him off by squeezing his throat harder.
"You don't remember torturing me in that warehouse six months ago, tickling me nearly to death and then walking away?"
"Oh, that, yeah, I remember that, sure....why?"
"Because I vowed I'd kill you that day and now, it seems, I've come to collect."
"Oh" Krebb said, a little too nonchalantly, "well, God knows I deserve it, go ahead, make it quick." And he proceeded to light another cigarette.
"Those things will kill you." Samantha said.
"Yeah, I guess...not before you though, huh?" Krebb said, and let out a little chuckle.
Even Samantha, stone cold agent and saboteur found this a little charming and off putting.
"I'm not here to kill you." She said.
"Well, in that case, how about a drink?"
"No, and no more for you either."
"Darlin', I --"
She cut him off, Mr. Krebb, what I am about to tell you is very important to the people I work with and I need you at your best."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
About an hour later Irving Krebb sat looking thoughtfully in his old easy chair. Samantha Storm sat on the adjacent couch trying to read his expressions.
Finally, he said, "So you're telling me that this, uh, what was her name?"
"Angela Blaze"
"Right, you want me to tickle her into telling you whatever it is you need to know."
"Right."
"And I can't know, right?
"Right. We have an undisclosed location we can bring her to where---"
"No need, this place is pretty undisclosed, I made sure of that when I bought it."
"Mr. Krebb, we have a facility fully outfitted with any, uh, tools, you might need, and --"
"So do I, take a walk with me downstairs."
Krebb pushed an old book deep into the bookshelf and a wall opened up beside it with a staircase leading down to a hidden basement.
"I like to work in here..." He said cryptically.
He flipped on some overhead lights and there in the middle of floor was what looked vaguely like a rack, but more modern and built for comfort (if you could call it that) with everything covered in pads and a hundred or so padded restraints.
"Like it? I made it myself."
Samantha Storm eyed the strange yet familiar device. She walked around it dragging a finger across it, admiringly.
"And this place is sound proof, so, you know..."
"Yeah, don't get any ideas Mr. Krebb, once was enough for me."
"Oh, I didn't mean...well, anyway, you get this chick here and I'll have her squealing in no time. Literally."
"It might not be that easy," Samantha said, "She's a top agent."
"Well, that's your problem." He said casually. And then, "Incidentally, what do I get out of all this?"
Samantha Storm walked slowly around the table and stood face to face with Irving Krebb, "Don't worry, Mr. Krebb, you will be handsomely compensated." She punctuated the last word with a move like she was going to kiss him but didn't. "Shucks," he though, "no smack-a-roo..."
Back in the living room of Krebb Manor Samantha Storm produced a file from her shoulder bag. "Here" she said, "This is her."
Krebb opened to folder to reveal a knock-out red head dressed in some kind of cow-girl type thing with the shirt knotted just under the breasts and little tiny cut-off denim shorts.
"My stars..." He muttered. "Hey, can I keep her when we're done?"
"No'
Angela Blaze was indeed a thing to behold. A natural redhead with a cupie-bow lips and a baby-fat face that was too adorable for accurate description. She was the thing Irving Krebb would have made had God given him the keys to the shop like he'd asked so many years ago. A moment passed when he thought about forgoing payment but he quickly rebuked himself and thought, "When you're good at something...etc. etc."
Along with the pictures there were stats, all kinds of stats, stats with which Irving Krebb was mostly not interested. But one stood out. It said that Angela Blaze was an expert in the use of tickling to gather information and had trained under Helga-something-or-other, allowing herself to be tickled to tears many times before she was given the rank of expert.
"She's going to be a tough nut.." Krebb said.
"Yes, she is, Mr. Krebb, and she knows all our techniques...in fact, she teaches them. That's why we need you."
"Me?"
"Yes. You won't be following the playbook...you'll do things....let's say you'll do things that aren't by the book."
"Okay, yeah, why not, when's this thing happening?"
"We're doing surveillance on her tomorrow night at a bar one town over called Plum Street. We'll take her there."
"Oh, I know that place, can I go?"
"No."
"Awe, c'mon, I know the place, just point her out to me, maybe I can get her to come home with me."
"I doubt that, Mr. Krebb, but you can come only because I have a feeling you'll show up anyway. Don't speak to her unless spoken to and don't get drunk. Well, not too drunk anyway. And leave the extraction to us."
"Alright" Krebb said, "on two conditions..."
"What conditions?"
"No. 1 You don't hurt her in anyway, no violence, I can't stand violence. No.2 Drinks are on you."
Samantha Storm looked at him thoughtfully and said, "Deal." She told Krebb she'd send a car 'round tomorrow at 8pm sharp and to be ready. Krebb agreed and showed her to the door.
"Next time" he said, "just ring the bell, I would've answered and saved you a shoulder."
"If this goes well, Mr. Krebb" Samantha said, "there won't be a next time."
Krebb shut the door, lit a cigarette and went about pouring himself a drink. He thought to himself, "Silly girl, there's always a next-time."
Next day, as promised, a nondescript black sedan made it's winding way up to Krebb's ratty looking, gray house. He watched from the porch as the headlights made their way up and up and finally to the front gate. He collected himself and said out loud, "Welp, this is it..."
He jumped in the backseat and was surprised to see two enormous men sat heavily in the front.
"Evening, fellas." He said.
No response.
"Alright then, to the Plum Street Pub!" he commanded.
Still no response, but the car roared off down the mountain and into the darkness.
The big man in the passenger seat turned around and looked Krebb up and down, the look on his face said he wasn't impressed. Without looking he reached into the breast pocket of his neatly tailored suit and produced a small ear bud.
"Put this in your ear." He said, flatly.
"What is it?" Krebb asked.
"You'll be able to hear Samantha with this and she'll be able to hear you; when we get Blaze back to your...facility...she'll be listening and will let you know when the desired information has been...extracted."
"Alright, then."
Krebb stuck the little device into his ear, it was uncomfortable but he figured he'd get used to it. And if he didn't, well, he's just take it out and step on it like a bug.
When they arrived at the Plum Street Pub the car came to a sudden stop and the driver said, "Get out."
Krebb obliged, and automatically reached for a cigarette. This was one of the few places where you could still smoke - a rare thing in a post-nuclear age. He said 'Hello' to the bouncer, who he knew only in passing, and stepped inside.
The place was crawling with bad people doing bad things listening to good music. The jukebox blared. Krebb took his usual seat at the end of the bar and motioned for the bartender, a sweet young thing wearing a halter top. She smiled and without a word between them fixed his favorite: a double vodka tonic. Krebb smiled as she said, "Um, I was told these are being taken care of tonight...okay?"
"Of course," Krebb said, "and there will be a fat tip at the end, I promise."
The bartender smiled and quickly switched her attentions to another patron wanting a beer.
Krebb sipped his drink. His mind did it's best to race...he thought:
Jesus...what have I gotten myself into...free drinks, a beautiful girl with which to indulge my peculiar interests...and goons, I've got goons waiting in a car outside....Jesus...what a thing.
He scanned the room looking for Blaze, it was a quick scan. Angela Blaze was impossible to miss; she was leaning on the bar, her ass up in the air, with her hands cupping her pretty face, lips wrapped around a red straw sipping some sissy drink and giggling at a bad joke some clown next to her was trying to make. She was flirting with every guy in the bar and it wasn't by accident. Her outfit portrayed a certain lack of actual clothing: a cut off t-shirt, cut off shorts; about a mile of legs and then those Greek looking wrap around sandals made of black leather cord. She was a fucking vision...a pervert's delight, all decked and ready to go.
"MY PERVERT'S DELIGHT!" Thought Krebb.
There is a certain confidence that comes with knowing that you're guy going home with the hottest chick in the bar. And if it requires two enormous goons and a few dozen restraints, well, that's okay too.
Krebb sat and sipped his drink. He imagined all of the wonderful things he'd be doing very soon, and now and then he examined his muse with a strange little smile crossing his lips. He must have gotten lost in the fantasy because all of a sudden there was the smell of lilacs and a warm body gently nudging him saying, "Hey."
"Huh..." He said, "What?" And then he realized it was Angela Blaze sat next to him at the bar looking at him with a sort of sideways glance. "Oh, right." He said.
"Right?" Angela said, laughing a little, "What's your story, why are you sitting here all alone?"
"Story?" The word bounced in Krebb's head a minute, was he supposed to have a story? Samantha didn't say anything about a story. He decided to play it real cool. "No story" he said, "Just having a drink, enjoying the music."
"What're you drinking" Angela said.
"Vodka tonic, would you like one?"
"Sure"
Krebb motioned for the bartender again and ordered up two more double vodka tonics. Angela never took her eyes off of him, examining every movement and looking for the tell tales signs of a concealed weapon. Satisfied he wasn't armed, she relaxed a little and let herself enjoy the drink. 'Fuck it' she thought, 'I'm off duty...well...' In her line of work you were never off duty but once in a while you could allow yourself to enjoy an evening without too much concern that the guy next to you was going to ram a stiletto into your back when you got up to go to the ladies room.
"Cheers" Krebb said, and offered his glass to clink.
Angela obliged and the two sat in silence for a moment, neither really knowing how to proceed.
All of a sudden there was an explosion in Krebb's right ear. He grimaced a minute like he'd been struck with sudden severe headache. Angela noticed and said, "You okay?" "Yeah," he said, "brain freeze..." and then Samantha silky voice came in loud and clear, directly into his skull, soothing the pain and clearing the cobwebs left behind.
"Krebb," she said, "you've got to get her to go outside, we'll take her by the parking lot, get her OUTSIDE as soon as you can."
Krebb started to answer but caught himself and played it as casually as he could, never having had voices in his head before.
He and Angela made small talk for about an hour and a half, drinking, laughing, and drinking. In an ordinary situation he would've stared compulsively at the naked stretch of side torso Angela was flaunting and might have even dared a small tweak...just to see, you know. But this was business, and the business of pleasure is a rough one, so they say, etc. etc. Samantha Storm, monitoring all this from a van outside was getting pissed because it seemed Krebb was more interested in getting pissed than anything else. She barked into the earpiece again and Krebb got the point. 'Alright, he thought, time to do the do...'
"Hey, Angela, you want to go smoke a joint?"
"A joint? What are you, like, sixty?"
"No, but I have a joint in my car...and they know me here, they don't care if I go out and smoke a little herb."
"Herb?!" Angela laughed. "Yeah, sure, let's go smoke some 'herb'." Her tone was slightly mocking but she thought his clumsy attempt at hitting on her was cute in a weird kinda way.
"Okay then, let's finish these first." And with that, Krebb downed the last of his last double vodka tonic.
Angela downed hers too and realized that she was feeling the drinks a little...and also, that this guy Krebb seemed unaffected.
They slid off their bar stools and made for the front door. Krebb winked at the bartender and she winked back knowing the drinks were covered by some anonymous entity Krebb was no doubt involved with. She smiled and thought, 'good for him' when she noticed he was leaving with the smoking hot redhead.
Once outside they walked over to the parking lot and Angela instantly felt something was wrong; her training had instilled a sixth sense about these things and something was definitely wrong. Unfortunately, maybe because of the booze, the thought came a second too late and she was set upon by the two gorillas that drove Krebb to the bar. With the utmost efficiency and, I guess, professionalism, they had her subdued and tossed into the back of the sedan. It happened in about ten seconds and no one saw a thing.
"Eck.." Krebb grimaced..."Violence..." He reached for the door handle on the sedan but one of the goons put a huge meaty paw on his chest and said, "No." And then they sped off.
Krebb stood there a minute wondering what was going on. What did he mean, 'No?' Fuck, that was his ride. Just as he decided to start walking Samantha Storm's mini came sliding up next to him. "Get in." She said.
Krebb got in the car and they started driving fast towards his humble hill-top abode. Samantha Storm started talking a mile a minute. Telling him her weakness, her experience, her training, etc. etc. and then, most importantly, the one question she had to answer: "What's the score?"
"What's the score?" Krebb repeated, "That's it? What kind of shit question is that? The score to what?"
"Remember" Samantha said, "I'll be listening, and when she gives the correct response I'll let you know through the ear piece.
"What's the score?" Krebb said again...mockingly. "You read "Marathon Man" by any chance?"
"No", she said.
They arrived at Krebb Manor a few minutes behind the big sedan with Angela stuffed in the back seat. He instructed the goons to bring her around back, carefully, no bruises, no violence. They looked at him fiercely but did as he instructed. He followed them to a set of hatch-like doors sealed with an enormous padlock. Krebb fished some keys out of his pocket and unlocked it on about the third try.
"Okay" he said, "Bring her down gently and strap her to the thing in the middle, you can't miss it, and if she struggles, use those big muscles gently, got it?"
The goons nodded. Angela Blaze was struggling, she heard every word but she knew that in these situations it's best to keep calm to avoid getting your arms broke. No matter what this lunatic said, she knew these guys would have no problem snapping a limb or two if strapping her down became a problem.
Krebb watched them go down the stairs and then slammed the doors shut and locked them again. He went over to Samantha, asked, "Where will you be?"
"Well, I was hoping somewhere a little more comfortable that this car." She said.
"Okay, you can wait in my living room. Make yourself comfortable. Help yourself to whatever it is I have in there...I lose track..."
"Thank you." Samantha said, smiling a little, and followed Mr. Krebb to the front of his house, up the steps and into the living room.
"Okay," he said, "I've got work to do. Keep them goons out of my things, will you? I don't like them."
"They're mostly brainless" she said, "not the curious types, don't worry. And remember, when she gives the correct response I'll signal you."
"Right. What's the score?....fuck..hee hee.."
Krebb made his way down into the basement via the secret door next to the bookcase. When he got to the "labor-atory" - as he liked to call it, and pronounce it, he saw that Angela Blaze was securely tied down and hardly struggling. The two gorillas stood next to her looking at him, tiny in comparison he gave them an order.
"Go upstairs and have a drink" he said, "do some pushups..whatever you do...but leave me to my work."
It sounded very Vincent Price and Krebb liked that, he stroked his beard for emphasis.
He walked over to the tightly bound Angela Blaze and leaned over to look in her eyes. She showed no fear; if anything, she looked amused.
"Well," Krebb said, "I think we both know what this is about. I've read your file...sort of...and well, let's get down to business, shall we?"
"Fuck you." Angela said.
"Later" Krebb replied. "But now I have to ask you a question, and if you don't give me the correct answer, I'm going to tickle you until you scream. Okay?"
"If you read my file you know I can handle being tickled; I've been tickled by the best. So, again, Fuck You."
"Fucking potty mouth. Alright, well to be fair, here's the question, feel free to answer any time, it's: 'What's the score?"
Angela turned her head defiantly and pursed her lips; a tough nut indeed.
"First things first" Krebb said, and opened a small drawer built into the table. He produced a pair of surgical scissors. Angela flinched.
"Now, don't worry," he said, "I will not hurt you, I promise you, I just need to get rid of some of these clothes."
And with that he began clipping away at Angela's clothing, her shirt, her shorts, her sandals, until she was completely naked but for a few pieces of shredded fabric that hung loose around the table.
(Unbeknownst to Krebb, Samantha Storm had installed a tiny camera in his 'labor-atory' and was watching everything via closed circuit TV. She admired his efficiency, his professionalism and thought that it was a rare quality in a true fetishist: to be so meticulous and not become overwhelmed by his passions.)
"Okay" Krebb said, "that's out of the way. Now, we smoke."
He pulled a high rolling chair next to the table (rack) Angela was now naked upon, stretched out and vulnerable to anything. He lit a cigarette and pulled a large ostrich plume from somewhere behind him and bounced it playfully across Angela's naked breasts, firming up her nipples and sending a ripple of gooseflesh down her arms and stomach. Her body was something carved by an angel when God wasn't looking. Pale skin with a spray of light freckles across her chest; her breasts were round and firm, her nipples perfectly formed and fully erect; her belly smooth and supple with the suggestion of a line down the middle ending in a deliciously vertical, medium-deep belly button. He moved the feather from her breasts, across her belly and down to her nether-regions. His eyes never left her face, he was gauging her reactions. Inner thighs, pale and inviting, shapely calves, and a smooth transition from calf to ankle to highly arched little foot. The feather bounced gently, very gently over every inch of her until she was shivering.
'Alright' Krebb thought, 'enough of this 'girlfriend shit, down to business.'
He leaped off the stool and looked severely at a trembling Angela Blaze. "I'm going to ask you again, What's the score?" She said nothing.
Krebb tossed the feather aside and began to mercilessly kneed her sides and ribs with remarkable cruelty for anyone who's been paying attention. Angela bucked and squealed and laughed that special laugh that only happens when you get tickled. It's a natural laugh with no intention behind it, no ulterior motive; it's not a flirty laugh or a polite laugh, it's a natural response to an (in this case) un-welcomed stimulus.
Samantha Storm, watching all this, was shocked at the fury with which Krebb went about his assignment. Her experience with him was that of a gentle yet determined man wholly concerned with keeping a woman's comfort in check. This was something she wasn't prepared for; this was a savage tickle attack, merciless and cruel. Yet, as she watched, she felt a familiar tingling in the down-belows and caught herself biting her nails. The goons noticed and she shot them a look full of daggers to quiet their juvenile imaginations.
Krebb worked on Angela's ribs until tears were pouring out of her eyes. She'd screamed "Stop, Stop" several times but that was not the answer to the question. And Krebb told her that. He gently but firmly pulled every ounce of laughter Angela had in her and then pulled out some more. Then he began a light dance of the finger tips over her naked breasts and nipples sending her into back spasms, producing sounds no one but those of us in the field could identify.
"What's the score?" he said again.
"Fuck you!"
"Right."
Again he launched a brutal attack on Angela's naked body. Fingers digging hard into ribs, stomach and finally, the money spot - just below her hip-bones. Just his two medium sized thumbs caused such a reaction in Angela that he nearly backed off...but didn't. This was work, after all, and only the Jones could say he had no stomach for evil. Angela bellowed at the intrusion; she screamed and laughed and cried, shaking the foundations of the table she'd been bound upon. After a few minutes of this obvious torture he showed a little mercy and dug his fingers into her smooth, exposed under arms. Angela reflexively tried to pull her arms in but couldn't. The laughter now was different, but still satisfying, and Krebb delighted in watching her diaphragm spasm with uncontrolled laughter. He wriggles his wicked fingers in and around, deep and shallow, sometimes moving to her breasts and nipples, all the while his face showed no remorse or even joy.
Samantha watched with envy.
Without warning, Krebb stopped and left Angela panting for breath on the table. He walked away and came back with an oxygen tank on a little wheely-thing with a mask attached by a tube.
"Here" he said, "you could use this." And after a bit of a struggle and too many explanations he finally clasped the mask over Angela's nose and mouth and told her to breathe.
Pure oxygen will get you high. It'll also burn your lungs out, so you have to be careful. Krebb gave her a few nice puffs and then pulled it off and said, "Now, please, what is the score?"
Angela looked her tormentor straight in the eyes and started to say, "Fu--" but Krebb cut her off, "Yeah, Fuck you, I know. Alright, break time, I need a smoke and you need to breathe or you're going to die. Consider what you've just been through and decide if answering the question might be your best option, okay?"
Krebb leaned back on his big rolling chair and smoked, looking up towards the ceiling. Angela looked at him and realized he wasn't part of any agency she knew of, he was obviously freelance and very good at what he was doing. She wondered how long she'd last.
Krebb showed Angela the last bit of his cigarette, took a final puff and crushed it to death in a nearby standing ashtray. He looked into her eyes to see if she was ready to talk...she wasn't.
With an almost visible hesitation, he stood up again and said, "Well, if this is how you want it...so be it" and walked towards her feet.
Angela's body tensed up reflexively because she knew her feet were her weakness. She took a deep breath and steadied herself for the torture that was about to begin.
Krebb stood at the base of the table, and admired her perfect little feet, completely immobile and vulnerable. He decided to play with her a little, unlike the previously brutal attack. Slowly, he wriggled his fingers beneath the sole of her left foot. Angela giggled but maintained.
"Oh, it's going to get a lot worse" Krebb said, "So if you have that answer..." he trailed off.
He started in the same way on the other foot, playing both at once, eliciting more giggles and the occasional cuss word. And then the tickling got more intense, his fingers moved like lightning under her soft, tender arches. They blazed with the fury of a mad musician playing for his life. Angela screamed and writhed and lost herself to a fit of girlish giggles. It was maddening and it didn't stop. Fingers fluttering across her soles had broken all of her years of training and discipline; she was a teenager again at the mercy of the neighbor kid who seemed to enjoy tickling her feet.
Krebb's face remained impassive.
The fingers moved from her arches to her toes and then to the tops of her feet. They moved with never ending intensity to her ankles and calves, driving Angela more and more insane and his digits leapt up her leg and to her thighs. When he got to her inner thighs, both hands still working in unison, moving closer and closer to the honey-pot, she screamed, "STTTOOOOPPPP."
Angela was out of breath, laughing despite herself even though the tickling had stopped. Krebb moved in close and brushed the hair from her eyes and wiped a tear from her eye with a gentle, formerly torturous thumb. "What's the score?" he said.
"Zero, Zero" she said, and then started to sob.
Krebb's earpiece buzzed, "That's the answer!" Samantha said, "you're done."
"It's alright, "he said to Angela, "it's alright, you're okay, you can relax now. You want more oxygen? Maybe a percocet?"
Angela looked at him with shame in her eyes, he recognized it immediately, he'd seen it in his own eyes too many times.
"None of that!" Krebb said authoritatively, "you have nothing to be ashamed of, you did well, you did very well. No shame."
Angela turned her face away but Krebb persisted.
"Hey, you did well, you're all right...and I have something for you."
Just then Samantha Storm came barging in with her two goons. She was carrying a suitcase.
"Well done Mr. Krebb," she said, and handed him the suitcase. It was heavy.
"How thoughtful" he said, what's this, fifty, 'hundred grand?"
"Seventy-Five Thousand in small bills." Samantha said.
"Oooh" Krebb said and tossed the suitcase to the bigger of the goons. "Awrite boys, do it."
The two big men grabbed Samantha's arms and held her while Krebb released Angela and gave her a robe to put on.
"What the---" Samantha was aghast, "what's going on here, we had a deal..."
"Yeah, but I had another deal with these two fellas. And I really don't need the money, so, boys, if you will..."
They strapped Samantha down tightly to the tickling rack. She was kicking and fighting but they managed with a little effort.
Krebb took Angela by the shoulders and said, "Now, since you've been such a good sport, please, have at her..."
Samantha started screaming protests, double-dealing, fuck-face little creep, etc., but Krebb just walked up the stairs. Before opening the door he said, "Fellas, just make sure you lock up when you leave, the back doors will be open, I'd appreciate it. Thanks. Ms. Blaze, it was a real pleasure making your acquaintance. No hard feeling, yeah?"
And with that he walked back into his living room and fixed himself a drink. He sat down on his old easy chair and lit up a cigarette and grabbed the remote to Samantha's closed circuit camera. After a few clicks he found the channel and turned up the volume. Angela was looming over Samantha Storm with an evil glint in her eye...Samantha looked terrified.
"Ah," Krebb said, "Retribution is a redheaded bitch tonight!"
CLOAK AND FEATHER: I GET PAID FOR THIS
Samantha Storm sat on the hood of her recently acquired mini with a pair of night-vision goggles and a listening device so new even she didn't know what to call it. She had pulled off to the side of a small mountain road that wound, round and around until it peaked at what she was now sure, was the home of one Irving Krebb. She had been there four hours.
The house was unimpressive: two stories gently falling apart from the top down, but there was light in the windows and smoke billowing out of an old tin-covered chimney. The listening device was picking up music, strange, almost classical music, but not quite. The driveway that led up to the house was one more curve up and was lined with an ancient wrought iron fence all the way to the front yard giving the place an eerie, Halloween-like vibe. There were gigantic black skeletons of trees on all sides and it was obvious the grounds had not been maintained in well over a decade. She'd have to manoeuvre through a forest to get to this guy’s house.
She almost missed the only interesting thing to happen all evening. Sometime around eleven, a door opened and a man stepped out and looked around; he lit a cigarette and sat down in an ancient wooden rocker and gently smoked and rocked and surveyed the town below. She recognized the hat immediately and knew she'd found the right place.
Irving Krebb was just finishing up his cigarette and settling down to a nice evening of liquor and books when out of no-where the door threatened to bust in. He cocked his head and moved towards the door. "Can I help you?" He said.
The door bulged again but still didn't open. There was an unmistakable female grunt happening on the other side.
"Listen" he said, "you're going to hurt yourself, just let me open the door, okay?"
Silence.
"Okay" he said, "I’m open---"
He clicked open the door and it suddenly burst open and in less than a half a second Samantha Storm had a hand around Irving Krebb's thick throat.
"Hi" he croaked.
"You don't remember me?" Samantha demanded.
"Well, sure, yeah, but no, not really, I have this conditio-"
She cut him off by squeezing his throat harder.
"You don't remember torturing me in that warehouse six months ago, tickling me nearly to death and then walking away?"
"Oh, that, yeah, I remember that, sure....why?"
"Because I vowed I'd kill you that day and now, it seems, I've come to collect."
"Oh" Krebb said, a little too nonchalantly, "well, God knows I deserve it, go ahead, make it quick." And he proceeded to light another cigarette.
"Those things will kill you." Samantha said.
"Yeah, I guess...not before you though, huh?" Krebb said, and let out a little chuckle.
Even Samantha, stone cold agent and saboteur found this a little charming and off putting.
"I'm not here to kill you." She said.
"Well, in that case, how about a drink?"
"No, and no more for you either."
"Darlin', I --"
She cut him off, Mr. Krebb, what I am about to tell you is very important to the people I work with and I need you at your best."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
About an hour later Irving Krebb sat looking thoughtfully in his old easy chair. Samantha Storm sat on the adjacent couch trying to read his expressions.
Finally, he said, "So you're telling me that this, uh, what was her name?"
"Angela Blaze"
"Right, you want me to tickle her into telling you whatever it is you need to know."
"Right."
"And I can't know, right?
"Right. We have an undisclosed location we can bring her to where---"
"No need, this place is pretty undisclosed, I made sure of that when I bought it."
"Mr. Krebb, we have a facility fully outfitted with any, uh, tools, you might need, and --"
"So do I, take a walk with me downstairs."
Krebb pushed an old book deep into the bookshelf and a wall opened up beside it with a staircase leading down to a hidden basement.
"I like to work in here..." He said cryptically.
He flipped on some overhead lights and there in the middle of floor was what looked vaguely like a rack, but more modern and built for comfort (if you could call it that) with everything covered in pads and a hundred or so padded restraints.
"Like it? I made it myself."
Samantha Storm eyed the strange yet familiar device. She walked around it dragging a finger across it, admiringly.
"And this place is sound proof, so, you know..."
"Yeah, don't get any ideas Mr. Krebb, once was enough for me."
"Oh, I didn't mean...well, anyway, you get this chick here and I'll have her squealing in no time. Literally."
"It might not be that easy," Samantha said, "She's a top agent."
"Well, that's your problem." He said casually. And then, "Incidentally, what do I get out of all this?"
Samantha Storm walked slowly around the table and stood face to face with Irving Krebb, "Don't worry, Mr. Krebb, you will be handsomely compensated." She punctuated the last word with a move like she was going to kiss him but didn't. "Shucks," he though, "no smack-a-roo..."
Back in the living room of Krebb Manor Samantha Storm produced a file from her shoulder bag. "Here" she said, "This is her."
Krebb opened to folder to reveal a knock-out red head dressed in some kind of cow-girl type thing with the shirt knotted just under the breasts and little tiny cut-off denim shorts.
"My stars..." He muttered. "Hey, can I keep her when we're done?"
"No'
Angela Blaze was indeed a thing to behold. A natural redhead with a cupie-bow lips and a baby-fat face that was too adorable for accurate description. She was the thing Irving Krebb would have made had God given him the keys to the shop like he'd asked so many years ago. A moment passed when he thought about forgoing payment but he quickly rebuked himself and thought, "When you're good at something...etc. etc."
Along with the pictures there were stats, all kinds of stats, stats with which Irving Krebb was mostly not interested. But one stood out. It said that Angela Blaze was an expert in the use of tickling to gather information and had trained under Helga-something-or-other, allowing herself to be tickled to tears many times before she was given the rank of expert.
"She's going to be a tough nut.." Krebb said.
"Yes, she is, Mr. Krebb, and she knows all our techniques...in fact, she teaches them. That's why we need you."
"Me?"
"Yes. You won't be following the playbook...you'll do things....let's say you'll do things that aren't by the book."
"Okay, yeah, why not, when's this thing happening?"
"We're doing surveillance on her tomorrow night at a bar one town over called Plum Street. We'll take her there."
"Oh, I know that place, can I go?"
"No."
"Awe, c'mon, I know the place, just point her out to me, maybe I can get her to come home with me."
"I doubt that, Mr. Krebb, but you can come only because I have a feeling you'll show up anyway. Don't speak to her unless spoken to and don't get drunk. Well, not too drunk anyway. And leave the extraction to us."
"Alright" Krebb said, "on two conditions..."
"What conditions?"
"No. 1 You don't hurt her in anyway, no violence, I can't stand violence. No.2 Drinks are on you."
Samantha Storm looked at him thoughtfully and said, "Deal." She told Krebb she'd send a car 'round tomorrow at 8pm sharp and to be ready. Krebb agreed and showed her to the door.
"Next time" he said, "just ring the bell, I would've answered and saved you a shoulder."
"If this goes well, Mr. Krebb" Samantha said, "there won't be a next time."
Krebb shut the door, lit a cigarette and went about pouring himself a drink. He thought to himself, "Silly girl, there's always a next-time."
Next day, as promised, a nondescript black sedan made it's winding way up to Krebb's ratty looking, gray house. He watched from the porch as the headlights made their way up and up and finally to the front gate. He collected himself and said out loud, "Welp, this is it..."
He jumped in the backseat and was surprised to see two enormous men sat heavily in the front.
"Evening, fellas." He said.
No response.
"Alright then, to the Plum Street Pub!" he commanded.
Still no response, but the car roared off down the mountain and into the darkness.
The big man in the passenger seat turned around and looked Krebb up and down, the look on his face said he wasn't impressed. Without looking he reached into the breast pocket of his neatly tailored suit and produced a small ear bud.
"Put this in your ear." He said, flatly.
"What is it?" Krebb asked.
"You'll be able to hear Samantha with this and she'll be able to hear you; when we get Blaze back to your...facility...she'll be listening and will let you know when the desired information has been...extracted."
"Alright, then."
Krebb stuck the little device into his ear, it was uncomfortable but he figured he'd get used to it. And if he didn't, well, he's just take it out and step on it like a bug.
When they arrived at the Plum Street Pub the car came to a sudden stop and the driver said, "Get out."
Krebb obliged, and automatically reached for a cigarette. This was one of the few places where you could still smoke - a rare thing in a post-nuclear age. He said 'Hello' to the bouncer, who he knew only in passing, and stepped inside.
The place was crawling with bad people doing bad things listening to good music. The jukebox blared. Krebb took his usual seat at the end of the bar and motioned for the bartender, a sweet young thing wearing a halter top. She smiled and without a word between them fixed his favorite: a double vodka tonic. Krebb smiled as she said, "Um, I was told these are being taken care of tonight...okay?"
"Of course," Krebb said, "and there will be a fat tip at the end, I promise."
The bartender smiled and quickly switched her attentions to another patron wanting a beer.
Krebb sipped his drink. His mind did it's best to race...he thought:
Jesus...what have I gotten myself into...free drinks, a beautiful girl with which to indulge my peculiar interests...and goons, I've got goons waiting in a car outside....Jesus...what a thing.
He scanned the room looking for Blaze, it was a quick scan. Angela Blaze was impossible to miss; she was leaning on the bar, her ass up in the air, with her hands cupping her pretty face, lips wrapped around a red straw sipping some sissy drink and giggling at a bad joke some clown next to her was trying to make. She was flirting with every guy in the bar and it wasn't by accident. Her outfit portrayed a certain lack of actual clothing: a cut off t-shirt, cut off shorts; about a mile of legs and then those Greek looking wrap around sandals made of black leather cord. She was a fucking vision...a pervert's delight, all decked and ready to go.
"MY PERVERT'S DELIGHT!" Thought Krebb.
There is a certain confidence that comes with knowing that you're guy going home with the hottest chick in the bar. And if it requires two enormous goons and a few dozen restraints, well, that's okay too.
Krebb sat and sipped his drink. He imagined all of the wonderful things he'd be doing very soon, and now and then he examined his muse with a strange little smile crossing his lips. He must have gotten lost in the fantasy because all of a sudden there was the smell of lilacs and a warm body gently nudging him saying, "Hey."
"Huh..." He said, "What?" And then he realized it was Angela Blaze sat next to him at the bar looking at him with a sort of sideways glance. "Oh, right." He said.
"Right?" Angela said, laughing a little, "What's your story, why are you sitting here all alone?"
"Story?" The word bounced in Krebb's head a minute, was he supposed to have a story? Samantha didn't say anything about a story. He decided to play it real cool. "No story" he said, "Just having a drink, enjoying the music."
"What're you drinking" Angela said.
"Vodka tonic, would you like one?"
"Sure"
Krebb motioned for the bartender again and ordered up two more double vodka tonics. Angela never took her eyes off of him, examining every movement and looking for the tell tales signs of a concealed weapon. Satisfied he wasn't armed, she relaxed a little and let herself enjoy the drink. 'Fuck it' she thought, 'I'm off duty...well...' In her line of work you were never off duty but once in a while you could allow yourself to enjoy an evening without too much concern that the guy next to you was going to ram a stiletto into your back when you got up to go to the ladies room.
"Cheers" Krebb said, and offered his glass to clink.
Angela obliged and the two sat in silence for a moment, neither really knowing how to proceed.
All of a sudden there was an explosion in Krebb's right ear. He grimaced a minute like he'd been struck with sudden severe headache. Angela noticed and said, "You okay?" "Yeah," he said, "brain freeze..." and then Samantha silky voice came in loud and clear, directly into his skull, soothing the pain and clearing the cobwebs left behind.
"Krebb," she said, "you've got to get her to go outside, we'll take her by the parking lot, get her OUTSIDE as soon as you can."
Krebb started to answer but caught himself and played it as casually as he could, never having had voices in his head before.
He and Angela made small talk for about an hour and a half, drinking, laughing, and drinking. In an ordinary situation he would've stared compulsively at the naked stretch of side torso Angela was flaunting and might have even dared a small tweak...just to see, you know. But this was business, and the business of pleasure is a rough one, so they say, etc. etc. Samantha Storm, monitoring all this from a van outside was getting pissed because it seemed Krebb was more interested in getting pissed than anything else. She barked into the earpiece again and Krebb got the point. 'Alright, he thought, time to do the do...'
"Hey, Angela, you want to go smoke a joint?"
"A joint? What are you, like, sixty?"
"No, but I have a joint in my car...and they know me here, they don't care if I go out and smoke a little herb."
"Herb?!" Angela laughed. "Yeah, sure, let's go smoke some 'herb'." Her tone was slightly mocking but she thought his clumsy attempt at hitting on her was cute in a weird kinda way.
"Okay then, let's finish these first." And with that, Krebb downed the last of his last double vodka tonic.
Angela downed hers too and realized that she was feeling the drinks a little...and also, that this guy Krebb seemed unaffected.
They slid off their bar stools and made for the front door. Krebb winked at the bartender and she winked back knowing the drinks were covered by some anonymous entity Krebb was no doubt involved with. She smiled and thought, 'good for him' when she noticed he was leaving with the smoking hot redhead.
Once outside they walked over to the parking lot and Angela instantly felt something was wrong; her training had instilled a sixth sense about these things and something was definitely wrong. Unfortunately, maybe because of the booze, the thought came a second too late and she was set upon by the two gorillas that drove Krebb to the bar. With the utmost efficiency and, I guess, professionalism, they had her subdued and tossed into the back of the sedan. It happened in about ten seconds and no one saw a thing.
"Eck.." Krebb grimaced..."Violence..." He reached for the door handle on the sedan but one of the goons put a huge meaty paw on his chest and said, "No." And then they sped off.
Krebb stood there a minute wondering what was going on. What did he mean, 'No?' Fuck, that was his ride. Just as he decided to start walking Samantha Storm's mini came sliding up next to him. "Get in." She said.
Krebb got in the car and they started driving fast towards his humble hill-top abode. Samantha Storm started talking a mile a minute. Telling him her weakness, her experience, her training, etc. etc. and then, most importantly, the one question she had to answer: "What's the score?"
"What's the score?" Krebb repeated, "That's it? What kind of shit question is that? The score to what?"
"Remember" Samantha said, "I'll be listening, and when she gives the correct response I'll let you know through the ear piece.
"What's the score?" Krebb said again...mockingly. "You read "Marathon Man" by any chance?"
"No", she said.
They arrived at Krebb Manor a few minutes behind the big sedan with Angela stuffed in the back seat. He instructed the goons to bring her around back, carefully, no bruises, no violence. They looked at him fiercely but did as he instructed. He followed them to a set of hatch-like doors sealed with an enormous padlock. Krebb fished some keys out of his pocket and unlocked it on about the third try.
"Okay" he said, "Bring her down gently and strap her to the thing in the middle, you can't miss it, and if she struggles, use those big muscles gently, got it?"
The goons nodded. Angela Blaze was struggling, she heard every word but she knew that in these situations it's best to keep calm to avoid getting your arms broke. No matter what this lunatic said, she knew these guys would have no problem snapping a limb or two if strapping her down became a problem.
Krebb watched them go down the stairs and then slammed the doors shut and locked them again. He went over to Samantha, asked, "Where will you be?"
"Well, I was hoping somewhere a little more comfortable that this car." She said.
"Okay, you can wait in my living room. Make yourself comfortable. Help yourself to whatever it is I have in there...I lose track..."
"Thank you." Samantha said, smiling a little, and followed Mr. Krebb to the front of his house, up the steps and into the living room.
"Okay," he said, "I've got work to do. Keep them goons out of my things, will you? I don't like them."
"They're mostly brainless" she said, "not the curious types, don't worry. And remember, when she gives the correct response I'll signal you."
"Right. What's the score?....fuck..hee hee.."
Krebb made his way down into the basement via the secret door next to the bookcase. When he got to the "labor-atory" - as he liked to call it, and pronounce it, he saw that Angela Blaze was securely tied down and hardly struggling. The two gorillas stood next to her looking at him, tiny in comparison he gave them an order.
"Go upstairs and have a drink" he said, "do some pushups..whatever you do...but leave me to my work."
It sounded very Vincent Price and Krebb liked that, he stroked his beard for emphasis.
He walked over to the tightly bound Angela Blaze and leaned over to look in her eyes. She showed no fear; if anything, she looked amused.
"Well," Krebb said, "I think we both know what this is about. I've read your file...sort of...and well, let's get down to business, shall we?"
"Fuck you." Angela said.
"Later" Krebb replied. "But now I have to ask you a question, and if you don't give me the correct answer, I'm going to tickle you until you scream. Okay?"
"If you read my file you know I can handle being tickled; I've been tickled by the best. So, again, Fuck You."
"Fucking potty mouth. Alright, well to be fair, here's the question, feel free to answer any time, it's: 'What's the score?"
Angela turned her head defiantly and pursed her lips; a tough nut indeed.
"First things first" Krebb said, and opened a small drawer built into the table. He produced a pair of surgical scissors. Angela flinched.
"Now, don't worry," he said, "I will not hurt you, I promise you, I just need to get rid of some of these clothes."
And with that he began clipping away at Angela's clothing, her shirt, her shorts, her sandals, until she was completely naked but for a few pieces of shredded fabric that hung loose around the table.
(Unbeknownst to Krebb, Samantha Storm had installed a tiny camera in his 'labor-atory' and was watching everything via closed circuit TV. She admired his efficiency, his professionalism and thought that it was a rare quality in a true fetishist: to be so meticulous and not become overwhelmed by his passions.)
"Okay" Krebb said, "that's out of the way. Now, we smoke."
He pulled a high rolling chair next to the table (rack) Angela was now naked upon, stretched out and vulnerable to anything. He lit a cigarette and pulled a large ostrich plume from somewhere behind him and bounced it playfully across Angela's naked breasts, firming up her nipples and sending a ripple of gooseflesh down her arms and stomach. Her body was something carved by an angel when God wasn't looking. Pale skin with a spray of light freckles across her chest; her breasts were round and firm, her nipples perfectly formed and fully erect; her belly smooth and supple with the suggestion of a line down the middle ending in a deliciously vertical, medium-deep belly button. He moved the feather from her breasts, across her belly and down to her nether-regions. His eyes never left her face, he was gauging her reactions. Inner thighs, pale and inviting, shapely calves, and a smooth transition from calf to ankle to highly arched little foot. The feather bounced gently, very gently over every inch of her until she was shivering.
'Alright' Krebb thought, 'enough of this 'girlfriend shit, down to business.'
He leaped off the stool and looked severely at a trembling Angela Blaze. "I'm going to ask you again, What's the score?" She said nothing.
Krebb tossed the feather aside and began to mercilessly kneed her sides and ribs with remarkable cruelty for anyone who's been paying attention. Angela bucked and squealed and laughed that special laugh that only happens when you get tickled. It's a natural laugh with no intention behind it, no ulterior motive; it's not a flirty laugh or a polite laugh, it's a natural response to an (in this case) un-welcomed stimulus.
Samantha Storm, watching all this, was shocked at the fury with which Krebb went about his assignment. Her experience with him was that of a gentle yet determined man wholly concerned with keeping a woman's comfort in check. This was something she wasn't prepared for; this was a savage tickle attack, merciless and cruel. Yet, as she watched, she felt a familiar tingling in the down-belows and caught herself biting her nails. The goons noticed and she shot them a look full of daggers to quiet their juvenile imaginations.
Krebb worked on Angela's ribs until tears were pouring out of her eyes. She'd screamed "Stop, Stop" several times but that was not the answer to the question. And Krebb told her that. He gently but firmly pulled every ounce of laughter Angela had in her and then pulled out some more. Then he began a light dance of the finger tips over her naked breasts and nipples sending her into back spasms, producing sounds no one but those of us in the field could identify.
"What's the score?" he said again.
"Fuck you!"
"Right."
Again he launched a brutal attack on Angela's naked body. Fingers digging hard into ribs, stomach and finally, the money spot - just below her hip-bones. Just his two medium sized thumbs caused such a reaction in Angela that he nearly backed off...but didn't. This was work, after all, and only the Jones could say he had no stomach for evil. Angela bellowed at the intrusion; she screamed and laughed and cried, shaking the foundations of the table she'd been bound upon. After a few minutes of this obvious torture he showed a little mercy and dug his fingers into her smooth, exposed under arms. Angela reflexively tried to pull her arms in but couldn't. The laughter now was different, but still satisfying, and Krebb delighted in watching her diaphragm spasm with uncontrolled laughter. He wriggles his wicked fingers in and around, deep and shallow, sometimes moving to her breasts and nipples, all the while his face showed no remorse or even joy.
Samantha watched with envy.
Without warning, Krebb stopped and left Angela panting for breath on the table. He walked away and came back with an oxygen tank on a little wheely-thing with a mask attached by a tube.
"Here" he said, "you could use this." And after a bit of a struggle and too many explanations he finally clasped the mask over Angela's nose and mouth and told her to breathe.
Pure oxygen will get you high. It'll also burn your lungs out, so you have to be careful. Krebb gave her a few nice puffs and then pulled it off and said, "Now, please, what is the score?"
Angela looked her tormentor straight in the eyes and started to say, "Fu--" but Krebb cut her off, "Yeah, Fuck you, I know. Alright, break time, I need a smoke and you need to breathe or you're going to die. Consider what you've just been through and decide if answering the question might be your best option, okay?"
Krebb leaned back on his big rolling chair and smoked, looking up towards the ceiling. Angela looked at him and realized he wasn't part of any agency she knew of, he was obviously freelance and very good at what he was doing. She wondered how long she'd last.
Krebb showed Angela the last bit of his cigarette, took a final puff and crushed it to death in a nearby standing ashtray. He looked into her eyes to see if she was ready to talk...she wasn't.
With an almost visible hesitation, he stood up again and said, "Well, if this is how you want it...so be it" and walked towards her feet.
Angela's body tensed up reflexively because she knew her feet were her weakness. She took a deep breath and steadied herself for the torture that was about to begin.
Krebb stood at the base of the table, and admired her perfect little feet, completely immobile and vulnerable. He decided to play with her a little, unlike the previously brutal attack. Slowly, he wriggled his fingers beneath the sole of her left foot. Angela giggled but maintained.
"Oh, it's going to get a lot worse" Krebb said, "So if you have that answer..." he trailed off.
He started in the same way on the other foot, playing both at once, eliciting more giggles and the occasional cuss word. And then the tickling got more intense, his fingers moved like lightning under her soft, tender arches. They blazed with the fury of a mad musician playing for his life. Angela screamed and writhed and lost herself to a fit of girlish giggles. It was maddening and it didn't stop. Fingers fluttering across her soles had broken all of her years of training and discipline; she was a teenager again at the mercy of the neighbor kid who seemed to enjoy tickling her feet.
Krebb's face remained impassive.
The fingers moved from her arches to her toes and then to the tops of her feet. They moved with never ending intensity to her ankles and calves, driving Angela more and more insane and his digits leapt up her leg and to her thighs. When he got to her inner thighs, both hands still working in unison, moving closer and closer to the honey-pot, she screamed, "STTTOOOOPPPP."
Angela was out of breath, laughing despite herself even though the tickling had stopped. Krebb moved in close and brushed the hair from her eyes and wiped a tear from her eye with a gentle, formerly torturous thumb. "What's the score?" he said.
"Zero, Zero" she said, and then started to sob.
Krebb's earpiece buzzed, "That's the answer!" Samantha said, "you're done."
"It's alright, "he said to Angela, "it's alright, you're okay, you can relax now. You want more oxygen? Maybe a percocet?"
Angela looked at him with shame in her eyes, he recognized it immediately, he'd seen it in his own eyes too many times.
"None of that!" Krebb said authoritatively, "you have nothing to be ashamed of, you did well, you did very well. No shame."
Angela turned her face away but Krebb persisted.
"Hey, you did well, you're all right...and I have something for you."
Just then Samantha Storm came barging in with her two goons. She was carrying a suitcase.
"Well done Mr. Krebb," she said, and handed him the suitcase. It was heavy.
"How thoughtful" he said, what's this, fifty, 'hundred grand?"
"Seventy-Five Thousand in small bills." Samantha said.
"Oooh" Krebb said and tossed the suitcase to the bigger of the goons. "Awrite boys, do it."
The two big men grabbed Samantha's arms and held her while Krebb released Angela and gave her a robe to put on.
"What the---" Samantha was aghast, "what's going on here, we had a deal..."
"Yeah, but I had another deal with these two fellas. And I really don't need the money, so, boys, if you will..."
They strapped Samantha down tightly to the tickling rack. She was kicking and fighting but they managed with a little effort.
Krebb took Angela by the shoulders and said, "Now, since you've been such a good sport, please, have at her..."
Samantha started screaming protests, double-dealing, fuck-face little creep, etc., but Krebb just walked up the stairs. Before opening the door he said, "Fellas, just make sure you lock up when you leave, the back doors will be open, I'd appreciate it. Thanks. Ms. Blaze, it was a real pleasure making your acquaintance. No hard feeling, yeah?"
And with that he walked back into his living room and fixed himself a drink. He sat down on his old easy chair and lit up a cigarette and grabbed the remote to Samantha's closed circuit camera. After a few clicks he found the channel and turned up the volume. Angela was looming over Samantha Storm with an evil glint in her eye...Samantha looked terrified.
"Ah," Krebb said, "Retribution is a redheaded bitch tonight!"
