Bad Ass

Hair slicked behind his ears, his skin-tight black leather pants and blue leather boots give him a put-together look. Yet, the white armband that matches his shirt – a shirt with a white Nehru collar does the trick. He thinks it makes him a Bad Ass, BA for short. So short, he had it carved onto his index finger – capitalized initials of BA.

Liquid black pools in his eyes reflect the light from bright LED lights, glittering like stars in his irises, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. He mesmerized her from when she lifted her vodka martini with the lemon twist to her lacquered red lips, lips so full a man could swim in them.

He was scrolling his iPhone while leering at her, white teeth flashing between the diamond-shaped dimples of his cheeks.

She slid beside him on the stool, holding her glass toward the bartender, hooking her thumb at BA as if to say the Bad Ass was paying.

BA knocked her clutch to the floor as she bent to get it, the powder swirls to the bottom of her drink, the men winking and nodding.

After she finished her martini, shots were laid down and slammed back, one, two, three. BA slips his arm around her, and her head leans on his shoulder as they rise together, and he guides her to his private room, what he calls the playroom.

***

From her seat under the mirror, the redhead in a sequined turquoise midriff top munched on charcuterie, sipping her soda and bitters. Her head was tipped over her straw, so her long lashes hid the angry fire spitting from her caramel irises. She rose as BA guided his prey out of the bar; she just needed to see the floor number he punched at the elevator. Katarina took the stairs two at a time to floor five and arrived before the elevator doors opened. Leaning against the wall, she waited like a cheetah. She watched as her prey exited the elevator with his prey. Katarina felt the rush of adrenalin pumping through her but had no need to breathe deep for calm. She waited.

BA fumbled for his key card at his door, and she pounced. His head jerked as his drugged captive was gently placed on the floor. Confused, he stared down at her. A split second later, his arms were pulled up behind him, and his face slammed into the wall, a knee in his back, and he heard the jingle of metal.

Speaking into her hidden mic, Katarina said, “I’ve got him, floor five, not far from the elevator. Back me up and send the medics, stat.”

In less than a minute, the elevator doors dinged again, and the bartender arrived with the medics. Undercover officer, known as Flaming Avenger to her friends, and her partner had busted another rapist.

"We're taking you in for probable cause," Katarina said as she tightly clamped BA's wrists in the cuffs.

Copyright © 5/6/2024 by Andrea O. Corwin

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Author notes: This story was originally composed to be a poem. I like strong female characters so updated it into a short story. Flaming Avenger Katarina may show up in some more stories. If you liked this you might want to check out the story below submitted to the Just A Minute challenge.