He had two maids, both named Isabel, and both having last names beginning with R. One worked Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sunday afternoons. The other worked the remaining days. He gave them each $100 a week in U.S. currency, which they could then cheerfully convert to the anemic local currency at any bank. Both maids were in their forties. One was fat; the other, of average build. The fat one was divorced from her second husband, and had two kids, one by each spouse. The other was married but had no children. That was about all their employer knew about them?or wanted to know.
The arms dealer preferred his "occupation" to that of some of his acquaintances, who were drug lords. Drug lords had to constantly use intimidation to keep their power, which helped keep the arms dealer in business. The arms dealer had to be careful of what he did or with whom he was seen, but he knew that many weak governments, as well as some strong ones, could use his services from time to time. They would not try to hunt him down and kill or imprison him unless they were very stupid--which some of them could be from time to time.
The dealer called himself Roberto, though it was not his true name. He lived modestly, though not frugally. His bodyguard was also his driver, though he did not travel in an expensive car. He had unlimited use of a modest twin-engine prop plane for any occasion that he had to travel far from home or spend time out of the country. The plane was slow (by the standards of the jet aircraft used by his business associates), but Roberto used the time in the air for relaxation. Roberto had his pecadilloes, but he tried not to let them make him vulnerable.
No men worked directly for Roberto. That is, his maids, bodyguard, even his pilots were all women. He did not have sexual relationships with any of these women; their relationships were strictly professional, and Roberto was in fact quite courteous with them. Nonetheless, Roberto did enjoy female companionship, and if one were to observe his plane prior to his boarding, one would notice two young women, usually 18 or 19 years old, stepping out of a small car and aboard the aircraft.
On this particular day, two young women, one 18 and the other almost 20, climbed the short set of steps to the airplane about 45 minutes before Roberto?s arrival. The climb was a bit of a challenge for the older one, who was wearing an ankle-length dress. "I wish he would have let us wear shorts," she said to the other gal.
"He said we had to wear dresses, but that each of us had to wear a different style," said the other one, who was wearing a knee-length floral-print jumper dress. "You could have worn your mini-dress."
"No way--not with this wind. Even your dress almost flew up over your butt. It's a good thing you're wearing a slip under it."
"Are you wearing a slip with yours?"
"Yeah--two, actually. But one's just a pair of petti-pants."
"Well, this should be an easy couple of hundred bucks. I wonder what he'll want us to do. . ."
An hour later, the plane was in the air, being buffeted by the same winds that had blown up the women's dresses. I forgot that strong winds on the ground could also make it rough up here, thought the older of the young women.
"Are you all right?" Roberto asked the women.
"It's awfully rough up here. It was windy when we got into the airplane," the older one replied. "Are we not allowed to fly at a different altitude?"
Roberto, who was prepared to be insulted at the slightest hint of insolence, was impressed by the way the question was put to him. He asked the other young woman to hand him the intercom phone. A minute later, he slammed it down. "It seems we are not welcome at the airport to which we have been heading."
"They won't let us land?" asked the younger woman.
"We are not scheduled to land for a couple of hours," said Roberto. "Would you excuse me for a few minutes? I need to make some phone calls. There are sodas in the center cabin."
As the two went forward to the center cabin, Roberto asked a strange question. "Are you wearing nylon stockings--or pantyhose?"
The younger one, not sure whether the question was multiple-choice or yes-no, said, "Yes--I mean, just knee-highs." She pulled up her dress a little to reveal the stocking tops.
"I'm just wearing ankle socks," said the older one--the one in the long dress. "It was just too hot today for pantyhose--especially under a long dress. I'm sorry if this does not please you."
"That's quite all right. I don't like pantyhose. They're too much like pants," said Roberto. He closed the door to the rear cabin.
Two hours later, the plane touched down on a remote private runway. The women had remained in the center cabin since the conversation about the pantyhose. Roberto and his bodyguard, who had ridden with the pilots, left the plane to make sure this was not some sort of ambush. Half an hour later, Roberto returned to the center cabin. "It is safe here," he said. "Did you girls bring a change of clothes? I did not know we would be traveling to such a hot place."
Both said, "No."
"That is too bad," said Roberto. "I should have expected this and warned you, though. My apologies." Roberto started to step out of the cabin, then turned to the women. "Are you wearing slips under your dresses?"
Both answered yes this time.
"Take off your bottom layer of underwear--bras, panties, girdles, stockings."
"What about our slips?" asked the younger woman.
"Keep them on."
After Roberto left, the older woman asked, "Do you think I should take off my petti-pants?"
"I would," said the other one. "You know how he feels about shorts and pantyhose."
Both women had to take off their dresses to remove their bras, but since neither was wearing a full slip, they didn't have to undress fully to complete the removal. "Now what?" the younger one asked. Roberto soon returned with an answer.
"Put your garments in this bag," he said. "My client has a fetish about ladies' undergarments. If he likes these, you may earn some more money. Now, step off the plane; my bodyguard here will escort you to your accommodation."
Each gal was given a separate bungalow at the compound where the plane had landed. "In the closet, each of you will find two dresses and a couple of miniskirts," said the bodyguard. "One of the dresses is an evening gown; you will wear that tonight. The other is a sundress; you may change into it now, or continue wearing the dresses you have on. You will wear one of the miniskirts tomorrow. I'm sorry about the underwear situation, but one of the miniskirts in each closet has an attached liner, and I'm told the other is nearly knee-length. Any questions?"
Both women felt a bit shy about going to party with no underwear on, but the gowns were full-length and had attached petticoats. The top parts were constructed so as to make a bra unnecessary. "Roberto always comes with beautiful women," said an older man to the young women, shortly after the party had begun. His companion, a much younger woman, wore a slim, calf-length dress and very high heels. The older of Roberto's women had noticed her earlier, seeing a snake tattoo around her right ankle. On the whole, the evening was quite successful, and Roberto got a little bit drunk. His bodyguard, though dressed in a relatively short gown, remained stone sober.
About 2:00 a.m., everything happened at once. One of the other guests, whom Roberto's companions had seen briefly once or twice in the evening, came after Roberto with a knife. "You double-crossing son of a bitch!"
Roberto was unable to react in time, and before he knew it, the knife had left a big gash in his left arm. His bodyguard pulled out her gun from just under her hem and fired a single shot at the assailant. The assailant had two male bodyguards, who pulled out their guns to fire at Roberto and his guard. The 19-year-old kicked the gun out of one bodyguard?s hand, but not before he fired a shot into the ceiling. The 18-year-old tried the same trick, but the second guard?s gun also went off, with the bullet striking her in the left thigh. The sight of her legs spread with no underwear on and blood shooting out of her leg was the last thing the guard ever saw before the 19-year-old grabbed the first male guard's gun and shot the second one through the head.
"It's Roberto's fault, really," said one of the airplane pilots the next day. "He made alliances with too many people who hated each other. He is quite grateful for what you did. You will not see you again. He planned to make love to both of you after a successful transaction early this morning, but he has had to leave immediately. Others are after him." The pilot hesitated. "He knows how to take care of himself. His bodyguard is with him. He'll be safe. So will she."
The 19-year-old asked, "What about us?"
The pilot said, "The owner of this place has a private resort . . . elsewhere. You will stay there until your friend recovers. I will be flying you there this evening."
The woman with the tattoo on her ankle pushed in the 18-year-old's wheelchair. Both were wearing the same clothes they'd had on the night before, though the 19-year-old was now in the lined miniskirt. "You haven't changed your dress?" she asked.
Her friend laughed. "They took off the petticoat, but I wouldn't let them remove this. This thing brought me luck. When that goon was looking at my butt, it gave you time to aim and fire a killer of a shot."
"He's dead?" The 19-year-old shuddered. "I never meant to kill him."
The woman with the tattoo spoke. "That 'goon'--as you call him--was no bodyguard. He was a profesional killer. He murdered my father in cold blood a year ago. I promised my father just before he died--bleeding to death from a gunshot wound to the head in his own dining room--that I would kill this animal. I became Mr. Lopez's mistress so that I would have a chance to meet this thug. I too was armed last night." She pulled up her dress to reveal a small gun in her garters. "I think these thugs thought it would be easy at a party where almost everyone was a woman. The only men who were supposed to be there were the parties to the transactions."
"Will we ever have a normal life again?" asked the 19-year-old.
"No, but you will always have a place to sleep, food to eat, and clothes to wear. You will never be lonely again, either. Now you will have, as I did, the opportunity to choose your male companions--everything you could want or need."
"Including underwear?" joked the 18-year-old.
"Why?" responded the 19-year-old. "That's one thing you don't need!"