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Xanadu had its share of children, and while it was still light out they paraded around in their costumes from building to building, collecting treats from the security staff at the doors. The kids sang as they collected their candy.
A Reaper, a creeper
Goes looking for a sleeper
Waives him up, drinks him down
And packs him in the freez-zer.
Valentine, dressed in his Bulletproof "leathers" and carrying a large brown market bag full of costuming, was a little shocked to hear the realities of life in the Kurian Zone expressed in nursery-rhyme fashion. He watched one young child, dressed in the red-and-white stripes of a frightening, bloody-handed Uncle Sam, pull his cowgirl sister along as they sang. He'd been at sea during his other Halloween in the Kurian Zone, so he couldn't say if it was a widespread practice. Or maybe on this one night mention of the real duties of the Reapers was allowed.
Valentine passed in to Grand East and nodded to the security staff. They were used to him by now.
"Nice costume, Tar. You really rode those things?"
"Sure did," Valentine said, trying to put a little Kentucky music into his voice.
Valentine went to the smaller of the elevators, the one that went to the top and garage floors, and rode up.
He couldn't help but pat the syringes stuck in the breast of his legworm-rider jacket. His .22 target pistol was tucked into the small of his back, held in place by three strips of surgical tape. Hopefully he wouldn't need it.
Fran Paoli just yelled "come in" at his knock. He hurried in, wondering just how-
And he had his answer when he saw her.
She stood in the doorway of her bedroom, a gothic queen spider in thigh-high boots thick with buckles. Black eyeliner, spider earrings, a temporary tattoo of a skull on one fleshy, corset-enclosed breast.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but leather and chains excite me," she quoted.
"What on earth do you use boots like that for?" Valentine asked.
"Turning men on. Is it working?"
"I'll say. Come here, you naughty girl."
She giggled, and came up and kissed him. She tested the hooks on his forearms, and looked down at the spurs.
"You're dangerous tonight," Fran Paoli observed.
"You've no idea."
He sat on the arm of her sofa and threw her across his knee, raising the torn, black-dyed taffeta miniskirt. A black thong divided her buttocks. He gave her backside an experimental slap.
"Ohhhh!" she cooed.
"I may just have to tie you up so other men don't get a chance to see this," he said, snapping the thong. He hit her again, harder.
"Nothing I could do about it," she said.
He hit her harder. She gave tiny giggle-gasps at each swat.
"My, what a strong arm you have," she said, lifting her now-splotched buttocks a little. Valentine extracted the syringe from his jacket, pulled the plastic cap off with his teeth, and held it in his mouth while he spanked her again, even harder. He felt both ridiculous and a little aroused.
"Uhhh-" she gasped. He transferred the syringe to his hand and injected her, threw it across the room behind her, and struck her again.
Six more swats and she was limp and moaning. The large-animal tranquilizers had their effect.
She slurred and tried to caress him as he transferred her to the bedroom. He kissed her several times, gagged her with her bathrobe belt, and tied her up in the closet using pairs of pantyhose and leather belts.
