GRETA - by Christopher Grant

A warm TKnC welcome to Chris Grant, the editor of top ezine, A Twist Of Noir...

GRETA

Her name was Greta, six feet, two inches tall, a blonde viking that looked more like a movie star than a marauding barbarian, with soft, pillowy breasts and an ass that looked great in either jeans or a miniskirt.

The thing about Greta was, she was a loanshark's muscle. And why wouldn't she be? Tits and ass and the possibility that you could charm the pants off her and get a little something in exchange for not paying up this time. It was something that her employer, Charlie, thought absolutely genius. He often patted himself on the back for thinking to hire her.

Greta wasn't like that, of course. She was complete and total business and Charlie's best earner. But there was no reason she had to discourage the myth.

Her latest job was a weasel of a man called Abe. All of five feet tall, he would have humped her leg if she'd given him the chance. Often, he tried to see up her skirt. Once, just once, he'd felt her breath on his skin. Of course, she'd had his arm wrenched up behind his back, but it had been almost orgasmic for Abe.

She'd let him slide that time, told him the vig was increasing before she'd left.

When she came back, a week later, Abe had tried to stall. Greta kicked him in the nuts. She waited, letting Abe catch his breath.

"Fifty-five, Abe," she said calmly. "It's up to fifty-five hundred now."

"Uh-uh," Abe said, still cradling his balls. "Three thousand."

"Nope," Greta said, perching herself on top of his desk, crossing her legs, flashing him a bit of what he'd never get. "Remember, I warned you about the vig. Fifty-five now."

Abe nodded, remembering their talk, and tried to get up, his gonads on fire. Finally succeeding, hand on his crotch, he shuffled to the floor safe and opened it after entering three numbers. He pulled a gun and trained it on her. He had a smile on his face.

"Strip, bitch," he said.

The speed with which the tables had been turned surprised Greta. But she wasn't afraid. Not of this stupid fucking midget that was threatening a number of things now.

"Okay," she said, deciding to play things Abe's way. She slid off the desk and removed her shirt, letting him get a good view of her chest in the black lace bra that she wore underneath. She watched Abe lick his lips and she knew how this was going to end.

Height was the deciding factor. Greta bent toward him, enticing Abe further, making him think that he was going to see her naked. Bringing her knee up as she straightened up, she broke his nose. The blow caused him to drop the gun. She picked the gun up off the floor.

Limping to the safe, a necessary result of smashing his nose, Greta trained the gun on Abe and took the fifty-five hundred dollars he owed Charlie then grabbed an extra thousand for herself.

BIO:
Christopher Grant is the owner and editor of A Twist Of Noir. His fiction appeared on the late, lamented DZ Allen's Muzzle Flash. The rest can be found at Powder Burn Flash.