Pretty Red Persuasion
By
Melissa Swaim 

Prologue 

Alyse Zupan had a clean record and a quiet life in suburban Virginia Beach. That was about to change. With her flamboyant red hair, someone in government found her pretty; in shady tactics, pretty was useful.

She carried the tray of Martinis over to two middle aged women in belly-bearing tank tops. Alyse tried not to notice, though the material stretched to contain the sagging flesh that they shamelessly flaunted. She dealt with all types here and vowed not to take abuse from the clientele. Men pawed her while many women resented her looks. From the malevolent expressions on their faces, these two were jealous of her youth, she decided. Nonetheless, Alyse tried her best to be pleasant, especially since tips helped maintain her studio apartment on Twenty-First Street.

The uppity one on the left tossed her mangy chestnut curls backward as she gestured toward the waitress and said, “Service here is slow.”

Her friend, wearing excessive blush, whispered a private joke as she twirled brunette strands of hair around her fingers. Her stale breath hit Alyse when she laughed. Alyse set down one glass, waiting to see if she’d get a tip this time. When they didn’t even acknowledge her, she let the other glass slightly spill onto the drunken woman’s jewellery-covered hand.

“Oops,” Alyse smiled an apology.

The older woman huffed and blotted her puffy hand. “A curse on you,” the hag replied. “May you be a bane to all men.”

Unconcerned, Alyse turned on her heels and spied two men watching her from the corner. The blond one’s deep-set eyes ripped right through her. Tall and clad in a suit, he had the stiff posture she associated with law enforcement. Beside him sat an equally handsome man, though darker in features and not as icy in appearance. He had the bookish charm of a well-learned man yet appeared to have the prowess to take men down. Drawn by his sense of mystery, she also sensed danger. Serious brown eyes set wide apart with a hint of Asian ancestry. He possessed a certain warmth in his dignified features. Maybe it was desire. Electricity passed between them. His eyebrow rose as he considered her.

Her shift over, she untied her apron and went into the back room where her boss Vanessa counted receipts at her desk. Tough talking and smart, the forty-year old could probably take them on. With hair-sprayed mane six inches high, she tracked each and every dime like a sour IRS agent. Alyse feared making an error. She nervously watched Vanessa verify all the money as well as her tips. All mistakes were docked from her pay.

Change clinked against Vanessa’s rings while Alyse stood staring into space, wondering about the imposing men. Through the glass window she saw them still staring at her and not at Sue Belsky, a timid waitress with flat hair and an overbite. Most patrons had left the bar since it was near closing time. Maybe these were just men out on the prowl. She was sure the non-tipping biddies nearby didn’t interest them. Curious, she peeked at the men through the window. They were still staring, making her uncomfortable. What did they want? Feeling backed into a corner made her want to provoke back. Alyse had a bad habit of toying with people. She fought to contain her crass sense of humor and her love of shocking people. Sometimes the clientele didn’t know what to think about her antics, though it kept many at a distance. How would these men react to a little ribbing? she wondered.

She liked how refined they looked, oozing authority and sex appeal. Perhaps they were lonely. She licked her lips and decided on which one she liked the most. They were hot. Would it be wrong to turn them on? she wondered.

“Vanessa,” she said, moving closer to the woman in the wheelchair, “who are those men out there, the spooky ones in the corner?”

Without even looking, her boss struck the keys on the calculator and said, “The blond Adonis and the hunky intellectual?”

“Yeah, them.”

Vanessa looked at her over the rim of her glasses. “FBI, honey, and they’re after someone. You can tell by the way they sit and stare. They are waiting to make a move. Watch yourself. I know it isn’t me they want.”

Alyse didn’t appreciate Vanessa’s accusatory expression. “Why would they be after me?”

“The government takes what it wants. It started with the Indians and it won’t end with you, a simple waitress in a cocktail bar.”

“I’m not simple,” Alyse retorted as she pressed her face to the window and stuck out her tongue at them. There was nothing uncomplicated about her, this feisty woman in heels. In fact, she knew she was downright impossible.

When the agents didn’t change their expression, Alyse opened the door. She reached up beneath her skirt, gripped the sides of her thong and tugged it down to her knees. The men saw the white thong come into view and stiffened. She then turned around, bent over and bared her ass to them. Shortly, she straightened and turned to face the men, her thong still hanging at her knees. Smiling at the hunky intellectual, she tried reading his expression. From the heated look in his eyes, she guessed he wanted to part her ass cheeks and settle down between them. Glancing at his crotch, she saw he had a massive hard-on; he was likely thinking of all the ways he wanted to take her. She smiled to herself, thinking she might be the only woman crass enough to moon the Feds.

The blond one took it as a challenge, she saw. Those eyes burned as if with a hidden agenda. Maybe the poor man had no idea she could become a thorn in his side, the Mafia, the FBI, or law enforcement anywhere. She was a hundred-twenty pounds of hellfire. They’d get burned if they tried messing with her. She had no fear of taking the government on by the balls.