Episode 5: Marbella Mirage
The Costa del Sol shimmered under a golden sun. Waves lapped gently against the marina. Seagulls called. Champagne popped. And Sgt. Salty stepped onto the deck of the "Velvet Widow," a $30 million superyacht dressed like Bond, with a smirk that could melt granite.
“Remind me why we’re here again?” Zinshed grunted, adjusting his white tux and holstering a mini-pistol inside his blazer.
“Because the Spanish Minister of Finance is throwing a party for his not-so-legal friends,” Salty said. “And one of them is Katarina’s new supplier—goes by the name El Diablo Blanco.”
“Let me guess,” Zinshed rolled his eyes, “he’s not a mariachi guitarist.”
Delphine and Cherry were already mingling with the glitterati. Cherry rocked a red satin dress with a side slit that could cause traffic accidents. Delphine wore black, dangerous and elegant. They had eyes on the guest list.
“You won’t believe this,” Cherry whispered into her mic. “The new villain’s not a man. It’s a couple.”
“El Diablo Blanco and La Viuda Roja,” Delphine added. “Husband and wife. Narcotic royalty. Smuggling humans, drugs, even relics.”
“Married crime,” Salty muttered. “So hot.”
The party was slick. Waiters served oysters and gin cocktails. A string quartet played Spanish jazz. El Diablo Blanco, tall and slick with white hair and mirrored glasses, kissed hands like a mafia king. La Viuda Roja—blood-red lips, glittering eyes, voice like velvet—wore a crimson gown and carried a snake as a pet.
“She named it ‘Bailando’,” Cherry said. “It’s a venomous coral snake. She feeds it champagne.”
Rico, stationed in the engine room, was planting listening devices.
“Dios mío, this thing has a wine cellar bigger than my flat.”
Suddenly—he stopped. Two armed guards. No talking. Just a cold stare.
He bluffed. “Sorry, wrong floor. I was looking for the toilet. Damn Spanish gin…”
And just like that, he backflipped over the rail, splashing into the ocean like a dolphin in a tuxedo.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Salty danced with La Viuda Roja—close, hot, slow.
“So, you’re the one sniffing around my cartel,” she whispered into his ear.
He smiled. “I prefer to think of it as foreplay.”
She laughed, then dipped him. “Pity. I like men who know when they’re in danger.”
“That’s my kink.”
Suddenly—gunfire below deck.
Zinshed barked into his mic. “Delphine! Cherry! MOVE!”
Salty spun, kicked a waiter carrying a gun. Cherry somersaulted off the stairs and landed heels-first on a guard’s neck. Zinshed pulled out his two-tone pistol and fired a shot into the yacht’s engine controls.
Boom.
The yacht tilted. Guests screamed. Fire alarms blared.
La Viuda Roja grabbed Bailando and leapt onto a speedboat. El Diablo fired blindly, then jumped after her.
Salty ran to the edge and yelled, “This ain’t over, Diablo! I still want my dance!”
Zinshed tackled Salty before he could jump. “We’ll get them. But not on a sinking boat!”
Later, in a beachside safehouse in Malaga, the crew regrouped. Cherry poured wine. Delphine checked her bruised arm. Rico emerged from a towel, hair still wet.
Salty stood on the balcony, watching the moonlit ocean.
“They’re bold. Sexy. Dangerous,” he said. “My kind of enemies.”
Cherry rolled her eyes. “So basically your Tinder matches.”
Zinshed sipped beer. “They got away this time. But they left behind intel. Coordinates. Warehouse in Cadiz. Weapons drop. Could be the motherload.”
Salty raised his glass. “Then we head west. But first…”
He looked at the bedroom. Sofia leaned in the doorway, in one of his shirts.
“…I’ve got a late check-in.”
Final shot: A secret camera feed shows La Viuda Roja and El Diablo Blanco boarding a private jet.
She hisses: “Bring me Salty’s head. And his heart.”
Hashtags:
#GlobalViceMalaga #LuxuryYachtMayhem #ElDiabloBlanco #LaViudaRoja #SnakeWithChampagne #SaltyDanceFloorKiller #ZinshedSnipesAgain #CherryInRed #DelphineGoesDeadly #SpyRomanceHeatsUp
No comments:
Post a Comment