Junk M.A.L.E.

Chapter 1

Junk M.A.L.E.

By J.D. Walker

Chafing was so unpleasant.

Running in really tight boy shorts and chunky boots through streets and alleys in the seedy part of town was not my idea of fun. The job I’d been assigned had taken a turn for the hilarious and insane when the man I was sent to kill turned out to be a drag queen who made the fat lady who sang seem skinny by comparison. I’d never had to deal with s**t like this in the military.

I was going to seriously maim my “friends” when I got back to the agency. They were probably laughing their asses off right now. Why did I always get the junky assignments? And the crazy people?

When I’d done a bit of recon in order to understand just exactly how out of control this could get, I’d discovered that my target had rope as a part of his act and used one of the many go-go dancing boys—one of whom I’d impersonated since they all wore masks on stage—as his “horsey.” My back would never forgive me.

I’d had to get creative with the three-hundred-pound Patsy Cline impersonator, who’d also been the head of an underground s*x trafficking operation, kidnapping boys from the streets and selling them to the highest bidder. M.A.L.E. had been brought in to infiltrate the club and rid the world of the scumbag, once and for all.

“Patsy” had attacked me with a still-hot curling iron since I’d interrupted him in the middle of preparing one of his wigs after the last show. The end result, following lots of sweat and strain and getting singed in uncomfortable places, was smothering him using one of the many blouses with tassels hanging in the makeshift closet in his dressing room. Red, I think it was. My muscles still ached from the strain.

And now, I was pumping my legs for all they were worth, speeding toward my car to get the hell out of town before bad s**t happened. Thankfully, no one followed me, though I didn’t expect it since there was too much activity at the club for anyone to notice right away. Most people hated the late drag queen’s guts, as it was.

Finally, I arrived at my beat-up truck and hopped in, tearing down the freeway toward home and not looking back.