Tall and fleshy, 'she' looked like Jennifer Lopez. I mean, HE really did look like that diva. His ass was voluptuous, so were his bosoms.

"She's your controller in JB and she's going to show you around," Kristy said to me, after a night of tussling in bed. That woman every time we slept with each other, there was always something new to discover.

But the story's not about our night of passion, while my wife was back home, taking care of the kids. The story was about this:

I shook Fiona's hand at the airport. Soft and sweaty, just like the hands of a man who had never lifted a brick in his life. He had some henna stained onto his hands and they looked strangely sensual, with all the leaves and vines writhing among each other. They looked like they were making love to each other.

Man, woman, all the same

We didn't speak much in the car, but on the occasions that we did, I tried hard to pinpoint that male hoarseness to his voice but could not. His wearing of Pleasures perfume was not much of a help either, the smell seeped into my palm when we shook hands, and as I rubbed my sweaty eyebrows, I smelled him even more.

Remember that sort of feeling you got when you were a teenager having your first makeout? That was the creepy feeling I got sitting next to him, my hair on my neck standing on ends with cold sweat running down my forehead. Oh, he was checking me out all right, as he casually grazed my cheek with his hand as he pointed out to show JB's various landmarks and the furtive glances he threw my way beneath his fake Chanel shades.

Puteri Pan Pacific was where the hit was to take place. The hotel front facade faced the Tebrau Strait, and a getaway car was going to be parked by the hotel roadside, but that was not needed, not tonight anyway. The police would take forever to reach this side of JB tonight, with JB traffic jams and all.

All the doormen greeted Fiona warmly.

"Assalamualaikum Din. How are you nowadays, getting fatter I see," Fiona cooed at Din, who appeared to be the head of the concierge.

I looked at Fiona.

"I used to be the hotel's F&B manager," Fiona explained.

Oh.

"Our target stays here regularly with his girlfriends. His wife is tired of his affairs. She wanted to divorce him but she feels that a divorcee tag is too demeaning."

A widower sounded nicer? "Also she stands to inherit some money if he dies prematurely."

How much?

"A few million."

Who was he?

"A rich businessman."

Popping rich

That rich businessman, a well-known figure in the south, owned a respectable shipping line and several downstream companies. If he was removed, the industry was going to buzz. There was more to just a woman scorned in this case.

My heart slowed down a beat when I realised what I was getting into. Yet another turf battle. Things could get out of hand. Half of the assassins here would be looking for me if anything leaked out. Why couldn't they crash his helicopter or get him into a car accident instead? He's drunk most of the time, anyway.

"I'll have the bedroom and you can have the living room," Fiona said.

Who was the boss here? The assassin with the gun or the transvestite?

But I was not going to slug it out with him. After all, he was a woman. On the bar, I laid out my equipment. A fully loaded 9-millimeter Smith & Wesson. A silencer. Three full clips.

"Are we cleaning out the hotel tonight or what?" I asked. He was in the bathroom, and I could hear him washing up. The toilet flushed; I thought to myself did he pee standing up or sitting down? How was his whatever? Was it all gone, and was he all woman down here now?

He came out of the bathroom. "What?"

"Don't you think there's too much ammunition here?" I asked and then stopped in my tracks. What the?

He had taken off his wig and sported short hair. He looked like a Form Five kid that had just had a haircut at the barber's. He was also just wearing a bra and jeans. I had to look dang, they can be loose and dangly, but at least they were real tits, not some plastic cones covered in lace. Fiona's looked like two hard melons that could knock you senseless.

"It doesn't hurt to have more, does it?" Fiona smiled.

He really did sound like a woman, and as we converged on the sofa, I said, "If she's getting a few million I want more than my usual fee."

"Yeah you could ask for more after everything's done. But my commission also applies to that extra fee you're getting."

Not only was this tranny taking over my bedroom, he was also pipping my fee.

He went on, "But I won't do that sex change thingy. Couldn't bear to do it, you know. Being Muslim and all. I want to die with everything intact and be buried like that."

Crap. A pious tranny. Now I've heard of everything. He showed me the plan. We went through it several times and changed certain things. After two hours of discussion, he stretched like a cat and got up. Damn. He had a body made for sin, wonky tits or not.

"I need to freshen myself. Want a shower with me?" he winked, and sashayed to the bathroom.

"No, thanks."

Elevator music

What straight man would want a sword-fight with a man? Regardless of how beautiful he may be? The thought of looking at a penis which was not mine was too daunting. His could be bigger. Didn't think I could take a woman with a bigger dick than mine.

A wedding reception held that night at the main ballroom would provide sufficient crowd and commotion, if need be. The operating floor where the action was going to be, was not occupied. It was being re-carpeted. Fiona did his homework. All the exit routes were sufficient.

I went back to the suite. The TV was on, but Fiona was sleeping. He was in a T-shirt and rainbow coloured panties. His legs were smooth and tan. I ran my finger across his skin. He moaned and slapped my hand away, but his eyes remained closed.

What luck. To be in a room with a beautiful woman who happened to be a man.

I text-ed Kristy, asking for more information on the target.

"Just be extra careful. He's carrying," she text-ed back.

Oh no. I hate it when my target shoots back. Sometimes they don't miss.

Around eleven o'clock Fiona's phone rang. It's time.

I went to my designated level. Fiona went to the lobby, making sure that the target entered the lift.

"Target's in," he whispered.

"Door closed". That's my cue.

"You like me, don't you?" he giggled softly.

What the f? I switched off the phone. Crazy he-she.

I pushed the lift button. As the lift climbed the floor, I pushed the gun safety pin off. I made sure the silencer was screwed on tight. The door opened. I looked up. Aiming straight at the target's chest, I pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. He fell back, on to the floor.

Saved by his bulletproof vest, fazed, he reached for his sidearm. I hated shooting at faces. It made for a very messy scene. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, and it was easy. I emptied the clip. His face spattered all over the lift's mirrored walls. Pieces of his eyes stuck to the butchered walls of the lift.

His girlfriend screamed. Now whenever this happens the girlfriend/mistress/wife of the hit screams and goes ballistic when her man goes down I get the heebie-jeebies. It's so damn annoying to hear it. A scream is different from a wail of sadness and despair. She kept on screaming and staring at me, wild-eyed, tearing at her hair. I smiled at her and blew her a kiss. Sometimes it's nice to toy around with these women.

The lift door closed.

I used the staircase to go up to our suite. I hid the gun in a hidden compartment in one of the maid's closets along the corridor, together with the clips. But the silencer stayed with me. The thing's precious.

Fiona came to the suite barely 10 minutes after me. He smiled at me, as he breezed past through me to get a drink from the mini bar. Something told me I had to get rid of Fiona. Somehow he was going to get me into trouble.

THE ARMY CAPITAINE is a family man. Email him at armycapitaine@yahoo.com.