Panamastadt, Reichskommissariat Zentralamerika
Wednesday, April 7th, 1976
1052 Hours (EST)
Her name was Maria Josephina de Agua Sagrada. The Suit still wasn’t over it. She could trace a line from her to the hidalgo that sired her blood in the sixteenth century. Hell, she carried herself with poise and grace not unheard of in the noble circles that popped up in the Reich over the past few decades. Yet she was a whore in some Texas whorehouse, in a country that neither knew nor cared for taste.
The suit looked into his hotel room from the sun-baked balcony he stood on. She was still asleep, her naked body covered only by the covers. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, puffing on it slowly. She was beautiful too, once he washed the cheap whore makeup off of her and threw out her cheap whore clothes. Honestly, compared to the hookers he’d slept with here, she was a catch. Not that he’d bring her back to the Reich, of course, but then again he had no plans to go back to the Reich.
Finishing his cigarette, the Suit flicked it off the balcony. He entered his room, closing the sliding glass door to the balcony as he did so. The sunlight shone through onto his body. His naturally tanned skin was accentuated by the Panamanian heat, and lean muscle pulsed underneath it. Blemishes in the form of scars and burns pock-marked his form, accompanied by tattoos of Reichsadlers and Swastikas, words in German and Spanish, and a unit symbol on his right arm below the shoulder.
Within moments his body was covered up by the grey suit, with sunglasses hanging off the outside jacket pocket. The Suit turned to look at his prize. He wondered if he should tell the Gestapo to get rid of her. It’d be as easy as flicking a cigarette off the balcony. Might make his life easier when he got back from where he was going. He decided instead to creep slowly towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing her neck. She stirred and exhaled, her eyes fluttering open and a smile growing on her face.
“Bueno día.” She said, turning to face her lover.
“Buena tarde.” The Suit corrected, kissing her on the lips.
“Te vas?” The hooker-turned-concubine asked, the smile evaporating.
“Volvere.” He said, releasing his grip and making for the door. She sat up, covering her bosom with the covers.
“Estás mintiendo!” She yelled as the Suit put his hand on the doorknob. He turned and closed the distance between them in a blink, his face inches from hers.
“Callate, putana. Una palabra y serás abono. Comprende?” He intoned in a tone as deadly as it was quiet. Her eyes widened and she slowly nodded. “Regresaré en unas horas. Puede salir del hotel, pero no de la barrera.” The suit said, leaving the concubine to the bed. He opened the door letting the light of the hall pour into the room. He looked back one last time and said, “Luega, Josa.” before closing the door and flooding the room with darkness once again.