Dress? Check.
Silk stockings? Check.
Black stiletto heels? Check.
Pearl necklace? Check.
Diamond ring? Check.
Tennis bracelet? Check.
Foundation? Check.
Blush? Check.
Eyeshadow? Check.
Eyeliner? Check.
Mascara? Check.
Lipstick? Check.
Beauty mark, defined with mascara? Check.

Krycek stood in front of the mirror, eyeing the reflection critically. Satisfied with what he saw there, he put on his luxuriant black wig and pinned it in place. An elegant up-do was just what the evening called for, and the hairdresser he’d visited had styled the wig perfectly.

He tucked the tube of lipstick into his delicate clutch purse, and made his way across the room to the desk. He opened the top left drawer to find a fat number 10 envelope, which he dumped out onto the desk blotter. His hands quickly sorted its contents until he found the right ID - Kenneth Frank Smyth, 19 years old. Holding the ID in his hands, he read it again, reviewing Kenneth’s backstory in his mind.

Kenneth is a young man looking for love, or at least lust, at a popular nightclub in town. So he’s underage - he’s got a fake ID that says he’s 22. Krycek was amused that Kenneth’s fake ID came with a second, faker ID. Kenneth looked young - Krycek’s own face graced both ID’s, and he looked young for his 17 years. It was not unlikely that he’d get called on the faker of the two ID’s, and have to show the “real” one.

He put away the other ID’s, and confirmed that he had the two correct ones as he tucked them into the clutch. From the upper right desk drawer he found a scrap of paper - a receipt for condoms from the drugstore, dated two days ago - and tucked it into the purse, alongside a billfold of cash and several condoms.

Another analytical look in the full-length mirror told him that he made a terrible woman, but a damn-good looking cross-dresser. He checked the picture of his mark - an unassuming balding man who was almost guaranteed to take him home. From there, the knock-out drops mixed into the lipstick would allow him full access to his mark’s home office.

He practiced his coy smile once in the mirror, and decided that he had best stick with what came naturally. A predatory grin spread across his face, and he nodded. That was much more believable. He picked up his clutch purse, tucked it under his arm, and took a deep breath. He hated going out unarmed, but sometimes a situation called for such extreme measures.