Damnation, Inc

Again, for the benefit of one reviewer...

Ah, sunny California, land of a thousand promises, and a thousand whores.

What was that, gentle listener?...You don’t understand?
Of course I’ll explain.

Hollywood is by and large, a land of phonies. I don’t mean the people doing the craft of sets, makeup, the behind the scenes people. They are some of the most genuine, unaffected souls I’ve ever met, and this was my home town. Actors, directors, even writers and god yes, anyone in the publicity department, are complete fakes. Unapologetic, aggressive, time honored, wool-over-your-eyes fakes.

It’s not that they choose to be when they start, it’s the system itself. It warps you, makes you think behind masks, and the more masks you use, the deeper you whore yourself for fame, the deeper you become a phony.
I’d seen it time and time again, even people I knew, who should have been shucking corn in Nebraska, becomes the most affected, me-me-me minded people in a fortnight. It never failed, as long as the lights were on and the digital flashes snapped a million times, they were happy. Anything else, and it was suddenly “too real” and they “couldn’t cope”.

It must have been like that for Heather Contaline now, after three DUI’s, and handful of car crashes, and the largest cocaine bill in town, of yes it was now far, far too real for her…but there was no going back. Her career was a shambles; no one would work with her.

And that was just the half of it. Mentioning the litigation alone from the car crashes, incidents when she hit paparazzi, or some poor innocent bystander had her legal team working overtime. The billable hours alone would soar into the millions. It was becoming some sort of game for her, a “who’s the biggest disaster” contest with infamy and jail time being the only prizes. But she didn’t care, the only thing she worried about was the effect all the partying had on her million-dollar face. Every morning, the wrinkle check would begin promptly the moment she woke up.

See what I mean?...But I loved Hollywood. Its endless parade of fakedom at one time had me in a thrall that was second to none. And now I was back. On the boulevard of a thousand dreams, walking like I had not a care.

I checked myself in the mirror-like reflection of a glass building. Somehow, and for the unlife of me I don’t know why, the demon had improved on my looks. Not too shabby in my former life, I had undergone a drastic change. My normally dark hair was now jet black and shined like the hood of a Mercedes, my eyes, first deep blue had gone to a penetrating shade of frozen Arctic wastes. My nose was straightened, eye sockets tight and well lidded, mouth gifted with inviting lips and a smile that would have melted Siberia. I looked so healthy no one who knew me would have recognized me for a moment. To say nothing of my abs…
I was astounded that I had them. Truly, they were marvelous!

But forgive me, gentle listener; I don’t want to prattle on. I was searching for the first of my conquests, numero uno in the soul brigade. Heather was on my sights.

First, the aforementioned means of travel. I had apparently been gifted with an unlimited supply of cash. The demon had given me a wallet just before I’d stepped out of hell with the instruction that whatever amount I needed would be in it when it was opened. If I’d only had this in my former life, I’d not have cared about a thing. But as they say, death builds character. In L.A., anywhere, you don’t walk if you can help it. The smog will kill you, and well, let’s just say that pedestrians don’t fare well here. I needed a car.

An hour later and I was in the driver’s seat of a sporty, ostentatious new BMW. I would have picked a Porsche but they didn’t have one in black at the time. I figured the first place to look would be that den of iniquity, that watering hole for actors looking for trouble, The Viper Room.

It was just that, my friends, so many actors had either been arrested or died here that the place had earned its reputation with just a few short months. And I sat there nursing a vodka on the rocks, watching the crème de la A-list wander around soused to the gills, using such lame pickup lines that it’s a wonder these men were nominated for awards shows at all. But not my problem if they scored or not, I had a bigger fish to fry.

Two hours later and looking as if this was her third visit to a bar floor, in came the catch of the day. Heather stood at the front door, her jacket loosely held over her arm, the usual thugs surrounding her, and looking the worse for wear by way of several martinis.
I smiled to myself…if I could only lose her goons this would be easier than I thought. Fortunately, to my surprise, she did the work for me in just that moment.

“Woul’ you guys, just like…fuck off for once?” She asked them; clearly exasperated at the circulating cadre of muscle she had guarding her person. She was already drunk, and from the looks she was giving her crew, not enjoying herself one little bit. Smiling, I finished off the drink and headed over to her. The crew, by all signs reluctantly, backed away from her, three of them leaving the room and heading back to her car. Two others stayed by the door, watching, though evidently not too well, as I had little trouble snaking my way through the crowd and up to her. Either that they weren’t too observant, or just plain didn’t care, were not my issues. That I got close was.

She stood there, dressed in the height of white trash fashion; blouse a size too small, a skirt even more so, shoes that probably cost the gross national debt of Zimbabwe, looking as clueless as a canary in a yard full of cats. He clutch purse held probably no more than a couple of credit cards, a lipstick, and a condom. I felt a brief pang of regret for this one-time starlet, now tabloid fodder. Poor girl, I mused, some people just don’t have the knack for success in this town.
“Out and about?” I asked causally.

“Totally.” She replied and then turned around the other way.

I’d been given the cold shoulder a fair amount of times in my life, but that took the cake. And my sympathy. Just get to business, and get her confession. Then drag her kicking and screaming straight down to the office. I rounded her the other way, flashing a smile. “Look, I know you don’t know me, but I can get you the best gig you’ve ever been handed.”

“You’re not my agent.” Heather replied, then out of curiosity, ”So what’s in it for you, ‘cause you ain’t fucking me.”

All the beauty and the mouth to match- I though with dismay. This was going to be easier than I thought.

Language, or rather the way one uses it, are keys to upbringing. The more cussing, generally speaking, the lower the intelligence. Not that I minded, in my younger days I’d have given her back just what I got, but this was supposed to be a business seduction, not a debate contest. “Never entered my mind,” I smiled back, flashing the pearlies at her. “I’m thinking more about your career, Heather.”

“Who the fuck are you, anyway?” She was getting irritated, and so was I, but my stake in this was significantly higher. “You’re another agent,” she deduced, and quickly put two and two together and came up with six.

“Well, yes, for a really large firm.” …Well, it wasn’t really a lie, was it?

“What can you do for me?” The irritation was leaving her voice, followed by an almost heart-wrenching sense of desperation. “No one will talk with me at the studios, my agent is still handling all the lawyers-“

“I can put that all behind you; so far away no one will ever notice the trouble.”

“I gotta lot of legal bills,“ she confessed. “The paparazzi are killing me right now, let alone the girl I hit- I mean the one who whipped out in front of me.”

“Of course she did, it’s not your fault.” I was the voice of sympathy, the very soul of friendly wisdom. Well, how else would you do it? “I’m here for your, Heather, just for you only. I only handle one client at a time, to give that special touch all the other agents just can’t give. And I don’t even charge twenty percent.” I soothed her, she was already dropping her guard. Given that the one drink she was holding must have been the sixth or seventh she’d had that night, it really wasn’t too hard.
~I’ll start you off with an easy one, ~ Abaddon’s words flowed into my mind, the memory alone almost made me shiver. So far, it was easy, but getting her out of here was going to be the real trick. If I couldn’t use sex as a weapon, it would take a lot more moxie. “But really, Heather, is this the right place for you right now?..With all that publicity, let alone the rehab you’re supposed to be in-“

“I wanna have some fun!” She exclaimed, practically letting the havens know her intent. She looked at me, and innocence took a back seat to determination. “You know another place, a better one?” she dropped all pretense know. “If we could score some, ya know, candy, I might be a little more into that idea I first had about you.”

-Jackpot- I thought, at least for the confession, drugs were a marvelous way to burn down inhibition, and my first soul in Hell would be a done deal.

I smiled as she grabbed what passed for a jacket. “Right this was, my dear.”

“Hey-“ a momentary kick into responsibility land. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

What did it matter? “Kyle, Kyle Selman. At only your service.” Again the whites went flashing, careful not to expose my canines. I held out a hand to her. “You, I already know.” Hitting the right spot, her only really vulnerable spot , vanity. She caught the inference immediately.

“Aren’t you the slickster?” She smiled a smile that must have been reserved for cameras at red carpet events. “Where to?”

“You car or mine.?” I suggested with a knowing smile. “Can’t play to well with the guards hanging out.”

She pouted, “Yeah, but I gotta have a least one of ‘em with me, court-ordered.”

“Ah, well, he’ll fit in the back of my car, then.” I said with an air of flippancy. I knew I could take out the guard if he got too curious regarding my intentions for heather. Besides…I hadn’t eaten in all that time in Hell…

A few moments later, all three of us were buzzing eastbound on Sunset, headed towards the Silver Lake district. There were more than a few suppliers I knew of on the way, I was sure they could give Heather what she needed. But on the way, it was confession time…
“So, as your new agent,” I began, letting the noose out a little, “You need to be upfront with me, Heather.” I spoke causally, trying to ease her into it. “I need to know what exactly is happening. What’s been done?”

Heather sighed, took a drag on her cigarette. Her exhalation smelled of vodka and Marlboros. “Man, these fucking vultures are everywhere! “ She exclaimed. “The bastards hide in bushes, trash cans, anywhere to make sure they get their guilty little secrets on you.” She snorted in derision. “So one day they pop out at me at a club, and I wacked him one in the dick with my purse, and trashed his camera.” She took another drag; thank Lucifer the top was down. “So that was three hundred thousand for his ‘pain and suffering’. I’m the one behind stalked by these fuckers and they sue me. Bastards.”

The guard behind her chuckled into his sleeve. She flicked her ash angrily at him. “Fuck you, you Detroit born piece of shit… if you’d been there, I wouldn’t be in this mess!” The guard silenced himself, frowning. Such was the life of these men; they were paid large sums to basically give and take abuse at the whim of their employers. As long as paperwork was clean…

“Heather, be nice,” I tried to placate her. “If you go into this place with an attitude, they’re not going to deal.”

She sat back in her seat, trying through the booze to recollect her woes. “And this bitch swings out in front of me, again, while I was leaving someplace, and doesn’t even signal. Bam, we crash, and she’s suing me ‘cause I’m famous and gotta deep pocket, whatever the fuck that means. My lawyer says it all the time…”

“Yes, I know these things,” I said trying to be reasonable, lest this turn into a famous girl pity party. “But beside what you’ve told your lawyer, did you do them?”

“Why do you care?” Heather asked suddenly, suspicious. “Are you a reporter?”

“Of course not...I’m trying to get you some shit, why would I do that if I was a reporter?” God help me, paranoid and stupid, what a combination.

“Oh, okay.” She seemed to calm down. “God I want to score, when are we gonna score?”

“In five minutes.” I replied, turning off the main road and heading up the winding slope of a driveway. The owner of the home whose driveway I was now climbing was one of the most infamous dealers in the industry, and as such, completely known, even by the cops. But somehow, someway, he was left alone. I knew there would be an interesting reason, but at the moment it didn’t matter. Heather was one of his best ‘clients’, and surely he would not refuse her.

The house was spacious, somewhat cluttered, and entirely suited to sitting for six hours after a bong of hash discussing the nature of your innards and their correlation to the universe…in other words, a stoner’s paradise.

We walked in and were escorted to the living room of one Jaime Blakely, failed screenwriter and the source of some of the best dope in the entire city. He sat across from us in a nuclear strike bright rainbow bathrobe which had seen better days, three days worth of stubble on his chin, or was the an attempt at growing a goatee?...I never was sure…

“Heather, babe,” He oozed, glancing at her from the toes up. “Lookin’ good.”

“Jamie!” She squealed; it apparently didn’t take much to make her gush if she knew you. “How are you, got any-“

“Who’s this?” The dealer-cum writer demanded; he wasn’t too aggressive, just enough to be wary, but I could sense an unease in his manner, or was it cocaine jitters?

One never could tell, but Heather dismissed me almost immediately. “Oh, he’s gonna be my new agent, if he can get me some”

“Kyle,” I offered, extending my hand to shake his, “Personal manager to Miss Contaline, pleasure to meet you, Jamie.”

Jaime took the proffered hand. “Smooth, huh?” he smiled, the sarcasm held in check behind his teeth. “What can I do for you, Baby?”

“I’m a little down this week, Jame, I gotta feel better-“ Heather stood there, twirling her hair. A clear sign of attraction; was she faking it to get her wishes met, or had there been something?

“Sweetie, you’ve gone through a mountain in the last month. What do you do, bathe in the shit?” Jamie chuckled quietly to himself, glancing at me. The wary look in his eye replaced by sudden camaraderie. “You’re gonna need a hill of cash walkin’ round with her, just for the coke she buys…”

“Tell me about it,” I remarked quietly, not wanting my new employer to hear. Heather turned around from us, bending over to give Jamie a glance. That settled the answer; she’d given herself for the drugs before. It didn’t shock me, far from it, once one sees the torments waiting for the unrepentant; the habits of people on the living side of the earth fail to make an impression. Jamie caught the view, smiled to himself. “Heather, dear,” I tried to catch her attention, “You might want to rethink this, given the trouble-“

“Fuck that, fuck the lawyers, fuck ‘em all!” Heather whirled about, almost screaming. Jaime raised a hand to shush her, but she wasn’t to be quieted, just yet. “You want cash, or me, Jamie?” she asked boldly, walking towards him, unbuttoning her blouse. “We had a lotta fun last time, remember?”

Jamie was practically drooling. “Oh yeah, sweetie, I remember.” He replied, moving towards her. “How much do ya want?” he asked.

“Keep me happy for a week.” She suggested, licking her lips as she glanced downwards catching a look at his robe opening.

Jamie scoffed, “That’s quite a bit, baby.” He said causally, “We may need to have a lot of fun tonight.”

Heather blushed, a feat somewhat remarkable given the amount of alcohol causing her flush at the moment. “The playroom?” she asked with a faint whisper.

“Oh yeah, the playroom.”

“A moment,” I asked, not wanting to lose her into an area I could not go freely. It would be not too difficult to walk away now, find her some coke elsewhere. “Heather, dear, maybe you want to rethink this?”

“No, Kyle, I don’t think so.” She put a hand on her hips, the pout on her face was almost endearing, if she hadn’t been jonesing for coke and willing to perform for it. “I think I’m gonna have a little party, and you can wait in the car. Got me?”

I bowed slightly; she was my boss, after all. “I understand, of course.” Moving aside, I resolved to wait; this might be the perfect moment. The demon had told me, with a smile I could not mimic, that humanity was its most susceptible when distracted. “But the car’s so cold; could I wait in the living room?”

Jamie shrugged, not really caring. “Sure man, watch some T.V.” He laughed, “We’ll need a little time, might wanna pop in a movie.” Heather began giggling, and Jaime slapped her on the rump and they crossed the threshold of another room, the door closing behind them.

I turned; headed for the room we had first met Jaime in, and checked out his selection of DVDs. I had no intention of watching a complete movie while he had his fun, but also I wasn’t there to protect her, either, and the idea played in my head to catch them in a few moments, gather my confession and then send her to Hell in front of the fool. What a movie that would make, eh?
His selection of movies was as loud and tacky as his bathrobe had been, until on closer inspection I’d begun to notice that some of the films were his, meaning he’d actually written or helped write them. Some of them, tragically I suppose, never saw the grace of a theatre, they were direct to disc. Finding an actual classic among the dross was a trial, but a few moments later I was watching Casablanca, and reveling in the magic of its simplicity.

A short while later, I checked my watch. Forty-five minutes had passed, and I was beginning to worry, not so much for her, but the guard outside in my car. A quick check through the window soothed my fears, he was stone asleep. Pity, but it was true; with employees, you truly get what you pay for. He was sound out, and not to be bothered. With heated leather seating, he’d stay warm and cozy well into the night.

Casablanca could wait; I had a job to do. Walking to that aforementioned back room, I tried the door quietly. To my surprise, he’d not locked it. The door opened soundlessly, and the room was fairly dark, so at first I had difficulty seeing, but then my eyes became adjusted. Poor Heather.

She was bound, hand and foot, to the bed, being flogged by Jamie with a velvet and fur Cat of nine tails, a blindfold covering her eyes. She writhed on the bed, moaning with each stroke, and I knew the time had come.

“Jaime, c’mon,” Heather implored, licking her lips suggestively. “Let’s go ahead an’ do it, I wanna feel you in me..”

“Just a few more,” Jaime replied, “and then I’ll fill you like you’re never felt before…”

I couldn’t believe this; it had all the charm of a grade D porno. Nothing in my mind could be worse than what I was witnessing, a woman sell herself, something that precious, for the want of a drug. Could I do this, I began to wonder as I watched Jaime play torture his customer for his own cheap thrills. Could I send this girl to Hell simply because she couldn’t control herself? Hadn’t I been the same way when I’d first met my love? I could recall with the clarity of a window pane the loss of my soul, the very cutting away of my sense of reasoning, after only our second meeting.

Suddenly, I found myself at a moral impasse; how do I damn one person to save another? This girl was just young, and gullible. She couldn’t possibly have known what she was doing when she signed the contract, couldn’t have known the consequences.
And just when my sympathy was to reach a point when I would turn away from this, not allow myself to fulfill the mission I’d set out to accomplish, I heard her in the dark.

“Jaime, you better fuck me, or I’m gonna do to you what I did to Veronica.”

Jaime paused a moment, then asked. “What was that, Miss Pink Ass?”

“Dump some battery acid in her vodka to kill her career.”

Jaime not only paused, he dropped the flogger in shock. “You didn’t.” he gasped.

“Uh-huh.” Heather confirmed, and while Jaime stood there in complete horror over what she’d just said. I put my mind into his for a moment, and came to find out that he’d worked with Veronica, was the scriptwriter and dialect coach for her first film. How sad.

Heather went on. “An’ you can’t say shit ‘bout it, or wouldn’t the police like to know what you do up here with kids?”

Jamie’s voice turned ice. “You said you wouldn’t say anything about that.”

Heather’s head whipped around I Jamie’s direction. “I said your secret would be safe as long as you did what I want. First I want a fuck, then I want some blow, or someone’s going to the Federal Boy’s Club for Wayward Rapists.”

Jaime stood there, trembling. I could feel it in his mind. This was going too far. “You wouldn’t dare, you little coke-whore.”

He jumped on top of her, while she lay on her stomach, and wrapping a hand around her face, clamped it over her mouth. “You’re gonna pay for that.” And judging from the groan that came from behind his hand, I can only guess he gave her what she wanted. The room brightened with the heat of their trysting, auras like fire coming off their bodies in waves, their pulses going into spasms as they groaned their mutual hatred for each other. And all the while, through her primal ecstasy, she kept confessing.
“That lil’ bitch was in my way, I was gonna be the next hot thing!” she spoke the words like they were to egg him on, keep him going, and apparently it worked.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jamie replied, tugging her hair and thrusting harder, he responsive gasp the only proof he need that he was doing the right thing. “She was a good kid, she didn’t deserve that-“

“She was a bigger whore than I am,” Heather rebutted, “She fucked directors so often she had to have her ass color-timed for the film stock!”

That was all I needed, and to tell truth the sight of this pathetic bastard humping into her was beginning to sicken me. I pulled the scroll from my pocket, the one I’d been gifted with, and opened it. Latin, the language of lawyers and doctors, not to mention the Roman Catholic Church and my new bosses.

I read it aloud, quietly, though to be frank they wouldn’t have heard it anyway.

In the eastern corner of the room, he appeared. Abaddon himself, in all his glory. I knew they would be able to see him, at least when Heather took her blindfold off, which Jaime began to do in a panic after seeing the demon. I had to give him credit; he at least had the presence of mind to free her before running for the hills.

Heather gaped in absolute fear as she tried to cover herself whit a sheet. Abaddon just stood there, arms folded, chuckling deeply into his throat. “No, sorry.” He said firmly. “You don’t get to play the innocent with me.”

The ploy thrown to the winds, Heather got off the bed entirely, stood in front of the Deal maker in stock defiance. “You can’t do anything!” she declared firmly. “My deal was for no punishment, and I could do whatever I wanted!”

“As long as you kept it to yourself.” Abaddon replied, a trace of even amusement in his voice. “Article three hundred sixteen on page nintey-three of your contract reads ‘The signor will not reveal the nature of the contract to others, under penalty of forfeiture.’ Was this not made explicitly aware to you?”

Heather gaped in astonishment. “MY lawyer never said anything about-“

“Because he wasn’t your lawyer, he was mine.” The Demon cut her off. “He didn’t tell you because he was ordered not to.”

Heather screamed. “That isn’t fair!” The girl was on the verge of a tantrum. “You can’t do this to me, I’m just-“

“You’re nothing to this world but a joke now,” Abaddon said, not caring about her opinion in the least. “You may have been something before, but that has since changed. Time to go, Heather.” He reached out to her, his left hand grasping her upper arm, and her body fell to the floor.

Her soul, on the other hand, stayed in his grasp. She began screaming, but I knew this was nothing compared to what waited for her.

Abaddon looked up at me. “Five more to go, Vampire. But, my congratulations, one day out and your first soul already in my grasp. Good work, your lady is still waiting.” And after that, they were gone. I stood there in that room, the faint scent of sweat, heat, and old bong water clung in the air like a miasma.

Jamie, hearing no further commotion, came out from hiding, looking at me with a combination of terror and guilt. “That, t-that was real, wasn’t it?” he asked, his voice like a small child’s. “What are you?”

I smiled, a little at first, then wider. Jaime saw them; my fangs, gleaming in the half-light of his room, and his eyes went from wide to near incredulous. Human blood always tastes the best when two things are present in it; fear, and guilt.
Jaime would be delicious. I was sure of it.

“Just an employee of a collection agency.” I replied, and I dropped my smile slightly, holding out a hand. “You don’t want to know any more.” I moved towards him. “Come here, Jaime, don’t make me come to you.”

He backed away instinctively. “No way, your some psycho. Those ain’t real…”

“There every bit as real as what you just saw,” I replied, moving closer to him, backing him into the corner of the room. I had to walk around the bed, and I saw Heather’s hastily-discarded clothing on the floor. I’d have to get rid of it later, I realized. “Be a good boy, I’m hungry.”

A tear rolled down his face, and he suddenly stood still. He had nowhere to go; I could overcome him at any moment. He looked lost, confused, again like a small child. “Will it hurt?” he asked in that small voice. How pathetic.

“Like Hell.” I replied, and rushed him, clamping a hand over his mouth, bracing his body into the corner of his bedroom. He looked at me with eyes wide with horror; he knew he could do nothing. There was only one problem.

He wasn’t clean-shaven. Nothing would put me off a meal more than that. It was one reason I sometimes carried a disposable razor in my pocket. This time, however, I’d forgotten one. Ah well. I bent down, opening my lips and latched on to him, my teeth puncturing his jugular vein, shooting that wonderful coppery warmth into my hungry mouth.

His arms flailed, hands vainly trying to clutch at me for some purchase, some way to get me to let go. Stupid fool, there was no way, not when I had him this deep, he screamed into my hand, crying and cursing to no avail. This was to be my perk, I realized, to feed off those who these damned ones had used in some manner. And with him still flowing into me, I was almost delirious with the taste of his evil. I knew him then as though I’d known him all his life.

He was a pedophile, a drug dealer, small time pimp, and rapist. His soul was just as stained as Hitler’s, and I tell you, he tasted like the best wine I could ever have remembered in my former life.

A few moments later and it was all over. I dropped him like an old sack, and went into the hallway looking for the kitchen. Once it had been found, the procurement of a butcher’s knife from it gave me what I needed. The ability to cover my tracks. I slit his throat, taking care to cover the bite marks. After I finished, I readjusted myself, straightening out my clothes. I still had the bodyguard to deal with. Details.

Walking out to the car, he was still asleep. I woke him gently.

“Wh-what?” the sleeping Detroit-born giant asked. “Where’s Heather?”

“She’s in the house, something terrible has happened.”

He was out of the car in an instant. “What happened?”

“She was well, they were, and then..oh, god.” I played the shocked worried subordinate to the hilt. I swallowed, then tried again. “She cut his throat, some kind of violent sex, and then she had a seizure and fell over.”

“Motherfucker,” he replied, rushing for the house. “Knew that bitch was gonna get into some real shit one day.” I raced after him, back into the house, and as he cleared the living room and went further into the house, I could hear him.

“God Damn!” he exclaimed, standing in the doorway in shock. “Ain’t this some shit?”

“To say nothing of your paycheck this week.” I remarked casually. But once again, cash was not an issue..reaching into my wallet, ten crisp thousand dollar bills were placed into his hand. “No one knows were here, right?” I began, smiling. “And I’m sure your own record’s not exactly spotless. Let the police handle it, they won’t know if we were here or not.”

He seemed to consider it, standing there in the hallway, which was not much cleaner than the rest of the living room. “But, they’re gonna ask questions, man, I gotta tell ‘em somethin’.”

I looked at him, deepening my gaze, looking him directly. There was no other way.

“You’re gonna strip, and get in there with them, and pick up that knife.” I instructed him evenly, and I could see his eyes waver, lose concentration. It was working. “Pick up the knife,” he replied lamely.

“Yes,” I cooed. “You got jealous, he wouldn’t give you a turn, and you cut him.”

He glared at Jaime, eyes furious. “Didn’t get my turn, man-“

“And she just fell over, clutching her chest. You don’t know what happened to her.” I kept it going, making sure to keep eye contact. “Too much coke in her, heart didn’t keep up.”

“T-too much coke, couldn’t keep up.”

“Now strip.”

I left him there,after recovering the cash. He’d forgotten my face, my car, and everything but what I told him. Driving away, a warm meal in me, I checked my watch. Only three in the morning, I had two hours to get to my hidey hole. I smiled, though a measure grimm mirth hit me.One down, five to go, I thought. Five more souls for the fires.And they were waiting, soon as night came back to the land of a thousand whores.

All for you, my love, my one desire. All for you.