This chapter was written during the song "Stranglehold" by Ted Nugent.
Stranglehold
Crowley had left his office after his lieutenant was appointed in charge. Not to forget, Dean, who was better than a Hellhound at keeping the peace in his absence. He sometimes wondered if that was a bad thing, but he hadn't seen a dramatic decrease in demons so far. Dean, now a demon, had quite the tight lid on those killer desires of his.
Crowley went for a little stroll and stopped by a book store that was also a coffee shop. It was either that or the little diner where there was way too many kids running around with ice cream cones melting and falling to the ground.
Children. Not one of Crowley's favorite subjects; them and their cutesy innocence.
He settled in a cozy chair and ordered a simply cup of tea, none of those fruity beverages full of crap and little caffeine that cost an arm and a leg. As he sat there, he glimpsed through a demonology book written by a man who claimed to be a demonologist. Most of his rambles were bullshit. Crowley thought about paying the man a visit, show him a real demon, but he wasn't interested.
Let the humans have their little fantasies about demons and Hell. Some were in for a real eye opener and he'd be there to enjoy it.
Once he had enough of the book, he sipped his tea and watched the people outside walking by, as if there was nothing to worry about. Some women walked along as if they were models; gifts to mankind. Crowley thought back to what he was looking for in a Queen.
All the women he was studying while just sitting there bored him. They were superficial, empty or too happy. He didn't want someone clinging to his arm, laughing. That was just so odd, it seemed fake. This one woman chuckled more like a chicken. Whoa, what a turn off.
He continued to do this for a couple of days and he was beginning to feel more inclined to return to those infernal demonology books, as if giving up on looking at these women. None of them had qualities he wanted, not that he wanted a human.
Then, something perked his senses and he had to follow his instincts. It was like he was drawn to it and couldn't look away. He watched and waited impatiently. He was ready to leave the book store and go on a hunt, when she walked into view.
She was ordinary, but set apart from all the other women. Not by dramatic hair or clothing, but by something Crowley could sense. Her hair was shoulder length and golden brown in the sun. She wore sunglasses that fit her perfectly with her perfectly structured jaw. She looked more like a model than that other twit earlier. But she wasn't really runway material. No, more like a poster girl for women to aspire to.
She wore a black leather jacket over a ruby red shirt. Her dark wash jeans fitted her figure and slipped nicely into her black knee high boots. She looked like a beautiful gem that wasn't meant to fiddle with, but to be admired and treasured.
Crowley liked appearances, but that was nothing without substance to support it. He was highly intrigued and he knew she was the perfect candidate. He wouldn't let himself get too far ahead. He had to keep an eye on her.
He left the shop and followed her, but was sure to keep some distance. It was a couple of blocks, but she turned into a little store. He looked at the sign above and grinned. It was a psychic shop. He decided to cross the street, enter the store there and watch from across the street.
The psychic shop kept the front door opened and Crowley could see the shop keeper, a middle aged woman walk around tensed as the young woman followed her, her body relaxed and confidant. She was scaring the shop owner and was enjoying it.
Oh, Crowley liked her more and more.
The woman eventually gestured for her to leave and before she slipped by, she grinned. She walked out casually and Crowley couldn't resist grinning. She was well aware that she was different and had no inner conflict.
Then, three young men passed by her, one looking back, but his gaze was too low. He turned to his friends, patting their shoulders with a wide smile. He obviously commented about her ass. However, she knew. She glanced over her shoulder, her facial expression straight and cold; she snapped her fingers and adjusted her sunglasses to not draw attention.
Crowley watched the young men as they crossed the street, heading for the hot dog stand, when a car drove into them, into the young man that commented about her ass. It happened so fast, but Crowley knew it hadn't killed him. Just broke his leg. He watched as the man screamed and held his leg like a wounded animal, but crying like a baby.
He walked out of the store and saw her. She continued to walk ahead while everyone was heading for the scene of the accident. She turned and grinned. This one was dark and it was clear: she enjoyed inflicting pain on that man. Crowley couldn't blame her. He glanced at the man and sneered.
The only thing on his mind now was: what would she have done if the man had touched her ass instead? Oh, how he would have loved to have seen that.