"Alright, make a left here," Heat instructed, giving Strike directions to the closest hotel with vacancies.
"This place cool?" asked Strike. "I want to make sure we're kind of low profile."
"Hey, no problem, mi hermano," smiled Heat. "I already know what we need." He looked back at Shorty, who was drifting off again. "I think it's another time to get the little one into 'game mode'."
Strike nodded, when suddenly his cell phone started to ring. He frowned because he was hardly expecting a phone call at this time. When he looked at his Caller ID, the name surprised him.
"Moshi moshi," he answered.
"Yo, Strike?" It was Pinky.
"Yeah, what is it?" He shot Heat a strange look, as he made another turn.
"I finished that job."
"Shit, already?" Strike sounded very impressed.
"Yeah, so can I get my payment tonight or what?"
"Ha ha, you thinkin' you're slick, eh? Give me and my boy a chance to see if everything's working right. I don't believe in going back and fixing someone else's fuck ups."
"That's just fine," said Pinky smugly. "Check all you want, but you'll see the job's been done just like you wanted."
"Is that so?" smiled Strike. "It ain't often that a muthafuckah can come back to me with such a glowing report. Keep your cell on, and I'll get back at you in the next half hour."
"Alright. See you later."
"Yeah." Strike hung up the phone, looked at Heat, who seemed to be rather confused at the time. "Dude, you're smiling… what was that all about?"
"That was Pinky," replied Strike. "Seems like she's finished that little job I sent her on."
Heat gave him a frustrated look of disbelief. "Really? We'll see when we get to the hotel."
Strike laughed. "Hey, don't sound so surprised. A pigeon like that will do anything for money. When we get past 4 figures, there's no telling what they'll do."
The Fireboy shook his head and smiled. "Hey, we're almost there," he reported. "Just make a right at this light, and we'll see the hotel on the left-hand side of the street.
When they arrived at the hotel, they looked up. Hmm… Different floors this time. "Alright, uh… put your coat and hat on the little one," suggested Heat.
Strike shook his head, but went ahead and disguised Shorty. "I'll chill out here until you get the room," he told Heat.
The Fireboy nodded and went into the building. Fifteen minutes later he emerged, telling Strike it was okay for them to go in.
Strike draped Shorty over his shoulder like a rag doll almost. She was completely engulfed in the coat. Heat helped him collect their bags and they went to their room, on the 9th floor.
The new room was a great deal bigger, two king sized beds, a bigger kitchen area with cupboards, a much larger bathroom area, and a balcony with sliding doors.
Strike whistled as he walked in, and set Shorty in a chair. "Impressive," he smiled.
"You speak German, right?" asked Heat.
"Yeah, enough to start a fight, talk shit through the fight, and enough to finish it," joked Strike.
"Good, because I used a heavy German accent to throw the concierge off. It's really sad that I can pass for my own 'celebrity look-alike'."
Strike made a painfully annoyed face. "You gotta be shittin' me," he said.
Heat laughed and plopped down on a bed. Strike, too, sat down on the free bed and pulled his shoes off.
"Man, fuck, I haven't been to sleep yet. Tonight, we need to chill. It's one thing for me to sit in one spot for days at a time to snipe somebody… Being on the move is another… Shit, I ain't slept for about 5 damn days anyway."
"Damn, homes, I thought you gave up that whole insomniac thing."
"Shit, sometimes I wish I could…" Strike unbuttoned his shirt and laid back. "Fuck, I gotta call that bitch back. I don't trust her ass, I know she's on some bullshit," he grumbled as he pulled his cell from his shirt pocket to make the call.
Heat got up and uncovered Shorty, then went to the refrigerator. He licked his lips and pulled out some cold cuts and bread. Wow… what a hook-up! "Time to make some saaammiches," he grinned from ear to ear. He already knew Strike would want some, so he whipped some up for him, too.
"Yeah, so meet me up at the Emerarudo Bar in about 30, in one of the booths in the back. Yeah, a'ight." Heat handed Strike a plateful of sandwiches as he was disconnecting his call. "Thanks, dude," he smiled, taking the plate. After saying a small grace, he dug into the plate like a couth-less cave creature.
For the next ten minutes, the entire room was quiet except for smacking and slurping and belches.
"Hey, mi hermano, you make a mean sandwich," smiled Strike when he was done, getting up to put his plate in the sink. "I'm 'bout to wash my ass before I start smelling like a barn creature."
"Yeah, please, I don't want to have to make the noises at you," quipped Heat. Strike flipped him off and disappeared into the bathroom. "MOO!!!"
In the bathroom, Strike uttered, "Bitch…"
When Strike was done with his shower, he continued his freshening process and put on a new outfit, jet black jeans, his favorite shell toe adidas, a white tank top with a button down black and white adidas sport shirt with three stripes going down each short sleeve. He put his hair back up in the ponytail and sprayed on a little of his favorite cologne, Fahrenheit. Heat was lounging on his bed, channel surfing like an addict. He stopped on the Nature Channel; two dolphins were getting it on… yesss… Strike looked at the screen, then looked at Heat. "Look, Heat… please go and get you some ass. Please?"
Heat turned his head to Strike, unfazed by his comment. "Alright, sure, when you get some, I promise I'll get some the next day."
"Hey, I ain't the one watching water mammals gettin' they freak on. Fuckin' virgin-ass."
"Don't go there, ese."
"Look, I don't need to bone everyday, regardless of what YOU might think. Besides, I'm too busy to be worried about that."
"Whatever, homes, that's why your ass is so fuckin violent now. When's the last time you got your rocks off anyway?"
"Touché," conceded Strike, holding up his hands like 'whoa'. "Come to think of it, I really can't remember… which is a terrible thing if you think about it… If it had been any good, I would have been able to recall it… See, that's why I don't bother anyway; I've never been with anybody who could handle me. I need a challenge now."
Heat looked at him blankly, pulled a blunt out of his pocket and lit it with his finger. "Yeah, okay. The same reason I don't bother. So, hermano, leave me the fuck alone. As long as there's porn in the world, I'll survive."
Strike shook his head and put his trench back on.
"Don't be gone too long, y'hear?" quipped Heat.
"Please believe it. I don't want to really go as it is, but the sooner I get this information and get this bitch out of my hair, the better. Say, if possible, go ahead and hit Hiro-kun up and tell him to meet you somewhere, hell maybe here. Even if you have to whip up some more 'nighty-night' cocktail, we can each kill a bird at the same time."
"10-4, hermano," replied the redhead. "Be careful, for real, okay? Pinky gives me really bad vibes."
Strike smiled and nodded, put on his shades, grabbed a small briefcase and left.
Pinky was waiting patiently for Strike at the Emerarudo Bar. She had just so happened to be close to the joint when she was on the phone with Strike. Smugly, she smiled, quite contented with her work and her earnings. Sitting comfortably in the booth and sipping on a Pink Panther, she pulled out her money just to count how much she'd made. This work should have made sure that Strike would stay off her back for a good minute.
The bar was alive with a crowd of people watching different sports teams playing, placing their little bets or whatnot, just having a good time. When an ominous figure stepped through the door, all got quiet.
As Strike walked in, he scowled at the lack of noise and walked silently halfway through the bar. He turned around to look at the crowd sitting directly at the bar, and they quickly started back with their conversations and rowdy talk.
The black-haired man looked around towards the section with the booths and saw a big spot of pink in a semi-darkish corner. He sighed and walked on in the direction, determined to keep his annoyance under wraps. How he despised Pinky. Average ghetto-ass chicken head…
He sat down in the free seat across from the stripper. "W'sup?" he asked in an unimpressed manner… Good God, she was slutty looking…
Pinky flashed him a smile. "Hello, Strike," she greeted. She'd already picked up on his mood, so she figured she'd handle this quickly… ooh, but he smelled so good, and his clothes looked extra-nice. That and his thick-ass Figaro necklace with the huge "S" charm studded with diamonds was extra eye candy.
"So what did you get?"
"I planted the devices and activated them like you asked."
"Really? Are they secure?"
"But of course, baby. You know I like to be thorough."
Strike nodded. "If I get back to double check and I find out you're lying to me, your throat is as good as slit."
Pinky winced, and nodded weakly. "It's just like you asked," she guaranteed, now rather uneasy. Strike didn't have that reputation for naught.
He stroked his beard in deep thought, reading her nervous energy. Pinky may have been a dirty chick, but fear was a truth serum. She knew he had no problems with getting rid of her. He placed the briefcase on the table, and slid it towards her. "That's your money. Count the shit later; it's all there, and as you know, I'm a man of my word."
Pinky took it and set it next to her. "So, do you need me to do anything else?"
"Nah, not now, but I will be keeping in touch with you. When I need you, you'll know." He was looking around, slightly uncomfortable, for no other reason than him not liking this broad.
"What's wrong? Won't you have a drink with me?"
He turned his head towards her and his face was relatively emotionless… that was all she could tell for not being able to see his eyes. She began to wonder if anyone had ever seen his eyes…
"Nah, I gotta bounce," said Strike, getting ready to leave. Hurriedly, Pinky got up and sat right next to him.
"I need to ask you something," she said.
Strike sat back and scooted away from her slightly. "What?"
"Has anyone ever read your palm before?" She gave him a rather seductive look, and brushed her sweeping bangs to the side with a long fingernail.
"No, I don't go for that kind of shit," said Strike uncomfortably. What the fuck was she up to, anyway?
Pinky looked away. She didn't know if it was the low mysterious lighting, or just her finally taking another look at Strike, but she was finding him very irresistible. Maybe it was that she was a little tipsy, too… "You seem really tense. You were like that when I danced for you. Why don't you let that guard down a little?"
"Maybe because you tried to kill me, which is why I own you now. Remember?"
"I was just trying to make my money, baby… that was a mistake, but let me make that up to you. I've heard a lot about you from quite a few of the other dancers at my club…"
"Like what?"
"I heard you have a nice package and you know how to work with it. Maybe I can help ease some of your tension."
A look of supreme frustration was screwed into Strike's face. "Why the fuck is everybody so concerned with my sex life all of a sudden?"
"Maybe you need to handle that… I've heard you don't disappoint from a lot of chicks."
"Let me get one thing straight right now. I've only been with two of the chicks from your club. Both were accidents on two different occasions, seeing as how I got hammered and well…one of them never lived to tell about it, so you ain't heard shit from that one."
Pinky looked slightly surprised. "You… killed her afterwards?"
Strike narrowed his eyes. His annoyance was growing by the second. That was fine, she'd have to learn the hard way. "Nah, she died during it," he replied brusquely. "Besides, that was years ago. I ain't on that tip now."
Pinky took another swig of the beverage she was nursing, trying to figure out exactly what he was talking about… she started to get that frightened feeling again… but the alcohol was giving her a bizarre amount of audacity. Damn, she was feeling so attracted to him… she undeniably wanted a piece of him.
"I really need to be going now," Strike said impatiently.
"Please, Strike, don't leave yet," pleaded Pinky, putting her hand on his thigh. Strike frowned his disapproval, but made no effort to stop her. "Look," he said, "I don't think you know what you're getting into."
"I know what I'd like you to get into," smiled the stripper.
Strike had a great amount of physical self-discipline. Just this once, he let go of that, for the sole purpose of getting his point across. "Why are you doing this, Pinky?"
"You can't sit there and tell me that you don't find me attractive," she giggled.
"Uh… Okay," replied Strike. Behind the shades, eyes were a-rolling.
"I can dance for you again, I can do anything… you'd… like," she drawled, moving her hand up his thigh, and gently went directly for his crotch. When she got there, her eyes got extremely wide… she mouthed 'Oh my God', and seconds later her jaw dropped. She gazed at him in sheer awe, and he sat there with a blank expression, except for one eyebrow raised. For some strange reason, she couldn't budge her hand.
"Please stop muthafuckin touching me," requested Strike, the violation of his personal space was immediately infuriating him to the highest degree. He had to admit, the look on her face was priceless. That's how it usually was. Hmm…
The expression was still on Pinky's face, and it seemed like she was utterly paralyzed. Strike grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his business, and set it on the table. He felt the malicious verbal evil welling up at full force now; to get his point across further he was now out for blood. "Listen, even if I was a man whore interested in fucking every chick I came in contact with, I'd like to keep you alive because I'm not done with your practical services yet. I don't have anything you'd find easy to handle, Pinky; I'm way above your level in every facet of your wretched existence. Besides, I'd like a challenge next time I get horizontal with a bitch, and you don't even meet my lowest expectations. I ain't found a bitch that can handle me yet, so that pretty much means you're assed out. By the way, if you touch me or my shit again, I'll find a way to kill you twice." He forcefully shoved her out of the seat, stepped over her and left. Pinky was still lying on the floor in shock.
When Strike got in the car, he looked down at his crotch. "I'm sorry, that will never happen again. We'll get you disinfected later," he said as he started the car and was on his way elsewhere to clear his mind. For the love of God, he loved women, and only women. Not hoes, tricks, none of that. He was beyond happy with the concept of being essentially abstinent until he found exactly what he was looking for, and that was hardly anywhere near the front of his mind…
Maybe he should have sent Heat to do this instead… Nah… at that thought, Heat would have charred her for sure…