I've never been scared of the dark. I'm too tough for that. But there's something about the night that's always bothered me. I guess it's the mystery. During the day you can talk about ghosts, aliens, and zombies and treat it all like a joke. But at night it's different, especially when you're alone. All of a sudden, those strange things just might exist after all. But it's just your imagination.

Real horror lies in people. Once you meet that horror head-on, the night is no big deal.

The abandoned house Thompson chose for our brothel is at the edge of town. I've never even driven by this place before. It's dark and it's quiet. We should have enough privacy; no normal person would spend time here.

The old me might have been afraid to walk through here. Why wouldn't the zombies hide behind trees? One step too close, and your brains are gone. Completely eaten. All alone out here, I'd be a prime victim for those alien ships. No witnesses, so they beam me up and cut me open without fear of being seen.

I wonder if the sun has anything to do with it? It seems like once its rays are gone, your imagination wakes up and screws with you.

But now, it's like the sun is always shining. I can walk through here like I own the place.

I find the house, and Thompson is sitting on the stoop, smoking.

"Since when do you smoke?" I say.

"I just took it up." he says. "I'm hoping for a nice deep voice, like Kurt Russell. Even if it doesn't happen, the smoke alone will be good for my image in this line of work."

"It stinks, y'know."

"I know, but it fits."

He puts it out and gets up.

"So this is the place, huh?"

"Let's go inside."

Inside, it would be hard to see, even if the sun was out, because of the dust. Thompson turns on his flashlight and it does a good job of illuminating the dust.

And he says, "Let's open all the windows and let this place air out."

"Couldn't you have done all that while you were waiting for me?" I say, between coughs."

"Hey, we're partners after all."

We open the windows and try to coax the dust out with whatever soiled rags we can find. The dust on the furniture is so thick, it's almost like a protective shell.

"We're not really gonna have to clean all this are we?"

"Of course not. That's where the seed money comes in. We're gonna buy nice new furniture."

"Alright, let's let the air do the rest. I need to get out of here."

"Good idea."

We get outside and Thompson lights up another one.

If not this, what would I be doing at home right now? A little TV or phone time, then bed. Skipping television's not so bad. Doing something different feels good. But I wonder if I'd get tired of this if I did it for a long enough time. All I need to know is that right now, it feels right.

"So what now?" I say.

"There's not much to do." he says as he takes his seat. "We've got our employees and our place of business ready. All that's left is to get the word out."

"How exactly are you gonna do it?"

"There's chatrooms and message boards that cater to the kind of clients we want. They're careful about not running into any stings. And I'll be careful not to talk to any undercover cops. There's more to it than just asking 'are you a cop?' But if they are, they have to say so."

"Even if we get real clients, how do we know they won't blab to the cops later?"

"Please. They're gonna love this place. Just one visit here and they'll never do anything to risk losing it. They probably won't even tell their sick friends about it."

"Do you really think they're sick for liking young girls?"

"Well, I know girls can be married even younger in other countries, but this is America. They know they're doing something wrong, which is why they don't tell anyone about those feelings."

"But if they're wrong, then we're just as bad for doing this."

"They're gonna get it anyway. Might as well make some money off of them. Look at it this way, if we weren't giving them access to girls who are willing to do it with them, they might end up raping an innocent girl and the vicious cycle would never end."

"You make it sounds like our girls are sacrifices."

"Let's face it, these girls aren't going to make it. Instead of letting these girls and those dirty old men continue on their path of self-destruction, we'll let them destroy each other, far away from those in society who still have a chance."

"If a tree falls alone in the forest, then it doesn't make a sound. You really think that's true?"

"Isn't it? There are thousands suffering in poverty in this country, and that didn't stop you from throwing away your pizza crusts did it?"

"... so you want to do this, all for the benefit of society?"

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. I'm not going to pretend my motives are more important than his. This conversation is going nowhere and that's fine with me.

I stand above Thompson, both of us looking into moonlit dirt field. I put my hand on his head and flatten his blue spikes. He doesn't care a bit.

"That cigarette make you feel grown up?" I say.

"A little. More cool than grown up, I'd say."

"You're gonna need way more cigarettes."

"You need a certain something yourself. You're talking the talk, but you're not there yet. You look like the same old Lor, still suitable for all ages. You need to make some progress, this place opens soon."

"I suppose you're way ahead of me?"

"A kid looked at me and got scared. I'm getting there."

"Well, don't worry about me. I'm through with kid-friendly Lor. It's been long enough."

I step down off the stoop and head back into the field and its pathetic-looking trees. I don't look back, but I know he's waving at me. Probably a quick two-finger salute kinda wave. A normal wave isn't cool enough now, and never will be again.