Chapter 2 (This time for serious)
Standing on the landing that overlooked the massive living room like area inside of my shitty little two story apartment I surveyed the scene. There was empty pizza boxes stacked haphazardly about the area in dire need of being thrown out that went along with piles upon piles of dirty clothes and other various junk that I had either bought or collected out on my travels. There was a busted and beat couch against one of the far walls that sat across the way from a bookshelf packed full of every form of book out there to man and demon alike. Down there also sat my desk that I used mostly to collect the receipts from every take out place in the area, and along with them were a stack of unopened letters from families pleading that I come to their aid and help them with their so called Demon problems. Mostly just a bunch of kids going out in the night and worshipping Satan in the graveyard. Cracking my neck I walked down the staircase and stood behind my desk for the moment flipping through the letters mostly just tossing them into the overflowing trashcan. When none of them caught my eye I pulled out my phone and dialed up the local cleaning crew, very nice people if I do say so myself. Never ask a question and always do a spotless job. Speaking with the secretary I told her that I needed a full body job including laundry and trash removal, and that I d leave the key under the mat and their money in the mailbox before I left. Throwing on some clothes that smelled clean I scribbled out a check and tucked it into a blank envelope for the cleanup crew before I stashed berserker into its holster on my back, grabbed nightshade off its resting hook, and threw on my shades and coat before leaving the house for a while. I stopped off first to see my buddy Frankie the local half demon pawn store owner to see if he anything new in stock I might be interested in, or if anything looked shiny enough to catch my eye. After that it was a trip down to the local gentleman s club known as Devils and Angels which I find to be a bit ironic, as some of the lovely ladies were hiding more than just skin underneath those scraps of fabric. I happened into this place one day after having to deal with a massive demon terrorizing children down at the local park so suffice to say I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to have a drink and watch some ladies dance their innocence away up on a pole. As you enter into the place you get greeted by the ugliest man this side of the city, and after he man handles you and doesn t buy you a drink you get to enter into the show. The place is set up like most strip clubs with three poles set up about the area with plenty of seating room for sweaty men in suits and sleazebags in gold chains. The bar sits up against the back wall with sparse sitting room on a good day, but it happens that on this afternoon the place was deader than a crackwhore OD ing on Heroin. At least the whore still twitches for a bit afterwards. Grabbing a seat at the bar I lazily drum my hands against the counter till Marcel makes his way over with his normal Casanova lady killing swagger, and a silent message passed between our eyes as he reached down under the counter for an unlabeled bottle of amber liquid. Spinning the top he poured a healthy dose down into a glass before setting it down before me, and with a tip I poured the good old rotgut down my throat where it burned a path straight down to my toes. As he filled it up again his eyes flicked up as a smile twitched on his marble chiseled face as a hand dropped down on my shoulder and a warm pair of lips found way to my neck.
Standing on the landing that overlooked the massive living room like area inside of my shitty little two story apartment I surveyed the scene. There was empty pizza boxes stacked haphazardly about the area in dire need of being thrown out that went along with piles upon piles of dirty clothes and other various junk that I had either bought or collected out on my travels. There was a busted and beat couch against one of the far walls that sat across the way from a bookshelf packed full of every form of book out there to man and demon alike. Down there also sat my desk that I used mostly to collect the receipts from every take out place in the area, and along with them were a stack of unopened letters from families pleading that I come to their aid and help them with their so called Demon problems. Mostly just a bunch of kids going out in the night and worshipping Satan in the graveyard. Cracking my neck I walked down the staircase and stood behind my desk for the moment flipping through the letters mostly just tossing them into the overflowing trashcan. When none of them caught my eye I pulled out my phone and dialed up the local cleaning crew, very nice people if I do say so myself. Never ask a question and always do a spotless job. Speaking with the secretary I told her that I needed a full body job including laundry and trash removal, and that I d leave the key under the mat and their money in the mailbox before I left. Throwing on some clothes that smelled clean I scribbled out a check and tucked it into a blank envelope for the cleanup crew before I stashed berserker into its holster on my back, grabbed nightshade off its resting hook, and threw on my shades and coat before leaving the house for a while. I stopped off first to see my buddy Frankie the local half demon pawn store owner to see if he anything new in stock I might be interested in, or if anything looked shiny enough to catch my eye. After that it was a trip down to the local gentleman s club known as Devils and Angels which I find to be a bit ironic, as some of the lovely ladies were hiding more than just skin underneath those scraps of fabric. I happened into this place one day after having to deal with a massive demon terrorizing children down at the local park so suffice to say I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to have a drink and watch some ladies dance their innocence away up on a pole. As you enter into the place you get greeted by the ugliest man this side of the city, and after he man handles you and doesn t buy you a drink you get to enter into the show. The place is set up like most strip clubs with three poles set up about the area with plenty of seating room for sweaty men in suits and sleazebags in gold chains. The bar sits up against the back wall with sparse sitting room on a good day, but it happens that on this afternoon the place was deader than a crackwhore OD ing on Heroin. At least the whore still twitches for a bit afterwards. Grabbing a seat at the bar I lazily drum my hands against the counter till Marcel makes his way over with his normal Casanova lady killing swagger, and a silent message passed between our eyes as he reached down under the counter for an unlabeled bottle of amber liquid. Spinning the top he poured a healthy dose down into a glass before setting it down before me, and with a tip I poured the good old rotgut down my throat where it burned a path straight down to my toes. As he filled it up again his eyes flicked up as a smile twitched on his marble chiseled face as a hand dropped down on my shoulder and a warm pair of lips found way to my neck.