After a few twists and turns through the streets, the imps arrived at a saloon, which was what Striker was looking for. It looked like the usual Wrath saloon, with the batwing doors that had the appearance of demon wings and a small lodging for people just passing through while their horses were stored in a stall behind the building while others just stopping for a drink or two had their horses tied to wooden beams laying horizontal.
The two imps were about to leave after showing Striker the saloon, but Striker stopped them. He said to them, "How's about to make up for the little scene, why don't I buy y'all a drink?"
The tattooed imp rubbed his neck, uneasy about his offer. "Well, about that, we kinda got kicked out earlier for... unnecessary behavior."
"Yeah. They'll probably kick us out again." the goateed imp added.
"Well, I'll tell 'em you learned your lesson." Striker said to them, tying Bombproof to the beam, making sure he was close enough to the water trough to have a good drink.
He led the two inside, going through the batwing doors. The sound of the piano playing filled the entire saloon, along with the smell of cigar and cigarette smoke from customers drinking, eating, or even playing poker or having arm wrestling matches to test their Wrath strength. Some were even women, and they were joining the men in their activities. One female imp was having a drinking contest by taking shots of whisky, and the male imp she was competing against fell over drunk. The imp grabbed the shot he couldn't take and downed it in one quick swig before taking hers, and the imps watching them cheered her on as she raised her hands in victory.
The imps went over to the bar part of the saloon, with Striker taking a seat on one of the stools while the two burly imps also took their seats on opposite sides of him. Striker called to the bartender, "Hey, barkeep! Round of drinks here!"
The bartender, who was cleaning the counter on the other end, looked over to see him. He was a portly imp, but still had some good muscle in his arms and his hair in a comb-over hairstyle over his slightly balding head, and he had a bushy white moustache that curled at the tips. Looking over at the three imps, he somehow recognized Striker.
"Well, I'll be damned! Is that you, Striker?"
Striker nodded, "In the flesh, blood and bone! Long time no see, Buford."
Buford, the bartender, suddenly changed his expression to disgust and anger seeing the two imps on either side of Striker. He glared at them, "What are those two dickheads doin' here?"
The tattooed imp answered him, nervously, "He offered us a drink."
"After that disgusting display you two pulled earlier? I don't think so!"
Striker assured him. "I told them one drink for them, Buford. Then they're outta here. Got anymore of my favorite booze?"
Buford nodded. "Sure do. Still our best seller, no doubt." He went to the shelf of alcohol to grab a bottle. At the same time, he told the two imps, who Striker learned were named Nails and Buckwheat, to sit on the other end of the bar closer to the door. Grabbing three shot glasses, he poured the drink into the glasses and gave two of them to the burly imps, then handed the last one to Striker.
The drink he gave him was 'cactuquila'; tequila made from fermented cactus juice, one of the kinds of alcohol brewed only in Wrath. This was Striker's favorite alcohol when he was last in Satan's Frontier.
He picked up the glass, took a quick swig and gulped down the drink. The drink tasted so sour and strong, but it was just the way Striker liked it. He saw the two imps clink their glasses before gulping down their cactuquila, then they left the bar thanking him for the drink before running out of the saloon.
After Striker watched them leave, he looked at Buford and asked him, "So, what's with those two? What beef do you got with 'em and what did you mean by their 'disgusting display'?" He air-quoted the last two words.
"They were here this mornin' with some girl." Buford answered, pouring Striker another shot. "Maybelle caught 'em in the back room havin' a threesome with her, takin' turns lettin' her suck their dicks. I heard one of 'em shoutin' after Maybelle caught 'em that the little lady bit his dick."
Striker took a drink, and added, "So, how is Maybelle, anyway?"
"Why don't y'all ask me yourself, sugah?"
Striker looked over at the counter, seeing a young female imp; Buford's daughter, Maybelle. She had short curly black hair, and wore a black and purple laced burlesque dress, black boots, and a purple headband with black flowers.
Striker grinned, admiring her, "Good to see you, Maybelle. Still as sexy as a cactus flower, I see." He pointed his finger to her and winked with a smile.
Maybelle giggled, "Still quite the charmer, eh, Striker?"
Buford chuckled, "Hasn't changed a bit for three years."
Striker's expression changed to curiosity, and he asked Maybelle, "So, Buford tells me you caught those two dickheads havin' a threesome with that imp?"
Maybelle nodded, sitting next to him, "Yeah, and no surprise she'd try and make a mess of this place."
Striker asked with a raised brow, "What do you mean?"
"She's been down here for three days. And aparently, she's a total whore." Maybelle said with disgust. "The other day, when she first came down here with that guy she called her uncle, she got a man behind the blacksmith's place and they were really gettin' it on, then a few hours later, she hooked up with another guy at a horse stall. Both those times, she came out with a bunch of soul dollars. Almost as if she was so desperate for drugs."
Buford's wife, Bertha, came over and scolded her, "Maybelle, how many times have I told you not to use the 'W' word?" Bertha was a slim and attractive, her long dark grey hair tied in a messy bun and a few locks hanging from the side, and she wore a dark blue top tied at the front and dark brown pants.
Maybelle flinched at her mother's scolding, "Sorry, Ma. But it's true!"
Bertha glared at her daughter, but then she saw Striker and smiled. "Hey, Striker! How've you been, honey?"
Striker smiled at her, "Bertha! You're lookin' well, especially in your age now." Striker remembered from his last visit that she was in her late forties, and even in this age she still looked attractive for someone who was middle aged.
"Why thanks, sugah. I bet you're hungry after a ride here." Bertha smiled. "Why don't I cook something up for you? On the house."
"I think that'd be nice." Striker smiled. "But, you don't have to make it for free."
Bertha assured him, "I insist. It has been so long since one of our favorite regulars has come back in a long time. Plus, why don't y'all tell us what you've been up to the last few years since you've been gone?" She went to the kitchen area to get started on Striker's meal, a steak dish with potatoes and carrots, the meat made from the cattle of Wrath.
While Maybelle got back to work singing for the customers on the stage and Buford continued serving drinks to the other customers, Striker began to wonder about that female imp he helped get away from those two imps, now that he knew she was what they called a 'whore'. Now that he let her get away, she was probably sleeping with even more men here.
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Maya had just returned to where she and her uncle were staying. It was an abandoned slaughterhouse, and the awful smell of the rotting meat and blood was still lingering in that place even after years of abandonment when the original owner moved his meat business to another part of Wrath. Victor had been planning to buy this place and try and turn it into a huge brothel and strip club in one. It wouldn't be the first one in Wrath, since there were only a few in some parts of Wrath, but he had plans to make this into the biggest in Wrath.
Maya walked through the doors of the building, and she saw her step-uncle's men standing by the door from the inside. One of the bodyguards made a seductive growl at her, and she glared at him in disgust. She reached one of the office parts of the building where he pimp had been waiting for her return. When she opened the door, she found her pimp, her step-uncle Victor.
Victor was a middle-aged imp, but he still looked good-looking, a fine-chiseled face for an imp, finely combed white hair, no facial hair, and pointed short horns. While he usually dressed in a green pimp suit, the color of his home Ring of Greed, he had to wear a white long-sleeved shirt and blue denim jeans, as well as a belt with a bull skull buckle to fit in with the imps of Wrath and not draw too much attention as an outsider.
Seeing his step-niece coming in, he greeted her, shoving one of his prostitutes who was giving him a little 'lip service' below the belt aside, "Maya, you made it. I was afraid you wouldn't show up after you took a little longer than I thought."
Maya tried to keep herself from vomiting after seeing what her fellow prostitute was doing for their pimp, and she answered him. "I got a bit distracted on the way."
"I hope you didn't drop any of your profits." he said to her with a stern look. The word 'profits' made her cringe, since she had to earn that money through disgusting methods.
"No, I still have them, here." She reached into her pocket and took out the many soul bills she collected from her services. She handed them to him, and he counted them to see how much she made. She continued, "Now what did you want me back for? Are we finally leaving this shit hole?"
Victor finished counting the money Maya had made, and he said to her as he placed them in a metal box for all the profits his other girls made, "Nope, we're still staying here. Our business here is far from finished. I actually wanted you back here to tell you about a new way you can make your quota."
"Might I ask, what you have in mind?"
Victor answered her, "Seeing a bunch of people at a motel close to here, I thought of a solution; while I noticed you haven't been making enough down here and neither are the others, I thought what if instead of trying to attract a customer on the street, why not attract them at a local motel? Your services are just one phone call away or through a quick meeting with me so they can have the girl of their choice. Does that sound easy for you?"
Maya began to think about this new arrangement. With this new arrangement, she can stay out of the sun and into something shaded, and she wouldn't have anyone looking at her and saying those names behind her back, and she'd have a comfortable place to please a man, like a couch, a chair, or even a bed. And hopefully, she could have a nice clean shower for once instead of being filthy and reek of her sweat or the man she sleeps with.
"I guess it could work for me, but how are we going to pay the fees for that motel?"
"We don't have to. I've already made arrangements with the motel owner." Victor answered, putting emphasis on 'arrangements'. "In fact, I offered to make him our first client today."
This was what Maya was afraid of. She knew he probably offered the owner to sleep with her first.
Victor probably knew what she was thinking. He said to her, "If you're wondering who I let him choose to fuck, I was going to suggest you, but he wanted Petunia to be the one for him. You're going to be scheduled for one of the next clients after him at around 2 in the afternoon." He checked his watch. "It's already 1 o' clock, so why don't you make your way down there now? Have yourself a good clean shower, and dress sexy enough for your client. Here are the clothes you'll be wearing in your room, but don't open this until you get there." He handed her a little bag that had her clothes in it.
Maya took the bag and said to him, "Thank you, I guess. I'll be there right away, sir." She turned around to leave the room, and Victor gave her the name of the motel she was to be at and arranged for some of his men to escort her there.
Helluva Boss belongs to Vivienne Medrano aka Vivziepop, and Maya belongs to me. Kind reviews are all I ask from you all