I look up and there’s Cherry in all her miniskirted glory, tied to a black pillar beyond the fire. The flames cast shine and shadows on her insides, now her outsides. I catch a whiff of the burger from that truck stop on the way up the mountain. It’s turned sour and my stomach turns.
If only my stalker were a rookie. He’s not drinking any coffee, that’s for sure. He was right onto me the moment I landed in Las Vegas (McCarran International); which was really sharp because that somehow the seventeen hour flight didn’t knock me into lag, and I was all alone. Just me in Las Vegas, with my stalker.
If you break your toys you have to go home. I said, “I want to be a soldier” and dad said “I want some kissy kissy” and mom said “I want everything exactly the way it is” and we said “Ha ha how boring is that?”
A brutal shove pounds the small of your back. Your head tosses beneath the waves and your eyes sting with salt. You scream into the abyssal expanse but a twisted moan and large bursting bubbles are your only rewarded. You try to catch a glimpse of your attacker through the saffron-black haze, but a shifting, circling shadow is all that remains.
That last summer, the dog started finding things in the garden. He’d hear the beast scratching at the door. When he opened it, she’d be waiting there. Sometimes, the dog would be crouched over her prize, and would spring away when he tried to take it. Other times, she would trot proudly past him and drop whatever she found on his bed.
Weird job. First off, Voland wasn’t tied in to anybody. Not the Italians, not the Columbians, not the Russians. Nobody’d even heard of the fuck. Then it turns out this guy is rich. Not like mob boss rich, but like Bill Gates rich. But nobody knew where the money came from. So that’s weird. But the real weird was this – the guy had put the hit out on himself.