Chapter One
Chapter One
What A Night!
Before I get to the window, I can hear what sounds like an orgy in room nine of the Shady Palms motel. The Ooohs and ahhhhs, a definite giveaway. Looking around even this late at night with only a half-moon, there is still enough light to see the crumbling and peeling paint, and scratch marks down the door that looks like it was attacked by a werewolf.
Rubbish everywhere. I roll my eyes; they should have called this place bottom of the shit tip motel. Shady is an understatement. The place is as run down and filthy as a homeless mutt.
Don’t! Touch! Anything!
Still, this should be an easy job, take some pics of my target getting it off with his lover, hand them over to his little wife and get paid. By the sounds coming from the room that would be lovers, a second male voice disturbs the night. That’s two distinct male voices, one female and a whole lot of groans and moans. An orgy or a threesome?
Creeping closer to the flaking sickly pink paint of the wall I am so happy I wore my cat suit, covering all the places that have to touch this dirty wall. I love this suit. I’m also wearing a cat mask. Hey, it came with it, sexy me, pfft. At least it keeps me hidden in the shadows and if anyone spots me…well take your pick. Cat woman, lunatic running around in a costume or a BDSM runaway.
Moans and groans seep through the door and window reminding me how long it’s been since I had sex. It won’t be happening tonight that’s for sure. This is my second job of the night. I’m totally whacked, the only thing I want to do is have a drink and sink into a hot, lavender scented bath. Okay time to take these pics and get out of here.
What do I find sidling along the wall to peek in the window? The subject. A skinny ass dude laying on a stained sofa naked as a jay bird pumping his cock to a vid of two guys and a chick. Randolph fucking Mary. This is what he does every Thursday night? What the hell is wrong with him or his wife. Some people need to learn to be honest and upfront with their wives, partners or whatever’s.
The guy is skinny as a rake, no muscles to speak of red hair with grey streaked sides, goatee and a face full of freckles. Not handsome by any means with a crooked nose that looks like it had a bad break at one time, and one small dick that barely extends past his fore finger. Definitely not my cup of tea, he is, however, obviously Mabel’s cup of tea. I don’t know if I should feel sorry for him or his wife. The scene is really quite sad, lonely, and the sofa, I pull a face, it is disgusting.
I really hate following husbands around to catch them cheating on their wives, but it’s a living. My business is new and well, you have to take what work you can at first. I had such almighty hopes that my business Chan Fahd Private Investigations would get cases with a bit of meat to them. This has meat but not the kind I expected, nor wanted.
I just know when I hand the pics over to Mabel Cole, she is going to want a discount, seeing there was no third party involved, just her pitiful husband and a porno flick. Getting my camera from my backpack I sigh, the vid isn’t even a good one, it’s no doubt as old as this flea-bitten motel.
By the way that’s me, I’m Chan Fahd, actually it’s Chanel Fahd, but I insist on it being just Chan. Why the hell I was named after a fucking perfume, God only knows. The last person to call me Chanel though, got a punch in the throat, because he kept singing it over and over, like a damned two-year-old. What a way to end a date. Yeah you get the picture.
Not the least bit happy I take the pics through the window of the dude and the vid he’s watching. And…oh shite… he’s cumming just as I snap. Got him, the vid and yes, his jizz. I’m not hanging around for any more of this. God I’m so done with today. There are just some things once seen can’t be unseen and this is one of them.
If I hit Tommy’s bar before I go home. I can wash down the bitter bile now invading my mouth. A few cherry whiskey Jacks should do it, and hopefully it will wipe this memory from my brain in the process. One can only hope, my brain though is stuck in a tandem of wanting to go home and sleep or going to Tommy’s. Whiskey it is then.
I jump from the motel to the lane near to the bar. Yeah, I can jump from one place to the next. I just have to think where I want to be and within a half a breath, I’m there. You wouldn’t believe how much I save on bus, train and cab fares. It’s not the only thing I can do I have two other abilities, that either make me a freak or downright fucking special.
I was fifteen when the first little charm came in, that being I could change my outfit in the blink of an eye, actually with a click of my fingers. That discovery came about salivating over a goth outfit in a magazine at the dentist office.
There I was in my jeans and tee and the next I was dressed as the picture I was looking at, including the make-up and hair. Catching my reflection in the clear glass of the reception counter, the blackened eyes and blood drips from mouth down to my chin looked downright awesome.
I looked up just in time to see the dentist open his door to call me in. His face changed from a congealed pleasant smile to pure horror in seconds, his eyebrows disappearing under a fringe of brown hair. Poor dude probably thought he was caught in a nightmare; he slammed his door shut so hard it rattled the wall. I was sure I heard him bolt it. He obviously hadn’t seen anyone in Goth before, well maybe the dripping blood was a bit too much. I thought I looked pretty burning hot. Hence to say I didn’t get my teeth cleaned that day.
My aunt thought was another story. As soon as I walked into the house and after she finished screaming and praying to the blessed Lord Jesus she dragged me to the bathroom and scrubbed my face to within an inch of my life, not to mention the ass whooping she gave me. At least it was better than when she had shaved all my hair off for getting into a fight at school. Never saw those clothes again though, so I guess she burned them. What she didn’t know was with a click of my finger they could be back again, just not when Aunt Amelia was around.
Looking down at my body-hugging cat suit, it was a hot outfit but for Tommy’s bar, nah not so much. I would have every deranged asshole trying to buy me drinks and pinch my ass, and after what I had witnessed tonight, nope that wasn’t happening. I was too damned tired anyways, but, if I had felt like picking up a one-night fuck buddy, taking pictures of Mabel’s husband had quickly brought that to an end.
Snapping my fingers, I change to black jeans and a tee, and for good measure a three-quarter length black leather coat and black knee boots. Just like Selene in Underworld, if I thought to be a vampire hunter tonight, at least I would look the part. Hoisting my backpack over my shoulder I walk casually around the corner to the bar.
Tommy’s is in the seedier part of town, at the end of Kings Cross, most call the darker end. I’ve been coming here for several years. I like the place, and Tommy always makes time for a chat.
Walking in the door I am met with the usual stale cigarette smoke, sickly over sweet perfume, after shave, and alcohol. I breathed deeply. Yep, my second home. Most Thursday nights though, Tommy’s is as dead as a flattened rat on the highway, but not tonight, damn it’s busy in here.
Making my way to the bar I take the furthest stool, the last one against the wall. It’s where I usually sit, I’m not a particularly social person and after what I witnessed tonight the last thing I want is to be is anywhere near a male. I place the backpack on the floor between my feet.
As it is, I just know I am going to have fucking nightmares of skinny ass dudes, flea bitten motels and porn flicks, unless I can half wipe myself out on cherry whiskey jacks.
“Hey Chan, looking fine tonight girl.” Tommy says already grabbing a glass to pour me a drink and popping a bowl of cherries on the counter in front of me.
I offer him a half smile. “Thanks Tommy.” I murmured putting a twenty down on the bar and leaning back to take in the clientele. With the place so busy I don’t draw Tommy into a conversation, he has enough to do.
I like to know who is in the vicinity, I’m suspicious of everyone, it comes with the job, also because I need to keep my perception and identification skills up. Remembering the smallest detail can be the difference between life and death. That may be a little extreme, but you just never know.
My mind wanders back to Mr Cole. Really if you are going to pretend you are working late every Thursday night at least make it a worthwhile venture, and not lock yourself in some scummy motel room to jack off to a porno flick. The stains on the sofa he was laying on could give him a disease. I don’t even want to think what made them. I could kick myself; you would think with my heightened senses I would have been able to tell the difference between a real orgy and a B grade movie. Stop thinking about it girl, jobs done. The little voice in my head is right as usual.
I take a sip of the whisky scanning the room again. Love buddies Ted Thornbury and Chad Barley at the other end of the bar are in an argument over who will win the next tennis match at Wimbledon. They had the same argument every single night. Friends for fifty years, sailor buddies for thirty of them. The night would end as it always did, with the two of them arm over arm singing sailor’s ditties as they waver and totter drunkenly up the street.
I scan across the wall facing the bar, barmaid Olive is chatting up a couple of blokes. I watch her flash her fake lashes and lean over to shake her bountiful boobs in their faces. If she came my way I’d let her know the two guys are a couple. I like Olive, but she is as thick as a concrete door. Constantly munching on Limburger cheese, apricots and garlic while serving, is enough to knock an elephant on its arse. Just don’t let her breathe in your face, and you thought my drink was crazy. This is why she never gets on a date; the woman’s breath is toxic.
At the middle of the bar sits Wilbur White, he spends most of his time talking to his beer, he calls Jean, as if it is his girlfriend. Probably the only thing he ever gets to talk dirty to. Wilbur used to be our postman, that was until his wife ran away with his dad. He couldn’t have missed his wife much, because her name was Sharon. I don’t feel sorry for him, well maybe a little.
A bunch of dicks are crammed against the wall at the back watching footy on a black and white tv, above the bar. In between scores they’re debating which is the best pickup lines to use on a chick. Sensitive hearing can be a gift or a curse. Maybe I should send Olive over to them. They could be the worst pickup lines in the world, and she would still fall for them. Hell she would fall for anything that had a working cock between his legs.
When the door opens I spy Esmeralda shimmying in. His name is actually Matthew, but shit, he dresses up well. I don’t think they could tell in the daylight either. He usually wears a scarf to cover his Adams apple.
“Looking good honey.” I yell tipping my glass to him over the noise of the dicks watching footy and yelling that the ref needs a black eye.
Esmeralda gives me a smile; I nod him over to the jack asses. His eyes dart to the group before turning back to give me a wink and a wicked smile as he shimmies over to them. Tonight, he’s got the whole Barbra Streisand look going on, a long peacock blue sequenced number with a split right up to the hip and five-inch glittery silver pumps. Yep, he’s good for the night. Man, he can shake and sashay that booty like no one’s business.
I take another sip of my drink and about to look back at the room when someone sits in the seat next to me. He isn’t only sitting facing me, he’s a little too close, his elbow resting on the bar. With frustration I turn my head slightly, not bothering to look at his face. I am not surprised that someone has sat down beside me, a few have tried. Either my snarl and a ‘fuck off’ is enough for them to get moving or Tommy’s quiet words “bout time you left mate’ has them moving away or leaving the premises.
“What the fuck do you want?” I murmur keeping my eyes no higher than the faded print of the Rolling Stones on his black shirt. I turn back to take another gulp of whisky thinking it was about time I headed home, even though I’d only had one drink and not the usual four or five. It’s been a long day.
A deep slow carnal husky voice comes from him. “Was that an invitation?”
I gulp at the sound of his voice. “Wh….What the fuck are you on about?”
I snap around to look at him nearly falling off my seat. Holy fucking sex gods. My eyes scan his face, centering on a thin scar that runs from the corner of his eye down his cheek to his chin. A face to make every panty wet within a mile. Tanned skin, raven hair tied at the nape of his neck. Heavy set brows over bottomless dark blue eyes, well I think they are blue it is hard to tell in this dim light. Straight nose, yummy lips and a square cleft chin. I whip my head back and take another gulp of whiskey.
If I thought Mabel’s husband had turned me off for the night, the reaction my body was having tells me I was so wrong.
“Like what you see?” He growls moving a little closer.
Oh God yes. “Not particularly.” I growl back, biting my tongue from saying exactly what I think of him. Dark, broody, dangerous, fucking sexy as shit.
He leans closer to me so I can feel his hot breath on the side of my face. Damn the scent of him overwhelms my nose, it’s like a night in front of an open fire, hot, cinnamon with a touch of spice.
“So, what’s a Demon, or are you an angel, doing in a place like this? You could be Fae but somehow, I don’t think so. No, an angel for sure.” He says with it coming out more like a soft low growl.
Say what, what the hell is he talking about? I shake my head, time to go home. Regardless of how sexy and panty melting this guy is, talking about demons and angels is psycho stuff. Just my luck the beautiful ones are either mental cases, gay or too rich to give you the time of day.
“So, what are you?” He asks again leaning so close his scent is making me heady.
Horny now that I’ve seen you. “Fucking tired.” I respond by taking the last swig of my whisky.
