“Ah, yes. Allen Kravinski.” I picked up my notebook off the side table and read off the piss-poor notes I taken while stalking him. “Fourty-two, married, five kids, white picket fence, and a receding hairline. You’ve been sentenced to torture and most likely death for picking up hookers, cutting them for fun, and then fucking their dead bodies.” I threw the leather bound book at his face, and he cried when it bounced off his balding egg-head. “You can really thank Lucifer for this. I mean I was going to kill you for fun anyway, but he really pissed me off and, well,” I shrugged. “You were next up on the docket.”
After the stunt that stupid fucking fallen angel pulled, I couldn’t decide whether I was ready to fuck my way or kill my way through St. Louis, all of which to spite him. But, I like killing strange men more than I liked fucking them.
A lot more, actually.
Anticipation wiggled its way back into my blood, and I cranked the music back up to pick up right where I left off. “Should I stay or should I go now?” I sang around a mouthful of instant ramen. “Ha!” My snort was obnoxious. The way I was shaking my ass in front of a dying man to one of my favorite 80’s jams was probably worse. I turned around and pointed my chopsticks at him. “Should I stay or should I go now? If I go there will be trouble!Come on, you know the words!”
“I have a wife.” His words slurred. Blood stuck to his chin. Both eyes were nearly swollen shut and the teddy bear I’d drawn with my cigarette on his chest was smiling back at me.
It gave me the warm and fuzzies.
“You know, it’s pretty funny that you offered me money before pointing out that you have a family. Shows me where your priorities lie.” I pointed at my bowl of ramen and yelled over the music, “Have you ever had this? It’s so good!”
Something about toxins coating wavy noodles really got my dick hard,honestly.
“It’s always tease, tease, tease. Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh!” My chopsticks made a perfect pick for the air guitar I was rocking. I was about to execute my signature hip thrust when, “Ouch! Fuck!” The distinct feel of leg waxing lit my thigh on fire. “Awe, dammit. You got blood on my favorite sleep shirt!” And it had apparently glued itself to my thigh and ripped hair when it departed. Upon further inspection, the red stained my favorite pair of purple cotton panties. “Fuck me,” I grumbled and dropped my chopsticks on the counter. “I guess that’s what I get for not changing.” Even the little purple bow at the top had been tie-dyed
The Clash played their final, epic chord and I stilled, waiting to see which bop would be next up on Allen Kravinski’s final playlist. When the first string of bass guitar hit, I knew exactly what it was.
“Fuck. YES!” I snagged my favorite rusted pliers off the counter and shimmied my shoulders toward the douchebag in my living room.
“Help me!” he screamed at the top of his lungs while throwing his body side to side.
I threw my hands up toward the ceiling and screamed alongside him. “Help meeeeee!” My laugh after may have been a touch maniacal. I rushed to where he sat, gripped his cheeks between my fingers, and yelled, “They can’t hear you, Allen!”
Okay, maybe they could. But when you lived in an apartment building owned by Lucifer and full of his spawn, no one gave a fuck. The sound of murder in our building was like sex in another.
I laced my fingers in his oily hair, trying not to cringe from disgust, and jerked his head back just shy of breaking it, but far enough he couldn’t close his mouth.
“When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed.” The pliers clacked against his teeth as I positioned the head around his upper second molar and squeezed. “Psycho killer.” Allen screamed as loud as his blocked airway would allow. I tried not to laugh, though I definitely smiled. “Fa-fa-fa-fa-far better–sit still, dammit!” I grunted and pulled harder on his hair. “This is a delicate process, Allen. There are little bungee cord-like ligaments that hold your teeth to the bone.” The pliers twisted with the gentle guide of my hand and I could feelthem snapping like tiny rubber bands. “And these molars have two, sometimes three, roots attached. If you’re not careful, you’ll fracture the bone or break the tooth off at the roots.”
Blood spattered my face as he coughed a pained groan.
“Devil-dammit Allen, my mouth was open!”
I spit the offending taste back at his face, taking a second to admire the different shades of pink it made when mixed with saliva.
“Huh. Your face looks like a Jackson Pollock painting. At least you’ll die pretty.”
Lesson learned, I stuck my tongue back into my mouth and settled for scrunching my nose to concentrate instead.
With a few more gentle twists, I felt the satisfying click of release and shimmied the molar out of its socket. Upon inspection, it was perfect. I held it up in the air and exclaimed, “Aha! Victoire in the name Hell!” I couldn’t contain my excitement and had to share it. “Look, Allen! You’ve got massive molars du– awe, fuck.”
Dead eyes stared at the painting behind us and a bone protruded at a suspicious angle from Allen’s neck.
I threw my hands up in the air, tossed the pliers aside with a sigh and plopped onto my couch. Jesus eyed me suspiciously from his perch on the back. “Every time. One day Jesus, I’ll do a full mouth extraction before they die.”
“Yeah right,”I growled in my best demon cat impersonation.“Maybe on a crack addict with four left.”
“You’re probs right, furry King of Bethlehem.”
I let my head fall back for a couple of breaths before standing back up to finish the job. Lucifer didn’t want their deaths, after all. He wanted their souls.
I grabbed my favorite spoon from the kitchen drawer and stood behind Allen’s cooling body, shaking my head in complete disappointment with myself. You’d think that after thirty years I would be more proficient.
Nope.
Lucifer once told me that the ancient Egyptians had it right with their lore, except totally backward. The body needed to stay intact in order for the soul to have a chance to make it to heaven.
