Part 30
The Previous Night.
I turn away as Tyr starts his impassioned goodbye over his shoulder while he and Nepotism go back the other way. I’m barely across the road when Eva’s car slows down for me to climb in the passenger seat. “Eva,” I whisper, letting her name slide off my tongue and hang like steam in the air. She is tense, struggling to not let her eyes deviate from the road, for at these speeds, a mere glace could crash us.
“Doc,” she growls. “You’re a prick, such a fucking prick.” She smiles lustfully. “Being at that party. Being so fucking hot. Being employed by the wrong people.”
“Au Contraire,” I whisper with a raised eyebrow. “It’s you that works for the wrong people, my darling.”
“Your political intrigue is so cute,” she says with a slight ring of sarcasm.
“And so is your ass,” I counter. “Drive faster.”
She stomps on the gas and we make it inside my apartment in minutes. She struggles out of my arms as soon as we are in the door, slams me against the wall and kisses me, pushing her tongue into my throat.“The kids in Metro City still believe in you,” she whispers. “They are ready to fight.”
“I’m not allowed to hear about those things,” I say, unbuckling her belt and unbuttoning her leather pants. I try to pull them down, and she touches my lips.
“Says who?” she asks.
“The Old Priest himself,” I say. “If Nepotism and I even think about Lapis Exilis, they’ll have Scrubbers looking for us.”
Lapis Exilis started as a poetry group. I hate poetry, but I like poets, as long as they are not reading me poetry. Poets always have good booze around. The open mic was in Old Gil’s Book Shop, where I worked on the weekends. Lapis Exilis gave me an opportunity to close my eyes, drink a beer, and let someone else do the talking. I let the words unfocus into white noise, and sometimes fell asleep entirely. That’s is how I never noticed the poetry readings were becoming increasingly radicalized. After readings I would tell the poets I loved their work. The poets got offended of you critiqued them anyway.
“You think Scrubbers are coming here? For you?” she asks, pulling away. She smiles wickedly, her shimmy driving me out of my mind so bad that I reach for her, but she comes in on her own, whispering, “You’re piddling your pants over a ghost story, Doc,” she purrs, fingers delicately working at my studded leather belt. “The Scrubbers are too busy playing strip poker with Santa Claus hoping to see the Tooth Fairy’s tits. They don’t exist. It’s... a... pity...” she says between kisses as her lips work her way down my bare stomach.
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