miritsu (miritsu) wrote,

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Samael: Chapter Three, Page Seven

            “Samael.” He couldn’t see any harm in telling her.  Only a very small handful of people knew that name, and anyway, she didn’t know his face.  The best she could offer to the police right now was a voice ID. 

            And what if she did go to the police?  Leroy could have any case thrown out, couldn’t he?  Well, up until he inevitably got taken down for corruption, but that would be long in the future.  Those corruption investigations took forever, and right now no one even suspected him as far as Samael knew.

            “Fucking pretentious name, isn’t it?” asked Latoya, cocking her head and letting her hair slide over one shoulder.  She was very pretty.

            Samael laughed.  “It really is.”  She wasn’t going to the police.  This girl's life was as, if not more, messed up than his own.  Any idiot could lie and pretend they wouldn’t go tattling, but to be as calm as Latoya was, she had to be someone who didn’t want police attention.

            Samael was fascinated.  He’d met an insane idealist, Leroy, and an insane cynic, Sensei Barrie, but this was something new.


            Shiloh’s Best was all class, a high-end evening lounge with three famously beautiful bartenders and couches that probably cost as much as Samael’s whole apartment.  The lights were dimmed and soft music played, relaxing the clientele.

            It seemed Latoya was either a trusted regular or a big spender, because she secured a comfy VIP room and let Samael in through the window.  Good thing; he wasn’t taking off his mask, but would attract too much attention walking through the main room. 

            The VIP room was a miniature version of the main lounge.  A glass table surrounded by plush white chairs were in the center, while vases of flowers and avant-garde paintings were placed artfully around to hide the speakers that music poured from.  They were betrayed as being fake by their lack of scent, and so the room was left smelling curiously blank.

            Latoya said, “I like this place.  Sometimes I bring my higher-class clients here for a drink—they’ve got great service.”

            Samael smirked.  “Do I strike you as high class?”

            “No, but you’re not one of my clients, either.” She poured him his second shot for the evening before throwing back her sixth.

Tags: chapter three, latoya, samael

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