It was still dark by the time she stumbled home. Stiletto boots made it slow going. As she giggled the silver key into the sticky lock she felt eyes roaming over her. Eyes fixated on her sinfully short shorts. Her neighbor thought she was tart trash. He wished, and she knew it too. While she was a night lady she wasn’t a lady of the night. Anytime she caught his judging stare she would scoff, and give her hips a little wiggle, laughing at his flustered face.

Although her dirty hovel wasn’t guest friendly, splashes of her were evident. A well-used bed with clothes slung across it, from the excitement of finding the prefect outfit. In the shoe box of a kitchen there was a pot half full of old mac and cheese. Several news articles and ads pulled up on a sleek lap top. Stolen. And front and center of the apartment was the dressing table, with drawer’s filled equal parts with make-up, money, and artilleries. Long legs made their way towards the table while deceptively strong fingers removed earrings and a curled wig. She took long look in the vanity mirror, noting her matted short hair, smeared metallic lips, and a genital mist of red speckling her skin. A look of someone who had done good hard work she figured, smiling to herself. Suddenly she froze smile still in place. One hand came up to dramatically mess with her hair. The other hand snaked into her coat. Then all at once she had spun around with her gun pointed at the dark corner, by the door.

“Hey Buddy, I don’t remember inviting you here.”

What came out of the shadows wasn’t even old enough to vote. While his hands were held up in a pacifying manner he regarded the gun with only mild sense of annoyance and disappointment. As if the weight of the world was on him he gave a tired sigh before replying.

“You know why I’m here. You can’t – You can’t keep doing this.”

This made the women scoff, “What no cutesy nickname? I’m hurt Buddy, really I am.”

“I’m being serious! You need to stop before they catch you, and throw away the key.”

At his distraught expression she lowered her gun.

“Hell kid what do you want? I’m doing a service. A regular act of charity. People should be thanking God for me.”

He tiredly rubbed his face, trying to compose himself, and choose his words carefully.

“You know when your paid to do it I’m able to justify that. I didn’t like it, but I could get past it. But you’re taking it to far. I’m scared that you end up like them –“

Gun slammed into the table she spat out, “Don’t you dare compare me to their filth! They deserved far worse then what I gave them.”

The thick air hurt their lungs and the silence was deafening. She slumped back against the drawers pitching her own sigh.

“Just…fly away little angel, you’re preaching to deaf ears.”

The gentleness of her tone threw him.

“I just wanted –“

“Leave little Buddy.”

Her words carried a finality to them, and he knew the pointlessness of trying to argue back. Sending her a weary smile he relented.

“Okay, okay. Take care of yourself, please…Friend?”

She gave him a beaming smile and a thousand yard stare, “You too Buddy.”

After he left she gave another good scratch before pitching herself up. She was still covered in red, its dry flakes tickled her skin. Once considerably cleaner she situated herself in front of the laptop, the pot nestled in her lap. The only noise was the repeated stabbing and chewing of stiff cheesy noodles, and the methodical voice of the anchorman.

“Early this morning two bodies were discovered in front of the cities court house. Officials recognized the bodies to be that of Richard Colt age thirty-seven and Brice Newman age twenty-four. Both were suspects in cases of child abduction and molestation. The two appear to have been beaten shot, their bodies spread out like stars which has become a gruesome signature of sort of the serial killer Nyx…”

With mouth full she smiled.