“How was your relationship with her?”
Sarah answered, “Well…lately, she has been sneaking out to go to parties, or to bars downtown. We’re pretty sure she has a fake ID, because she is only sixteen, and would not be able to drink or go to those nightclubs, otherwise.”
“Yeah. She has been skipping school a lot. I don’t know where she gets the money to do her partying. I have a feeling she mooches off her friends,” said Steve.
“So, she is angry, and restless, and looking for adventure. Would that be an accurate statement?” he said.
“Yes,” said Sarah. “We don’t know why or exactly when this started, but about a year ago, she just started down this path: skipping school, and attending lots of parties where there were drugs and alcohol.”
“Well, we do know she was on the Red Line train headed towards the Shady Grove station. We’ll have to review the security tapes, and see what we can find,” he said.
“Please find our daughter,” pleaded Sarah.
“We’re doing our best, ma’am,” he answered.
* * *
TOR now worked seamlessly on her computer, and Poisonous had found a few sites where she could deal in selling illegal contraband. The possibilities were endless, and she had already arranged a few deals. One in particular caught her eye: selling contraband arms to a radical Islamic group in Iran. “Oh, now this looks delicious. I should buy low and sell high.”
Research into places she could by armaments proved that there were many places to do so. She chose a Russian manufacturer of rifles, pistols and machine guns. She decided to buy around fifteen thousand dollars worth, and sell them for over a hundred thousand U.S. dollars. “That should be a tidy profit, and if this works well, I will perhaps look into costly drugs, like methamphetamines, or heroin.” Giggling, she arranged all the transactions online, and ended up selling the weapons for one hundred thirty-five thousand dollars. “Always nice to find bloodthirsty barbarians who will pay any price for weapons of destruction.” Smiling with satisfaction, she sat back in her chair, and beamed at her success.
Yet moments later, the memory of her time with Roger flooded her thoughts.
Pacing around her bedroom proved no relief: she had tasted some excitement, and wanted more. Roger not only could deal well on the dark web, but proved to be good in bed as well. Nevertheless, her hadn’t even called to ask her out again. Restless legs took her from one place in the condo to another, never staying very long. Grumbling to herself, she finally walked out to the balcony, wearing her shorts and t-shirt so she wouldn’t get the attention of the crass construction workers across the street. A previous visit to the balcony, scantily clad in a very skimpy bikini proved a mistake. She didn’t mind the lewd comments by construction workers. Their wolf whistles and the ogling of her body caused the passers-by on the street—especially the males—to look up and see what all the fuss was. She liked that kind of attention, even from complete strangers. However, the constant ‘you should be ashamed of yourself’ and ‘Please cover yourself’ that came from the pedestrians on the street, especially the church goers and the married women made her furious. No one ever told her what to do. If she had been on the street, she would have taken them all on. Even that would not work well, because vaporizing people in broad daylight, completely in the open, would only blow her cover. However, she had quickly retreated into her room before she jumped off her balcony from six floors up and badly damaged her human body. The obvious choice of returning to her demonic state would have given her away. It was best to maintain her cover as a human.
The traffic in the streets consisted of delivery trucks, and the occasional courier on a bike. Some tourists explored the neighborhood, wearing T-shirts just bought from a street vendor near the mall, and cameras at the ready. She stretched and sipped on her tomato juice cocktail, with several dashes of the blazing heat of a very spicy hot sauce. The heat from the spices at least woke up her taste buds. She read another of the magazines about the adventures of the young and thrill-seeking, but wanted real action.
“This is dull. I need to get out of this condo. Her gaze went across her fingers and toes. The coat of polish she had put on both made her gloat with pleasure, then suddenly perk up. “By Lucifer, that’s what I need to do.” She went back inside, put on some casual shorts and a t-shirt —one that didn’t cause her to chafe—and left the condo.
On the train back to the condo, her new jewelry sparkled on her fingers. One ring had rubies on it—red being her favorite color—and another was silver and turquoise. She even bought earrings to match.
“Is this seat taken?” a deep male voice inquired.
The owner of that deep voice, a tall, handsome black man with a chiseled physique to rival a Greek god and a smartly tailored Armani suit, replete with gold cufflinks and a real Rolex watch stood over her, motioning at the empty seat next to her.
“Hi. I was just wondering if the seat next to you was taken.”
“It is now—by you.” She offered him her friendliest smile. The hunt rose in her blood again, and the wild animal prepared to attack.
As he sat down next to her, and the first thing she noticed was the woodsy smell of his cologne. The dark, musky-sweet smell gently settled in her nostrils, smooth and masculine, and played on her senses.
“So, if I may be so bold—what is a fine thing like yourself doing alone on the train? I would
