In his previous, weaker, life he would have wanted her badly. But, like all the rest, she would have mocked his feeble efforts, making him feel even more useless and inadequate then he already did.
Thankfully, The Craft had taught him how to control and re-channel such urges, enabling him to focus all his energies on completing the ritual without succumbing to the distractions of the flesh.
As he watched, a blue Cavalier pulled off the main drag, slung a lazy U in the mouth of Quaker Street, and stopped by the car lot. Scar Face and Miss Piggy were at the driver’s door in an instant, each trying to out writhe and out gyrate the other. The Disciple found their brazenness positively obscene. It was interesting to see that Nice Tits, the girl he had taken a fancy to, was hanging back.
At the conclusion of a short, businesslike, conversation Scar Face waved to the others and slipped into the passenger seat. Miss Piggy, having lost out, could only stand there looking dejected as she waved goodbye to the receding car.
Excellent, The Disciple thought, one down and two to go!
It struck him that Nice Tits was becoming increasingly jittery, and he wondered what was bothering her. Did she sense what was coming her way? He smiled. Now there was a thought.
Miss Piggy and Nice tits were so engrossed in their conversation that they failed to notice the police car that glided into view, headlights dimmed to make it less conspicuous.
He watched anxiously as the patrol car crawled to an inevitable halt beside the two blissfully ignorant whores. He held his breath, feeling powerless to prevent the inevitable vice bust. Go away! He willed them, knowing it was never going to happen. Just drive off and leave them to me.
The driver unwound his window, and from the way he started giving it some with his finger it was obvious that he was reading the riot act to them. The Disciple rolled his eyes. How Pathetic! The cop was wasting his breath. Well intentioned words were wasted on feral creatures like these.
The female operator got out of the patrol car and started taking down their details in a little notebook. In stark contrast to her earlier behaviour, Miss Piggy was now trying to look like butter wouldn’t melt in her loathsome mouth.
When she was done, the operator handed over the notebook to her driver, who began speaking into his radio. The Disciple reasoned he must be doing name checks, to see if either girl was circulated as wanted. Just as the reply started coming through, the transmission was cut across by someone who sounded like they were running flat out. The Disciple quickly gathered that an officer on foot was chasing someone in Roman Road.
The driver, who up until now had looked rather bored, suddenly became very animated; he tossed the notebook aside and started signalling for his operator to forget the whores and get in quickly. As soon as the bemused looking passenger closed her door the car tore off, blue lights and siren erupting into action simultaneously.
Realising he was still holding his breath, The Disciple released it in a long whoosh and uttered a silent thank you to the gods above. He wondered if, perhaps, it would be better directed to the demons below.
As the patrol car pulled out of the side road, doing a wheel spin that would have left most boy racers green with envy, Nice Tits gave it the two-fingered salute. Miss Piggy walked over and gave her a big hug, then whispered something in her ear. Whatever she said seemed to cheer Nice Tits up considerably. There was another brief conversation, in which Miss Piggy nodded several times, and then she blew Nice Tits a kiss and waddled off towards the main road.
“Please be as quick as you can,” Nice Tits shouted after her friend, and there was real desperation in her voice.
“I will,” Miss Piggy promised, and waddled even faster. Within seconds she had vanished from sight.
Two down and one to go.
Things were moving fast, perhaps too fast. His heart pounded as he scanned the street, but other than little miss Nice Tits it was completely deserted.
He doubted that there would ever be a better opportunity, and it struck him that if he were going to act, he ought to do so now before the moment passed. He took a deep breath, thinking: by Lucifer, I’m really going to do this!
The Disciple’s hands were shaking as he started the ignition and turned on the lights.
It was show time.
As the van jolted away from the kerb, adrenaline surged through his veins like liquid electricity. God this was the most exciting thing he had ever done. What a ride, what a thrill, he felt like singing. All I wanna do is kill, kill, kill!
The words echoed in his head. He had a score to settle and now it was payback time.
He felt no guilt about what he intended to do.
Why should he?
Harlots just like the one he intended to gut had laughed at him, cheated him out of money and finally infected him. The memory of being treated for venereal disease at that dreadful clinic still made him cringe. He had waited; hoping it would go away, suffering in silence. In the end, the pain had been too much. The shame had been worse.
Much worse.
He shuddered at the recollection of what whores like her and
