Samael: Chapter Three, Page Six
She was sitting casually on top of a dumpster, leaning back against the brick wall and smoking a cigarette. She showed only annoyance at the gun pointed towards her belly.
“You want to get that thing out of my face?” she said, and he was so astonished that he did so.
She had smooth cocoa skin and smooth black hair held out of her face with a clip. She wore a tacky fur coat, heels high enough to make Samael wince, and something so skimpy underneath that it was barely visible beyond the coat bottom. She made no move to run away, and showed no sign of being disturbed by what she’d just seen. Then again, if her profession was what he thought it was looking at those clothes, it was entirely possible that she saw worse every day.
Samael was unused to feeling so awkward. He had become very good at what he did over the past couple of years, and had never faced a situation like this. If he’d been caught by a screaming fan girl or a frightened passerby he would have just threatened them into silence…but he had a feeling that wouldn’t work with this girl. So if he didn’t plan on killing her, what could he do?
“What’s your name?” he asked her, standing up. He did not holster the gun.
She raised an eyebrow and stubbed her cigarette out on the dumpster lid. “Why do you give a shit?”
“I’m trying to decide whether or not to kill you,” he said honestly.
She rolled her eyes and readjusted her position, getting more comfortable. “You don’t tell someone when you’re thinking of killing them, stupid. That gives them a chance to run away.”
“Yeah, you look like you’re right on the verge of bolting,” said Samael. “This doesn’t bother you?” He gestured to the dead body on the ground.
“Should it?” she asked.
“A girl as pretty as you shouldn’t be so cold hearted.”
“When are you living? Nineteen-fucking-sixty?”
Sameal snickered in spite of himself. It was a pretty dumb thing to say. “I suppose it would be stupid to ask if you’re thinking of going to the police, too, since you could just lie.”
The girl grinned and said simply, “I’m Latoya. What’s your name?”
“You want to get that thing out of my face?” she said, and he was so astonished that he did so.
She had smooth cocoa skin and smooth black hair held out of her face with a clip. She wore a tacky fur coat, heels high enough to make Samael wince, and something so skimpy underneath that it was barely visible beyond the coat bottom. She made no move to run away, and showed no sign of being disturbed by what she’d just seen. Then again, if her profession was what he thought it was looking at those clothes, it was entirely possible that she saw worse every day.
Samael was unused to feeling so awkward. He had become very good at what he did over the past couple of years, and had never faced a situation like this. If he’d been caught by a screaming fan girl or a frightened passerby he would have just threatened them into silence…but he had a feeling that wouldn’t work with this girl. So if he didn’t plan on killing her, what could he do?
“What’s your name?” he asked her, standing up. He did not holster the gun.
She raised an eyebrow and stubbed her cigarette out on the dumpster lid. “Why do you give a shit?”
“I’m trying to decide whether or not to kill you,” he said honestly.
She rolled her eyes and readjusted her position, getting more comfortable. “You don’t tell someone when you’re thinking of killing them, stupid. That gives them a chance to run away.”
“Yeah, you look like you’re right on the verge of bolting,” said Samael. “This doesn’t bother you?” He gestured to the dead body on the ground.
“Should it?” she asked.
“A girl as pretty as you shouldn’t be so cold hearted.”
“When are you living? Nineteen-fucking-sixty?”
Sameal snickered in spite of himself. It was a pretty dumb thing to say. “I suppose it would be stupid to ask if you’re thinking of going to the police, too, since you could just lie.”
The girl grinned and said simply, “I’m Latoya. What’s your name?”