Second Demon

by Mary Abshire

  He brought her to an open spot on the dance floor. Facing him, she slowly raised her arms. The tune playing had a slow beat while a woman’s voice carried in the song. Andrew marveled at Emily’s sleek movements. He struggled not to touch her or pull her close to his body. The rhythm of the tune began to increase. Men and women cheered. The music reached a fast pace again and energized everyone to dance.

  Emily stayed close to him. Her smiles made him happy. Her gazes held his attention. Her touches stimulated him. He bent his knees, grooving in front of her as if she were his goddess. She laughed and clasped his hands after he straightened. They danced together through many songs until a woman wedged her way between them. Emily turned and gave her attention to someone else. Although she danced with other partners, he never lost sight of her.

  Andrew enjoyed dancing until his body began to overheat. The back of his shirt felt damp and he’d wiped his forehead several times. He hated wearing long-sleeved shirts to cover the ink on his arm. A few feet away, Emily swayed her body with a man on each side of her. With subtle movements, Andrew made his way to her. She shifted her attention to him and he jerked his head. After she gave a nod, he headed off the dance floor.

  Having cleared the mass of bodies, he paused. Emily caught up to him. He leaned toward her ear. “I need air.”

  “Let’s go,” she said, continuing on a path to the exit.

  Worry crept into his thoughts as he followed her. She’d been having a good time and he’d interrupted her. He hoped she wouldn’t be too upset with him.

  Outside, she spun to face him. “I’m so glad you wanted to leave. God, this air feels so good.”

  The breeze offered him some relief, but he’d feel better if he could remove his damp shirt. He pushed one sleeve up to his elbow, but could only move the other a quarter way up.

  “You don’t mind leaving?” he asked, walking next to her.

  “No.” She tossed her hand in the air. “We came. We danced. We had a good time.”

  “Does this mean you’ll hire me?”

  “You’re hired.”

  He clapped his hands together. “Watch out ladies, I’m a man whore.”

  Laughter burst from her. “Don’t say that too loud.” She glanced at the people standing in line as they passed by.

  “But I could get names and numbers. Are you going to hold me back?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Then why not put me to work now?” he asked as they approached the first street.

  “Hold up, I thought I was supposed to be the one working. One of us has to be the business partner.”

  “But I could make a killing for us.”

  “I’m not saying you couldn’t, but you’d also have a big price to pay.”

  He didn’t need the reminder about the additional year on Earth if he had sex. He struggled with it daily.

  “Let’s pretend that part isn’t an issue,” he said as they crossed the road. “How much do you think I could make a night?”

  “Well, it would depend on what service you give. Screwing would cost more.”

  “How much?”

  “Do you really think I know how much you could charge?”

  “Could I get five hundred?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Damn, I could make a killing.” Maybe extra years on Earth wouldn’t be so bad if he was rolling in the dough. “How many women could afford me if I charged that?”

  “In this city, I’d guess a lot. And if you do extra … stuff, you could charge more,” she said as they continued along the sidewalk.

  “Would you pay five hundred for me?”

  “Ha! You’re funny. I would never pay for sex. Never.”

  On the one hand he was glad to hear her say that. On the other, he had hoped she’d consider him. He’d give her a discount, full price cut in fact.

  “I guess it’s good to know I could support myself if I had to,” he said.

  She chuckled. “Yeah, you wouldn’t have a problem.”

  “How much do you think women make?” he asked as they crossed the intersection leading to the subway station.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Let’s pretend again.”

  “So I’m the prostitute this time?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  They stepped onto the curb.

  “Again, it would depend on the type of services,” she said.

  “How much for a blowjob?” he asked before they proceeded down the steps to the subway.

  “If I were truly a working girl in this city, I’d charge a hundred minimum.”

  “That seems fair.” He wondered if she would give him a price reduction. “What about for sex?”

  They reached the main floor and found three young men dressed in jeans and sports jerseys were chatting on one side. A few other people stood on the other. Support beams blocked his view from seeing them clearly, but he saw dark attire. Emily came to a stop several feet from guys.

  “I honestly have no idea what to charge for sex,” she said in a soft voice facing him. “I don’t think I could get as much as you could. If I had to guess, maybe two hundred.”

  “Oh no, you could get more than that.”

  “How do you know? There are plenty of women offering themselves and they are much prettier and have bigger tits.”

  He looked at her as if she were crazy. She had a rockin’ body with the right-size breasts, not too big and not too small, great hips, and a luscious ass he could squeeze non-stop. Every time he looked at her legs he envisioned them wrapped around him. How could she think she wasn’t attractive?

  “You under estimate yourself,” he said.

  The guys chatting looked at Emily’s back.

  “Guys will pay big bucks for large tits and ass. I have neither,” she said.

  “Let’s ask a potential client.” He shot his gaze to the men waiting nearby.

  She looked over her shoulder at them. “Are you crazy?”

  “It’s just a question. Why not ask from someone who could be a client?”

  She sighed heavily before she looked at them again. She pointed at them and then called them to her with her forefinger. Their level of excitement grew as evidenced by their wide grins and curious eyes.

  The phone in Emily’s purse attached to her wrist began to ring. Emily unzipped her bag as the men came to stand near her. After she fished out her cell, she handed it to Andrew.

  “Answer it,” she said.

  He tapped the screen before he pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Andrew?” Troy asked. His voice was difficult to hear with the guys talking to Emily.

  Andrew stepped back a few feet. “It’s me. I’m with Emily.”

  “About fucking time. I’ve been trying to reach her for hours,” Troy said.

  “Sorry, we went to a club.”

  He watched Emily talking to the men. They were laughing, but one had pulled out a handful of cash.

  “Great, so you two are having a merry fucking time while I’m working my ass off to get this poison,” Troy said.

  Andrew still didn’t hear him well enough, so he walked farther away from Emily and the men. “Is there a problem?” he asked Troy.

  “No. I should have it in the morning. I wanted to give Emily the details about it.”

  “Oh, you can tell me,” Andrew said.

  The man with the cash handed her the money. Her eyes enlarged. She looked at the money as if she didn’t know what to do with it. He couldn’t hear a word she was saying. His pulse accelerated as he realized he needed to get off the phone soon to help her. But then he reminded himself that she could defend herself if she needed to. He decided to let her handle the situation.

  “Not that I don’t trust you, angel, but I would prefer to speak to Emily,” Troy said.

  “She’s a little occupied right now.”

  A man and a woman dressed in matching black uniforms approached Emily from the other side of the
station. They both wore hats, badges, and weapons clipped to their belts. Andrew’s heart began to race.

  “If she’s not in the bathroom, then drag her ass to the phone,” Troy said.

  The cops questioned Emily. She shook her head. Not even a second later, the three men took off running. They passed Andrew and darted for the stairs. Emily stood still and her face turned a pallid color while the male officer slapped cuffs on her wrists.

  “Did you hear me, angel?” Troy asked.

  Andrew swallowed as he stared in disbelief at Emily. “Uh, she just got arrested. I’ll call you back.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Emily paced in the cell. A woman with dirty-blonde hair and blotches on her face sat on one side of the room. Based on her appearance, Emily presumed she was a drug addict. Two young females with long dark hair and wearing short dresses were sitting on the far end of the same bench. On the opposite side, a round overweight woman with short hair, shaved on the left, and dressed in army pants and combat boots listened to the Hispanic gal chatting her ear off. The butch woman had tattoos covering her arms. Both she and the chicka talking to her had piercings all over their ears.

  “Why don’t you sit the fuck down,” the Hispanic woman with long dark hair said rather than asked. “You’re making us sick.”

  Emily ignored her. She couldn’t stop. Anger and fear motivated her steps. She’d been so stupid to touch the money the man had given her. She tried to give it back and explain she wasn’t a hooker. But it had been too late. The police had seen the transaction. The men had run off and left her. Now, it was her word against the cops. Things didn’t bode well for her.

  To make matters worse, the officers had taken her fingerprints and a snapshot when they processed her into lockup. Once the prints would hit the database, law enforcement in Chicago would be able to find her. She could be sent back and have to face real jail time. She was in a world of trouble because she’d touched the man’s money.

  “If you don’t sit the fuck down, I’m going to make you,” the Hispanic said. The two ladies wearing dresses hushed.

  “I’d do what she says,” the blonde with dilated pupils mumbled. She struggled to keep her eyelids up. The woman had to be strung out on some kind of drug.

  Emily reluctantly took a seat in the middle of the bench facing the Hispanic and the woman with only half a head of hair. The temptation to stand up to the Hispanic burned within Emily’s veins, but she dared not start a fight. She didn’t need any attention placed on her, nor did she need more charges brought against her. Fuming at herself and the world of the five-by-five foot cell she was stuck in, she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall behind her.

  Keys clanked and a door squealed from down the hall. Male voices drew nearer. The two ladies at the end of the bench rose. They peered through the bars and spoke in a polite tone, trying to convince the officer walking by to release them. The cop escorted a black young man in cuffs to another cell further away.

  Her thoughts shifted to Andrew. At least he hadn’t been close to her when the cops had been watching. She presumed he’d been on the phone with Troy while she’d been questioning the three men. After the cops had cuffed her, he had a look of fright on his face. She’d shaken her head, signaling for him to stay back. He could help her as a free man, not as a jailed one. Life would’ve been ten times more complicated if he’d been taken into custody too.

  The officer walked by alone carrying cuff links. He gave the two ladies a quick glance in passing. They used kind words in an attempt to stop him, but he continued on his way. Once the door clicked shut, the ladies return to their spots and spat obscenities.

  Emily’s headache from too much alcohol and stress worsened. The bright florescent lights kept her head throbbing. She wanted to close her eyes, but she didn’t trust her cellmates. Anything could happen in a matter of seconds. The drug-head next to her could puke, pass out, or have a seizure. The Hispanic could attack Emily. Based on the feral look in her eyes, Emily got the impression she was ready to pounce. The male wannabe with the tats would likely join in. As for the two in dresses, Emily doubted they would do much of anything. They looked harmless except for their stilettos. Still, Emily refused to let her guard down in case someone in the small room decided to do something.

  The night had been fun up to the point of getting arrested. She’d had a good time with Andrew. He’d been acting more respectable toward her. The man was an incredible dancer. She’d wanted several times to press her body close to his. He had great moves, especially when he practically kneeled in front of her. The man could make her smile and laugh. She’d enjoyed his company and working with him as a partner. She wondered what he was doing since she’d been taken away two hours ago.

  Her anxiety remained high, making it difficult for her to sit still. She rocked gently, bumping her back against the wall. She needed to make the one call she was entitled to make. She knew the rules since she’d visited jail before, twice—once for Libby and once for Troy. The cops only kept her to try and intimidate her into confessing. No charges had ever been filed against any of them. The time Emily had spent waiting in jail had been enough for her to realize she didn’t want to call it home.

  “What are you in for?” the drug head next to her asked.

  “Can’t you tell?” the Hispanic asked. “She’s a fucking whore.”

  More anger coursed through Emily. She itched to punch the woman in the face. Glaring at her, Emily said, “Think what you want. I don’t care.”

  The tattooed male wannabe eyed Emily as if she were a piece of juicy steak. Emily rolled her eyes. She couldn’t decide which one of the criminals in the cell irritated her the worst.

  Playing the role of a prostitute had taken a toll on Emily. She wished she’d never come up with the idea. Not only did she feel dirty from people touching her in the club, she thought the profession was filthy and degraded women. Men had no respect for women who sold their bodies for sex. She hated acting like a hooker. She was more than ready to move on and get away from the profession and New York.

  “Is this your first time?” the woman in the red dress asked.

  “First time at what?” Emily replied.

  “Arrested for prostitution,” the woman in red said.

  “I’m not a hooker.”

  “Then what were you arrested for?” the Hispanic asked.

  “Why were you arrested?” Emily fired back.

  “I stabbed my boyfriend to stop him from raping me. So what’s your story, bitch?”

  Emily couldn’t be sure if the Hispanic had told her the truth or not. Regardless, Emily didn’t see the need to share her real reason for being in jail.

  “I got too drunk and disturbed the peace.” She used her first two fingers on each hand to quote the last three words. “And I resisted arrest.”

  “Bullshit,” the Hispanic said. “You’re a lying bitch.”

  The snap of the door from down the hall collected their attention. The two ladies leaped to their feet again. They pleaded to make a call, get out, get an attorney because there was a mistake and they’d been wrongly imprisoned. Didn’t all criminals say that last part? Their annoying voices amplified Emily’s headache.

  Two officers dressed in the black uniforms, one male and the other female, appeared on the other side of the bars. “Reynolds,” the female called out.

  Emily headed for the door. The male guard slid it aside.

  “Come with me,” the female cop said. She had her hair pulled behind her head and wrapped in a bun.

  “Am I free?” Emily asked as she stopped in front of the officer. The cop behind her closed the cell door.

  “No. You get to make a call. Now, put your hands together,” the female officer said and Emily obeyed. The cop put cuffs around her wrists. “Come with me.”

  Emily walked behind her while the male cop followed. They reached the end of the hall and the female guard unlocked the door. They continued down another hallway with small offi
ces on the left. Emily recalled seeing the rooms when she’d been brought by earlier. The female cop stopped near a cut-out in the wall. Bars protected the man on the other side. He pushed the telephone on the counter as close to the opening as possible. Emily reached through the bars and her metal cuffs clanked against one. After she lifted the receiver, she dialed Andrew’s cell number.

  “Hello?” he answered after the first ring.

  “It’s me.”

  “Where are you? I keep asking about you and they won’t tell me anything.”

  The cop on the other side of the bars sat at a nearby desk. He typed on the keyboard. Behind her, the two officers chatted near the wall.

  “I’m in lockup and you’re my one call.”

  “Are the cops nearby?”

  “Of course. They like me. They like me so much that they took my prints and photograph earlier.” She hoped he would pick up on her clue.

  “But your prints—”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she quickly said, stopping him before anyone could hear him or in case the line was being recorded. She didn’t have time to ask where he was or how he was doing. Time was of the essence. She had to assume eyes and ears were everywhere.

  “Shit,” he said. “Tell me what to do.”

  The man caught on fast. “Call my good friend and explain what’s happened. He needs to access the piggy bank no matter how much the cost and he needs to do it now. Em will get in trouble if he can’t. After and only after he breaks the bank, contact the lawyer.”

  “You want him to represent you?” he asked, surprised.

  “Yes, it will be fine. But you can’t call him until my friend takes care of the first issue.”

  They couldn’t contact Michael because he represented Carrie. They couldn’t let him know she was in jail either. If he found out, he’d search for Carrie’s records and wouldn’t find them. Then their plan to destroy the demon would be lost.