Coed Demon Sluts: Omnibus: Coed Demon Sluts: books 1-5

by Jennifer Stevenson

  “Um, I don’t have the tattoo.” She remembered Jee telling Reg to get his IIDN tattooed on his inner thigh.

  “She doesn’t have a number,” Pog said as Amanda twisted herself in her La-Z-Boy to inspect Beth’s left foot.

  “How do you know?” Jee said.

  “I just know,” Pog said, raising her voice.

  “I don’t,” Beth admitted. “Is that going to delay my paycheck? Because I owe you all a lot of money already.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.” Jee waved that away.

  “Focus, Beth,” Pog said. Beth was beginning to realize that Pog was the real team leader, whatever Reg thought. “Did you arouse lustful thoughts in anyone in the past three days?”

  Beth gave that question some thought. “Well, there was Blake.”

  “Excellent,” Pog said. “We know all his stats. Plus, we can re-enter him as B. Shanley, first initial only, and double your score for that evening at Barclay’s. Plus, you left feelthy pictures of yourself in his secret apartment. Hey, I think all three of us get credit for that, don’t we?” Pog added, looking at Jee. “That’s another score for us.”

  “Hell yes. Then there’s Reg,” Jee put in. “You gave him a boner when you pretended to dance with him.”

  Beth flushed. “He, uh, gave me something, too,” she mumbled.

  “Well, halleluia,” Jee said.

  “Don’t be ashamed of that,” Amanda advised.

  “Ka-ching,” Pog said, typing rapidly.

  “But how can I get credit for it if I don’t have a tattoo?” Beth insisted.

  “That’s a good question,” Amanda said.

  “Ish will handle it, right?” Jee said.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Pog said.

  “What manner of speaking?” Amanda said. “She’s either in the database or she isn’t.”

  Swiftly Pog backed out of the database on the big screen on the wall and powered down her laptop. “Okay, break time. Beth, you take the first shower. The rest of you, couple of data points.” When Beth just stared at her she said, “Go on. Hop to it.”

  Not reluctantly, for she had had a very long day, Beth clambered out of the La-Z-Boy and slumped off to her room.

  As she closed the door she heard Amanda say, “That girl had better get her ashes hauled soon, or next thing she knows, she’ll be screwing her ex.”

  Pog

  “That girl,” Amanda said laconically, “had better get her ashes hauled soon, or next thing she knows, she’ll be screwing her ex.”

  “Shut up,” Jee said. “Pog’s got a secret.”

  “All right,” I said as Jee and Amanda turned curious faces to me. “Remember I said we’d get recruits from a variety of sources? No? You ought to pay more attention. I said it when Beth first showed up,” I added in a boy, you people are slow tone of voice. I had to bluff my way through this or we would have more trouble.

  “No,” Jee said. “I don’t remember.”

  “Yes,” Amanda said. “But I don’t see how you can get recruits from anywhere except the Regional Office. Beth ought to be in the system. She should have a number already, whether it’s tattooed on her foot or not.”

  “Should is a big word,” I said, stalling for time.

  “Wait,” Jee said. “Are you telling me we have someone from off the grid on our team?” Off the grid meaning not part of the Judeo-Christian heaven-hell dualist infrastructure.

  I drew a deep breath. “Technically, yes.”

  “How is technically yes different from absolutely yes? Ish knows about Beth, right?” Jee persisted.

  These girls would make amazingly good operatives if I ever needed that. Right now, all I needed was a team of coed demon sluts. Good luck confining them to task.

  I took another deep breath. “Okay, listen up. This is not something I can say more than once.”

  They shut up, for a miracle.

  I put one finger in the air. “Want to know why this division isn’t your typical backbiting, double-dealing snake pit of mindfuckery such as you find in every other circle of hell? It’s because Ish is no good at that stuff.”

  Second finger. “Want to know why our jobs don’t matter? Because mortals have given up on the whole chastity thing. The field is fast approaching the level of license one saw in the late four hundreds BC. Votes for women, minimum wage, gay marriage, cats and dogs living together—mass hysteria.”

  Third finger. “This means, as you know, that the Regional Office, like the Home Office, looks the other way at a lot of things. A lot. One of those things is all the old gods and local spirits who are coming out of hiding. You don’t know what this does to the big picture. Actually, I don’t know, either. I doubt if Ish does. What matters to us is, we get some recruits from off-grid.”

  I examined my audience. Amanda didn’t really seem to care. Jee was glazing over. She grew up in an area that was 80% Muslim, 10% Hindu, and 4% Christian, with 52% crazy-ass tribal syncretic paganism mashing it all together. As far as Jee was concerned, all religion sucked. This was actually a fairly representative attitude among the personnel of the Regional Office.

  Amanda was listening. “And Beth is one of these off-grid recruits?” she said.

  “Beth is one of them,” I said.

  “Does Ish know?” Amanda said.

  “Yup. But don’t bring it up to him. Or to anybody else.”

  Amanda shut up. She might have been thinking.

  Jee said, “I always thought Ish was a spineless apparatchik.”

  I made a meh face. “He’s no worse than some, and a lot better than most.”

  “Except for this fucking idiot, Reg,” Jee said. “What was he thinking?”

  Fortunately, at this moment the door opened and Reg walked into the kitchen.

  Instantly Jee yelled, “Get out of here and knock!”

  And bang, Reg turned around, went out, closed the door, knocked on it, and walked back in.

  Jee glowered. “Better. Next time, wait until someone says, ‘Enter,’ before you come in.”

  Reg hesitated. “I done what you said.”

  Jee waited ten long seconds. “Well?”

  “Blake Saunders is gonna leave his office at 33 West Monroe at five-thirty today. From there he’s post-a go to the doctor’s office with his girlfriend, over on Michigan Avenue at Washington. By seven, he should be at Barclay’s in Oak Park.”

  “Did you tell him Beth would be waiting for him?” Jee said.

  “‘Course not. I ain’t stupid,” Reg said in the teeth of the evidence. “He thinks he’s meeting Mrs. Blake Saunders. I din’t talk to him. I made the appointment through his assistant.”

  “Did the assistant ask any questions?” Amanda said.

  “No, but she sounded pretty sour when I said ‘Mrs. Blake Saunders.’ I think she has an idea that her boss is, uh....”

  “A lying shitweasel?” Jee said.

  “Living a double life?” Amanda said.

  “Thanks, Reg, that’s perfect,” I said. “It’s almost quarter to five now. Would you tell Beth we’re meeting Blake in forty-five minutes?”

  “But—”

  “Just do it.”

  Reg shrugged. As he turned to the door, he paused to check us out, one at a time, all three of us lying in our La-Z-Boys like bimbos in a beer commercial. He opened his mouth to make a Reg-type remark. Then he caught Jee’s eye, nodded, and left.

  “Holy shit, Jee,” I said. “I think you’re getting somewhere with him.”

  “Just call me the Jerk Whisperer,” Jee said and closed her eyes.

  Beth

  Beth dressed for her meeting with Blake a lot more carefully than she had last time. Before, Jee had dressed her up like a doll. She’d felt like a doll, or a zombie, or some girl with three aggressive girlfriends who were out to see her dated up or else.

  Today she felt in charge. She had a lot of questions to ask Blake, such as, How did you get away with stealing your ex-wife blind? It might take some finesse to
get answers out of him, but she was sure she’d think of the right approach. It should be a lot easier to grill him as Beth the foxy supermodel than as Beth his wronged and rageful ex-wife.

  Mindful of Blake’s weakness for leg, she wore a gray suede micro skirt with an enormous belt that wrapped twice around her hips and hung there, inviting every woman who saw it to hate her for being so skinny. She paired that with a drapey silver lamé tank with spaghetti straps—she dialed her boobs back to “pert” for purposes of the tank—and some chunky silver and turquoise earrings and necklace. The outfit had seemed grossly overdone when she tried it on in Neiman’s dressing room, but now, in front of her bedroom mirror, with her hair mussed up and her eyelashes ridiculously long and dark, it looked just right.

  Pog drove her downtown with Jee in the back seat again. As they handed the Beemer over to a valet at Don’s Fishmarket near Blake’s office, she told Beth:

  “We’ll be sitting nearby. Do not try to run away from him on your own. You have backup.”

  Beth heaved a huge sigh. “Thanks, you guys.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” Jee said, showing her teeth. Her eyes flashed, a sure sign she was ready for battle. “Wave me over if you want us to double-team him.”

  “Thanks,” Beth said with more reserve. “But I hope—let me try this.”

  Jee smiled warmly. “You’re gonna be fine.”

  The three of them strode across the street and into the giant white lobby of 33 West Monroe. Beth checked the jeweled watch she’d bought yesterday to replace the one she sold two years ago to pay Jeff’s rent during his last semester of graduate school. Blake ought to be coming down any minute.

  And here he came. The elevator doors opened and disgorged half a dozen of Blake’s sleek, amoral fellow executives. Looking at them now, Beth wondered how she could have failed to see how casually evil they all were. It wasn’t even as if they knew they were evil. They simply did what they wanted and broke the rules and took all the cream and left everyone else with nothing. Business was business.

  And Blake, hustling through the lobby among them, suddenly looked doughy and half-assed, like a cartoon shark among real sharks. She wasn’t in the least surprised when her roommates swept down on him and skillfully separated him from the sharks. The sharks never looked back or noticed he was gone. Beth waited for them to bustle out of the building before she sauntered over to join Blake.

  “Mine, ladies,” she drawled. Today she would keep her focus. Since the thing with her breasts and Reg’s “nice tits,” she had learned her lesson. She put her fingertip under Blake’s chin. “C’mon, sugar, we have time for a drink.”

  “Uh, hi—”

  “Beth,” Beth prompted.

  “Beth.” Blake smiled, looking dazzled by the hotness and apparent willingness of all these women. “I’m supposed to—”

  “You’re supposed to watch me get tipsy and tell me all your troubles,” Beth said firmly. She led him outside. She’d meant to take him to Don’s Fishmarket across the street, but, just at that moment, she noticed Blake’s coworkers going into Don’s themselves. Rats.

  Holding Blake by the hand, she stuck her other arm in the air. A cab pulled to the curb beside them immediately. “Renaissance Hotel,” she told him, and shoved Blake into the back seat.

  Whatever objections to being kidnapped Blake may have had, they died at these words. “You won’t believe my week,” he said to the hot blonde beside him.

  Beth took Blake to the restaurant on the first floor of the Renaissance. Apparently this was close enough to a bed to release all Blake’s inhibitions. He told her about his ex-wife’s disappearance. He told her about being questioned by the police. He complained of being detained overnight, and, on a rising whine, of how hard it had been to get his lawyer on the phone.

  Beth soothed him and petted his arm. She was sure it was all a terrible mistake. “But at least your ex-wife has disappeared. Now you won’t have to pay her off.”

  “Fat chance,” he grumbled. “She called my daughter yesterday.”

  And that’s the last time I do, Beth thought. “Why didn’t you tell the cops?” she said aloud in a reasonable tone. “Your daughter’s testimony should clear you right there.”

  “I thought about that. The thing is, I gave her a little something extra to report my ex-wife missing. As long as she really isn’t dead—I mean, how should I know if she’s dead or not?—if she’s just run off to Jamaica—well, as you say, it saves me money. I can’t pay it if I don’t know where to send the check,” he said triumphantly.

  Stifling her rage, Beth said, “Feed me dinner, Blake honey. I’m about to gnaw your leg off.”

  He shot her a leer that turned to a look of alarm when she met his eyes squarely. He beckoned a waitress. Beth ordered everything on the appetizer side of the menu and three more beers. Blake ordered his fourth double martini. Then he resumed whining.

  “Now Darleen wants to know if her mom really has been murdered. As if I would do that!” He trembled with indignation, and Beth warmed to him a little. “Right after the divorce? How dumb do I look?”

  Her indignation died. She found herself wishing that someone had disrespected Blake in the lockup, same as Reg.

  The questions she most wanted answered rose up in her throat. Careful, she thought. How to phrase them?

  “If your wife—your ex-wife has disappeared, you won’t have to pay the settlement, right?”

  “Yeah, but will she stay disappeared? You never met her. She was constantly asking for money. I’ve had to hide my bonus income for the past nine years.”

  Steam began rising out of the top of Beth’s head. She was constantly asking for money to pay for the mansion you wanted, and the boat you wanted, and the two and a half vacation homes you wanted, and the new cars you wanted—

  Thank goodness, the waitress showed up with her food.

  When she left, Blake said in a lowered voice, “Normally I’d be screwed now, because Uncle Sam isn’t as dumb as she was. Uncle Sam would tell her lawyer exactly what I declare.” Blake helped himself to one of Beth’s beer-battered french fries, and she forced herself not to smack his hand away. “But I blocked that punt. One of the guys taught me this trick. You get a new social security number and establish a separate identity and pay all that side income into it. Long as you pay your full taxes on it, the government won’t squeal on you to your ex’s lawyers.”

  That explained “Blake Shanley.” And how have you managed to pay taxes on that, you dumb jerk? Beth thought. You never knew how before. I did all your books.

  “Aren’t you clever?” she purred.

  “You’re so sympathetic,” Blake returned in a gooey voice, laying his hand over hers, giving her combination hot flash and cold ickies.

  The busboy removed the empty fries plate, the empty jalapeño poppers plate, the empty nachos plate, and the plate that had held the rib tips and buffalo wings combo. The waitress arrived on his heels with a big tray carrying Beth’s charcuterie sampler, bacon sliders, lobster mac and cheese, poutine, seared ahi tuna bites, and green salad.

  “Are you going to eat all that?” Blake said, less gooey.

  Beth held up her fork and squinted at him across its long sharp tines. “You got a problem with it?”

  “How is...everything?” the waitress said, clearly also incredulous that Beth was eating...everything.

  Beth turned on her. “You judge, no tip.” She felt very Pog-like.

  “I’ll go get those clams,” the waitress said hastily. “Another beer?”

  “Two.” Beth held up two fingers. “He’ll have another double martini.” She smiled maliciously, remembering how many times Blake had humiliated her in front of waiters. “He’s watching his weight.”

  The next half hour went much the same way. Beth ate. Blake whined some more, blaming everyone but himself for his troubles. The waitress brought her a personal pizza and kept her opinions to herself. Blake bragged some more about his flagrant and pervasive dishone
sty in his marriage, spinning elaborate lies to justify it.

  Her hunger finally blunted, Beth recognized a new bodily want that was rising to take its place. To her shock and disgust, she realized it was lust.

  She looked Blake over coldly, trying to pull away from her body the way she used to do, huh, for years. Blake was slack and cruel the way selfish people are cruel, without meaning to be. He had gone to seed since she first married him, over imperceptible decades, and greatly more to seed in the months since he’d divorced her.

  And yet she wanted him. It was sick. She wanted to push his pants down and fuck him here in the restaurant booth. What is wrong with me?

  Amanda’s comment came back, the warning that if she didn’t get laid soon, she would sleep with Blake.

  Beth slid her hand out from under Blake’s just as a brassy, indignant female voice behind her said, “Well!”

  Pog

  Beth had said Renaissance Hotel loudly enough that we knew where to go. But the Beemer had just been valeted away. Jee wanted to get it back out of the ramp, but I thought that would be too slow, plus, we didn’t want Blake getting to know what the Beemer looked like. He may have already had a glimpse of the van, that night we rescued Beth from him at Barclay’s. We could disguise ourselves, but the vehicles, not so much. I flagged a cab while I was explaining all this to Jee. We were a block behind them when Beth and her ex got out of their cab and went into a hotel near Wacker and Wabash.

  “Fuck, she’s gonna do it,” Jee muttered.

  “Have some faith in the kid,” I said.

  We checked out the lobby first. No Beth. Jee sprinted to the registration desk. We should be in time to catch them booking a room, if they were doing that.

  No Beth.

  We found them in the back of the first-floor restaurant.

  Jee and I exchanged glances.

  Not such an idiot, my glance said.

  We’ll see, hers said.

  We sat three booths back and ordered drinks.

  Beth handled her ex okay. She was clearly in fact-finding mode, and from the number of times she flushed red, I guessed that the facts she was finding didn’t please her much. Blake was apparently spilling his guts.