A steely gray sky announced the coming storm; the summers of New England were filled with such showers, passing with no more than a flash of thrown water splattering the sidewalks of New York City. Magali took the corner at high speed, the Jeep leaning dangerously close to overturning, and pulled deeply on the sweet petite cigar hanging from her mouth. The gun in her holster pressed against her side, and she delighted in its security. The only sure thing left in her life. When she had left the streets behind for the confinement of prison walls, a war raged on over the asphalt of Brooklyn. Those she had trusted, carried on her work despite her absence; and she had pushed them aside like so much trash, to keep them safe-- alive without her-- while she continued to walk death’s path. It was into its jaws that she rode, defying it to reach out and snatch her away. She had every intention of playing with The Reaper: as the deliverer or the recipient of his dark touch-- it mattered not.

On the porches of houses falling apart from age and neglect, some of the local denizens sat, grimy and drinking beer out of forty ounce bottles, enjoying the respite from the sun and the simmering heat of the concrete. Tenement buildings rose between the homes and squatted opposite empty lots filled with garbage and debris-- breeding grounds for cat-sized rats. Gangs were popular in Brooklyn-- more so than Manhattan, where the object of the affiliation wasn’t belonging but making money. She stopped the Jeep in sight of the gaping eyes of an abandoned brownstone, some of its windows boarded up with rotting planks of wood and cardboard. She locked the doors as she stepped out. Few knew her face in the neighborhood, but she was about to change all that.

The street itself smelled of urine and stale spilt beer. Her boots crunched on shards of glass; some shone embedded in the tar of the street-- half-covered diamonds in the streetlight, green pieces lingering in the dark unseen at night, emeralds in the sun. A pack of wild dogs ran past, ribs protruding and whip-like tails; cowering away from her, they fought over a chicken bone in the gutter. She rolled her shoulders, the holster settling familiarly by her side, and inspected the brownstone. An alley to the right sheltered the sound of a toppled, tin garbage can, and someone cursed. She followed the noise, then melted into the murkiness of the enclosure and the shadow of the building. Falling away from a doorway, hanging off one old, rusted hinge, a metal door leaned on its corner. She stepped through, crushing the cigar she flung to the ground. The smells of burning crack, sweet and sick, thickened the air. Shades ran down the corridor, stumbling away from her approach; others lay where they were, off in some fantasy world of their own creation.

"Cop!" someone yelled, and Magali cursed under her breath.

"Don’t be insulting, shithead," she spat, drawing the .45 out of its cradle.

A body appeared, its defensive posture apparent even in the dark of the hallway. She squeezed the trigger, the impact of her gun’s kick pushing against her palm, running up her arm --a lover’s embrace. Whoever it was, fell screaming, holding their knee, and she was over them before they could speak.

"You know me?"

The boy shook his head, biting back the tears his pain cried for.

"You better. I own you, motherfucker, you and everything I lay my eyes on."

"Bajo Zero?" he stuttered out.

"Who else?" she deadpanned, walking past him, the gun still in her hand. "Anyone else?" she yelled into the lightlessness. A small mob emerged from the gloom, and in the reflected light of their lighters, she could see the yellow bandanas they wore. "Where’s your king?" she asked, tilting her chin up towards them. A tall young man sauntered to the head of the crowd, his cockiness and pride obvious.

"I am…reignin’ and immortal," he replied, in his thick Brooklyn accent.

His brains splattered the faces of those at his side when Magali released her anger, aiming and shooting in the span of a thought.

"Not anymore, you’re not. Who’s next in line?"

Short and stocky, another boy stepped up. She could see his shaking, smell his fear. Good, look at the grim reaper come to get you.

"You wanna stay alive, fucker? You do as I say." He nodded. "My shit don’t get used where it’s sold…junkies bring cops, cops bring money lost, money lost brings me. Got it?" Again he nodded, and she pointed her gun at the boy who still lay nursing his wounded knee. "One more thing…get rid of his body and this one too."

"But he’s still—"

Pop, pop, the .45 spat.

"Lesson number two…I always get you before you get me. Wanna learn lesson number three?" She grinned as the entire crowd shook their heads in rejection. "Good, now get back to fuckin’ work and clear this place." The boys melted away as quickly as they had materialized, and as Magali walked back the way she had come, she heard the beginning of kicks and complaints; some bones shattered.

She made it back to 164^th street just as the rain died away. Her space, always empty, waited for her, and she slid the Jeep in with a screech of brakes. Her workers, forever loitering on the front stoops, gathered in the lobby. She picked up the folded cover of a matchbook from the ashtray, opened the Zip-lock bag resting on her lap, and scooped out a small mound of white powder. She inhaled it quickly, the bitter numbness dripping down into her throat, then wiped the evidence away from her face with the back of her hand. With bag in hand and lukewarm gun cooling in her holster, she sauntered into the building, her swagger more pronounced in her fury. Two dead did nothing to assuage her wrath, and she shook a few hands, hard, as she pushed her way through the throng. Upstairs two young men and one young woman sat on the couch before the T.V set, playing video games. Magali sat on the corner, their sudden silence making her laugh, an ill-natured chortle. She threw the bag on the old, weathered coffee table and put her feet up. "Wanna get high? It’s on me."

Their conversation resumed as they dug into the bag she offered, and she listened to their words; they were entertaining in their simplicity.

"Alright, I got one. What’s Spiderman’s girl’s name?"

"Mary Jane. That one was easy, stupid."

"Yeah? Then you think of one."

"What superhero used cards as a weapon." That one earned the questioner a slap.

"Gambit. Jesus Christ, ya’ll are fuckin’ dumb."

"Yeah, fine. How about this? What mouse had another mouse as a partner?"

"Pinky and the Brain."

"Tom and Jerry."

"Did not."

"Did too, that little one with the Pampers!"

"Mighty Mouse."

"Mighty Mouse? Who the fuck worked with Mighty Mouse?"

"That little bitch mouse…you know with the little, teeny-tiny skirt and the glasses."

"He was banging her."

They laughed in unison, stopping only when they noticed the suddenly serious countenance of their superior staring blankly at the ceiling. She was banging her. In my bed. The same bed I… Magali unhooked her cellular from her belt and dialed Nelson’s number. He would know…where that bitch lives.

"Nelson, when you followed Casey…where did she go?"

****************************************************************

Eddie tapped at the dashboard waiting for the light to turn green. She’ll be at the spot…please let her be at the spot…she’s gotta be there, gettin’ high, she’s gotta. He was pulling up when he caught the taillights of Magali’s Jeep speeding off, and he banged on the steering wheel, cursing. As he crossed the street a hand fell on his shoulder, but when he spun, ready to strike out, it was Callie's forlorn face that avoided his fist.

"She’s gone, Eddie. Didn’t you just see her?"

"Where were you? Hidin’ across the street?"

Callie nodded, a sheepish grin on her face. "I was hopin’ she’d be in a better mood, and I could…"

"Seduce her? Fat chance, Callie. You think they know where she was goin’?" he said, motioning to the building.

"We can find out," she leered.

It wasn’t long before Callie had him screaming in pain. She was good, and she liked it. The others had run out, but she only needed one, and the slowest to react would be the easiest.

"Where’d she go you, sonofabitch?" she was yelling.

"I don’t know, she didn’t say," he cried putting his hands before him to shield his body from Callie’s blows.

‘You fuckin’ liar; you gotta know. She didn’t say anythin’? Nothin’ at all?"

"No, she made a phone call and left. She wasn’t here that long…we got high for a little bit—" he cringed as another kick came flying at him, but it didn’t strike. Eddie was pulling Callie back and staring down at him.

"Who’d she call?"

"Ah, Nelson, yeah, it was Nelson…I swear, she didn’t say nothin’—"

"Nelson! Are you sure?" The boy nodded and Eddie grimaced. "Shit, shit…give me the phone."

Callie handed him her cellular and crossed her arms as he dialed.

"Casey? Zee went after her…Julia whatever. You gotta tell me— Case, Casey? Sonofabitch!" he yelled when she hung up on him. He quickly redialed the number-- no answer. "Gotta call Nelson. What the fuck is his number?" he demanded exasperatedly.

Callie grabbed the phone away from him and pushed at the small spongy numbers, then handed it back to him. He waited for an answer. "Nelson, I swear to God…you better just tell me what you told Zee, or I’m gonna play dentist on your fuckin’ teeth, and I don’t use anesthesia."

***************************************************************

Julia finished her dinner and excused herself, the divorce papers safely tucked away in her purse. She was free of him, and although he kept proof of her diversions, so she would still have to do his bidding, she would at least never have to play the ‘happy wife’ role again. The pictures, she had learned, he kept as a guarantee; they were damaging documents-- to her and to every one of her clients. But she hadn’t sacrificed herself for nothing all those years ago; she had to keep her social standing. If she wanted to remain accepted in her oh-so-proper circle of friends, then her more … interesting…activities would have to remain in the dark.

Her driver was quiet, more so than usual, but she enjoyed the peace. Earlier in the day she had made a reservation for a flight out to Los Angeles. There the weather was warm all year around, and she wouldn’t have to see Christopher. She was glad of the home she had purchased there months beforehand; snug in the canyons of Pacific Palisades, it would be a welcome retreat. She thought of Casey, by now in her lover’s embrace, crying out for more. Her skin tingling under the loving strokes of the dark woman she had chosen to be with. Julia pictured her. The way she bit her lower lip just as she was about to climax. Her trembling as she moaned, a sound that could be taken as dispute or covenant. The price for her freedom from Christopher was high; too high it seemed.

The Town Car slid to a smooth stop, and her driver got out to open the door for her. He would stay outside for a few minutes to make sure she was safe, and then he’d head home for the evening, returning again in the morning. She would spend a quiet night at the townhouse and then, since there were no ‘clients’ on her schedule, leave in the morning,. She turned on the lights in the living room and walked over to the bar-- one last nightcap to top off the evening. Her driver watched from outside, a custom she had picked up from the ever-watchful Christopher.

Carlos was bored out of his mind. He counted off the minutes on his watch and watched the lights blink on in the townhouse. It was a living. A dark Jeep rolled up next to him, the passenger side window sliding down. He could hear the bass resonating from the stereo.

"You stayin’ or goin’, buddy?" the woman behind the steering wheel asked in typical New York fashion.

He shook his head and held up five fingers, glancing again at the lighted window. "Just give me a minute, will ya’?"

"Yo, I’m in a rush here. You gonna take that space or not?"

In New York City, where parking spaces along the street were scarce, it wasn’t unusual for a fight to break out over them, and he had no desire to argue in the warmth of a summer’s night.

"I’m goin’, I’m goin’, relax," he said, pushing the switch to bring the window up and taking the car out of park. As he rolled away, the Jeep took his place.

Magali reached into the back seat of the Jeep and brought out a small backpack. In it were all the supplies she needed to break in: a magnetic plunger, a diamond tipped glasscutter, a set of lock picks, wire cutters, magnets, duct tape and an assortment of wrenches and screwdrivers. She had used the same bag to train Callie, having the girl steal TV sets and stereos from homes she designated, in order to refine her skills. It had been a long time since she had done it herself. Just like riding a bike, she thought. Magali tightened the straps of her holster. Although she didn’t plan on using her gun, it was better to have a back up than nothing at all. Her hands would be her weapons this night; she wanted the satisfaction of feeling the life drain out of the tall blonde while she watched. She lit a cigarette and took a few hurried pulls, then popped a stick of gum in her mouth-- it would keep her from gritting her teeth as she played her tricks on whatever alarm system Julia kept.

When she walked out, the wind died. The world stood still, as she made her way to the vacant townhouse directly next to Julia’s. The locks to the front door were easy, and the alarm box next to the door was a breeze. Quietly she walked up the steps to the top floor, into the master bedroom, and out onto its fire escape facing the alley behind the row of townhouses. She took the iron stairs up to the roof and crossed over. As she neared her target, her anger whipped and flailed with the determination of an animal struggling to free itself from a trap. Her pulse quickened, and she knew that she had to consciously maintain control of it. She seized her emotions in a death grip, not wanting them to run rampant too soon. Loss of concentration could lead to a mistake, and she wanted nothing to interrupt her. She wanted to savor every terror-filled second, quench the fiery thirst left by betrayal, and sate the territorial beast that cried out for revenge against the trespasser.

Beneath her feet was the dwelling place of her heart’s torment; and she grinned. Climbing down the fire escape of Julia’s home, she peered in through the windows in search of the perfect room. On the first floor, she found what looked like the master bedroom. Her entry began: foreplay-- looking for the key that would allow her to take the next step in. A quick blink of a flashlight, and she located the wired box of the alarm system on the window’s frame. Damn, they’re still using this system? That little box there rubs that little box ther;, pull them apart and the bells go. So stupid. She attached the plunger and, using the glasscutter, cut a wide circle out of the pane. Her hands, steady, caressed the glass. The case holding the metal tools unrolled soundlessly, and quickly she flicked out the slender instrument she needed. In her firm grip the tool would tease and prod until it found its niche. With the small screwdriver, she unscrewed the box from the window, attached a magnet to both pieces, and taped them together. It was the final, satisfying union and, with an icy calm, she was free to open the window without any danger of setting off the alarms. A twist of the lock, and she was pushing the window open, gracefully slipping inside, cracking her knuckles. Life, and it’s taking, were most enjoyed one finite moment at a time.

Julia downed her drink in one even swallow, the hairs on the back of her neck rising inexplicably. "Hope you enjoyed that," came a voice from behind her, dripping with hate. She turned to face the intruder and her pulse sped up, as the first thought she formulated was how quickly Christopher had taken action. To her astonishment, the assassin she had expected wore a familiar face.

"Already following orders? Hmmm?" Julia stated, the glass still in her hand. Screaming, she threw it at her assailant.

Magali ducked the object, the injury at her side straining as she did. "Yeah…fight me bitch," she leered, cocking her head.

Julia looked around for any object she could use to protect herself. The dark woman was empty handed, and as long as she held no weapon, Julia thought she stood a chance. In one leap Magali was at her, grabbing a fist full of hair and slamming her fist into her jaw. The blow took Julia’s certitude. She felt her body bent over brutally, and she came in contact with the deadly woman’s knee. Blood gushed from her nose and mouth, and she fell onto her hands and knees. The steel tip of a boot crashed into her stomach, stealing her breath; she choked on the stream of bile that rose in her throat.

Magali watched the woman try to crawl away and, stepping closer, put her foot on the back of Julia’s neck, pushing her down to the floor. Fear’s sweet tang intoxicated her, dragging the pain inside her into the numbness of rancor. She put more weight on her leg and grinned as Julia struggled for air. The relentless grip restraining her fury was slipping deliciously away. "Death is a mercy, Julia…and I don’t give any. You have to earn it." She took her foot away and grabbed Julia’s collar, yanking her up to her feet and bringing her face close. Ah yes, there it is, that look…you just realized how much of a joke life is, and how much you want to keep laughing at it. Magali held up a finger and ran it through the blood streaking the woman’s chin and cheek. Julia looked on, catching her breath, as the deceptively calm lunatic holding onto her life licked the sticky red liquid off the stained digit; the look in her eyes orgasmic. Another strike to her mid-section, and Julia staggered back, falling on the couch. She struck out, only to have her arm caught in its flight, and her wrist snapped by strong hands. She was thrown, her shoulder hitting the brick corner of the fireplace. Magali knelt over her holding a shining curved blade to her exposed throat.

"You know what a Colombian necktie is? I slit your throat…then pull your tongue out through it. Believe me, I’ll enjoy it much more than you will." Undulating in her depths a red streak made its way through her raw and pure-- blood thirst; she drew the knife back an inch and leaned in for the kill. A muffled cry behind her drew Magali’s attention. A flash of white, and her vision blurred. She thought she heard Casey’s voice as everything dimmed.

Casey gripped the hideous remnants of the alabaster statue of David that Julia hid away in a corner of the foyer. Although she knew she was drawing in a breath, the air was fleeting. She had used her key to come in, fortunate to have not thrown it away, in time to see Julia hit the floor and hear Magali’s words. It was clear to her, even before she set foot in the house, that her lover would be in an uncontrollable rage. Knowing what she was capable of, Casey’s first priority was to stop her at all costs. If Magali succeeded there would be little for her to do but watch as her world was dragged away in chains once more, and see her former lover drown in a pool of her own blood.

Julia held on to her broken wrist and fought her way out from under Magali’s slumped body. Her weight was crushing, but she managed to squirm out, delighted to see Casey standing dumbfounded but as her rescuer.

"Looks like that stupid statue Christopher bought had its uses after all. Thank you, Casey, for saving my life."

"I didn’t do it for you," Casey uttered, still in shock and not knowing what to do next.

"Oh please," Julia laughed, "it couldn’t have been for her!" she yelled pointing at Magali with her good hand. "For God’s sakes, she’s an assassin at best, a thug at worst," Julia reasoned, walking towards the bar and opening a drawer. Casey stared at her, still numb from what she had done; glaring trickles of blood crossed Magali’s face. "Not only did she break into my house, but she was going to kill me." Julia’s voice was calm enough to send a chill down her spine. "Only one thing stops a woman like her, Casey," she sneered as she held out a revolver, pointing it at Magali. It snapped Casey out of her daze. She definitely had a thing for the unstable. She threw herself across Magali’s unconscious bulk.

"No! Julia, please, no!" Casey yelled, the crashing of breaking glass sending sparkling shards across the living room floor, a blur flying in through the shattered pane.

Callie stood at the center of the room, an assault rifle in her hand. Her eyes darted from Casey to Julia, finally settling on Julia as Eddie ran in.

"Back the fuck up, Blondie." Callie voiced coldly.

"What the—Zee!" Eddie yelled at seeing his friend laid out cold.

Casey swallowed back her fear. Any moment there would be a spray of bullets fanning the room, and anyone of them would be dead. "Okay…let’s all relax here. No one has to get hurt…Eddie?"

"Umm, yeah…let’s all just back away, alright? Callie."

"No fuckin’ way. I put this shit down, and that cunt is gonna shoot." Callie responded, taking a firmer grip on the rifle she held.

Casey rose from the floor, gently so as not to startle anyone, and held out her hands. "Julia, put the gun down. I promise, they won’t do anything."

Julia narrowed her eyes, taking in the wink and blown kiss Callie threw her way. "Are you insane, Casey?" Julia hissed. "What guarantee do I have, but your word? And I don’t think someone’s word is worth much in the present company.

"Fuck you, bitch," Eddie retorted. "Shoot her, Callie.:"

Callie shrugged, smiled and tensed. Julia tensed. Casey ran right smack into the middle of it all.

"Stop…wait! There’s gotta be a way out of this without anyone shooting anyone!" Casey pleaded.

A stream of flashing red and yellow lights hit the billowing white curtains of the window. Howling in from all directions, sirens screamed their warning; and Eddie winced. "Fuck…cops."

Casey leaned on Julia, pitching her voice into the begging tone Julia thrived on. "Julia, I’m begging you, please…" Julia was unmoving, a smile of victory slowly taking shape on her lips. "I’ll stay with you," Casey spat out. "Just…just get the cops to go away and let my friends go…with Zee. I swear, I won’t go anywhere."

Banging on the door broke the tableau and forced a hasty negotiation.

Julia chanced a look at Casey, aiming the gun at Magali’s form. "Permanently? You’ll stay away from her?"

Pounding on the wood, the officers called for Julia. Callie brought the rifle up. Eddie shook his head.

Casey bit down on her lip, tears running from her eyes; she committed to the agreement—her life for Gali’s--, sobbing. "Yes."

Julia let the gun fall away from her intended target and tucked it into her pocket, straightening her hair and wiping at her face as she walked towards the door. Eddie glanced pointedly at Callie, and she threw the rifle under the couch, kneeling next to Magali. Silently the trio listened to Julia talking to the police officers standing at her door. Apparently it hadn’t been the first time they had visited. They warned her to press charges, citing her husband as unstable. She chuckled them away, saying it was a fair fight, and it would never happen again. They were divorcing, and she was leaving. Eddie studied Casey’s face: the resolute melancholy of her features, the way she diverted her eyes from the figures of Callie and Magali near the fireplace. He hurt for her, recalling the whip marks on her back, knowing the sacrifices she had already made for Magali. Julia sauntered in, confident and unperturbed.

"They’re gone. Now get out and…take the trash out with you," she said waving them towards the door.

Callie gathered up Magali’s ankles, bracing them between her arms as Eddie hooked his under their fallen leader’s shoulders. Neither looked as Casey turned her back to them, Julia eyeing their retreat. To the one—whatever happened to Casey didn’t matter; to the other-- it would have sent him into a fit of angry tears, but he hadn’t cried in years. Casey had told him she would do anything for the dark woman he followed. She was proving her words in a way he had never expected.

They dumped her into the back seat of her Jeep; Eddie drove as Callie followed in his car. He had insisted. It was his rule to never let anyone drive his vehicle, but having to make the choice, he valued Magali more, and trusted Callie less; so he was forced to trust her with his car.

Casey was by the window when they sped off, her heart in her throat, as she watched the Jeep turn the corner. Her soul reached out to her lover, imploring any spirits that watched to look after her Black Velvet. Julia’s hand rested on her shoulder, and she shrugged it off.

"I agreed to stay with you…that doesn’t mean I have to like it." Casey argued.

"You’ll come around…dear. Come, I need to get to a doctor for this wrist, and you will accompany me."

**************************************************************

Her vision wavered, sunlight falling across her eyes blinding her. Her throat felt like the Sahara had taken up residence, and her forehead was threatening to explode. She shaded her eyes with the back of her hand. Sudden movement inches from her head made her instincts flinch and she stiffened. "She’s up," she heard in a familiar voice filled with trepidation. Magali focused on the dark depth of a gun’s bore, and sat up. For all she cared, they could shoot her where she lay.

"What the fuck happened?" she croaked, as Eddie came into her line of sight. He was drawing the blinds of the balcony door. I’m in my bedroom?

"Chill, Zee. Lie the fuck back down and let me explain."

She had always been stubborn, headstrong regardless of the situation. Might was right, even when it was wrong. She growled deep in her chest, and watched as Eddie swallowed.

"Look, I’m only gonna go through this shit once. So pay attention…then you can tell me to get lost, if ya’ want." He waited for a signal of dissention from her, and when there was none, he took a deep breath and spewed out everything he knew. "Okay…here goes. First of all, Nelson’s a little shit, ‘cause he didn’t tell you everything. Shit was getting hot, then Mariana had to go to a funeral in Florida. She left Alex with me. I knew Casey was down in the dumps ‘cause you were away, so I figured—who better to watch the kid, right? Well, I brought her here." He held up a hand to forestall her reaction. "Don’t kill me yet, Zee. Anyway, that night Casey was supposed to go see that bitch, whatever her name is."

"Julia," Magali grumbled.

"Yeah, her. So, she called Jesse in to look after Alex, and took off. See, Casey did not bring that bitch here, she went…wherever. When you went haywire, Casey called me. We— Me, Casey and Jesse-- figured it all out. Why you were pissed, … ‘cuz Casey had no idea of what you were talkin’ about. She tol’ me about that cop guy, how he got ya’ off the hook way back when ya’ was in the hospital. So, I know everything, Zee."

"Why’d you have her followed?"

"That night…when she went to that bitch…she came back in real bad shape, Zee. Jesse got scared and called me. I saw her when she was asleep. Casey didn’t know I knew."

"Bad shape?"

Eddie glanced at Callie, who was paying more attention to the story than to where she was pointing the gun. "Casey was sleeping on her stomach, and Jesse told me I had to take a look ‘cause she’d been attacked or something. Well, she had…marks…on her, like someone gave her a good whuppin’…Worse than I ever saw on this one," he said pointing at Callie; she glared at him."

The marks Callie had borne had been her own handiwork, and imagining anything harsher brought her anger to a boil. "Worse? What do you mean worse?"

"They were bloody. One was real deep, like it was done to…punish her or something…Man she looked like something out of that movie Roots."

She slumped back down, the pillow under her head harder than she remembered. "I thought I told you to stay away from me," she whispered, the pain in her temples throbbing.

"Yeah, you said you’d kill me. But you know what, Zee? I thought about it, and…" he pounded on his thick chest, "you want me to go on with my life…I can’t do that if part of its missing…So there’s no way you’re chasin’ me away, alright? Like it or not, you are as much a part of my family as Mariana, Enrique…and Alejandra."

Magali sighed. Eddie was an incurable, sentimental fool, but she loved him. Callie moved out of the shadows, and she saw for the first time who it was that held a gun on her.

"The pupil becomes the teacher? What’s with the gun, Callie?"

"Shit, I ain’t stupid. Even the way you are, you can rip my head off…I know why you got rid of this fool, Zee. But me? Like I’m anything without you."

"You’re plenty without me, Callie…both of you are, you’re just too stupid to realize it. But…if you fools wanna stick around, that’s fine with me. Anyone know where Casey is?"

They had both begun to smile when she said they could stay, but their initial smiles now faded in response to her question, and Magali propped herself up on her elbows. She didn’t like the looks she was getting from them. Eddie walked to her side. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently back down. She resisted, but with the rest of her stitches blown to hell it was hard to maintain her position, and she gave in. He lowered his voice, speaking to her as if he were calming her back to sleep from a nightmare. In excruciating detail he spun his second tale, relating how they had gone looking for her and how Casey had taken off for Julia’s before Eddie could stop her. The images of the night before, the feel of breaking bone and the taste of Julia’s blood came back vividly. She had been out of control, in a fervor the devil would have been proud of, hot-blooded and murderous. Someone had hit her and knocked her out; she realized now that it must have been Casey. As calmly as he could Eddie finished the story, describing the arrival of the police and how Casey had bargained for them. She became abusive, Casey’s voice in her ear. They were bloody, one was real deep, like it was done to…punish her or something, Eddie’s words echoed, like something out of Roots.

Magali grimaced, forcing herself up and pulling the sheets away from her naked body. There was blood on her hands and a rusty-red stain at her side. Eddie blushed, and Callie flashed a brief smile.

"Where the hell are you goin’?" Eddie barked.

"I gotta go get her, you fuck. Why’d you leave her there, stupid?" she yelled at him, furious.

He reached for her, trying to put a stop to what he knew would be impossible to delay.

"Get off me, Eddie!"

"Damn it, Zee. You’re hurt. You’ve probably got a concussion. And I bet you did enough shit last night that you’re still flying high! You’re gonna get yourself killed!"

"I don’t give a fuck, Eddie. Now let me go!" she screamed shoving him aside and stumbling towards the bathroom. When Magali opened the door, Devi ran out from where she had been imprisoned. Holding a gun to her mistress’ head was not wise while she was loose. Hearing the apparent rage in Magali’s voice, she ran and hid under the bed. Magali locked the door behind her and opened the cold water, splashing the icy flow on her face and wringing her hands clean. She reached for a towel, nearly falling, and dunked it into the cold stream. With it she rubbed at the wound on her side, cleaning it as best as she could.

"You’re not gonna find her, Zee! That…whatever you call her…"

"Julia!" she yelled back at him through the door.

"Yeah, her. I heard her tell the cops she was leaving for El Ay, man. She probably already left."

"Then I’m goin’…to…the…fuckin’ airport, Eddie! God damn it!" she cursed at the sudden dizzy spell that weakened her knees. Bereft of any clothing, the fact unimportant to her, she straightened her posture and sauntered into the bedroom, pulling clothes from her closet and throwing them on the bed. "Where the fuck are my boots?" she bellowed. Callie handed them to her, and Magali snatched them away.

"Come on, Zee. Be reasonable, will ya’?" he said to her as she sat on the bed pulling on her socks.

"Reasonable? Oh good, you learn a new word, and its gotta be reasonable?" she proclaimed sardonically. "You wanna stop me? Then shoot me. Cause it’s the only way I’m staying here while that crazy bitch drags Casey across the fuckin’ country." Magali was dressed and standing strong. Eddie glowered and moved to let her pass; he would follow her ‘til doomsday.

"And another crazy bitch goes chasin’ her," he mumbled when she was out of earshot.

The garage was warm from the air coming in through the wide entryway. Magali’s eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the darkness, and she made her way towards her Jeep, holding on to the trunks and hoods of other cars. The door had been left unlocked, undoubtedly by a frantic Eddie trying to get her unconscious body out of the car. She turned the key in the ignition and the radio blasted the latest Red Hot Chili Pepper’s song as she sped out the tunnel and into the street.

"Pour my life into a paper-cup…the ashtray’s full and I’m spilling my guts…she wants to know if I’m still a slut…I’ve got to take it on the other side…"

A quick glance in the rearview mirror, and she spotted Eddie’s car following her closely. Callie was playing with something on her lap. If Magali knew her at all, she knew it would be the woman’s weapon that she was so lovingly fondling.

"Scarlet starlet and she’s in my bed…A candidate for a soulmate bled…Push the trigger and pull the thread…I’ve got to take it on the other side…"

She took an underpass onto the Harlem River Drive. No matter how many renovations and safety upgrades the highway was blessed with, it drove like a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Eddie slowed down, his car too low to the ground to take the road with any greater speed then the posted limit. It was part of the reason she had purchased a Jeep; to survive the New York City streets and highways, a vehicle that could off-road was key. Especially when the driver continually abused it past its limits. The airport was thirty minutes away, twenty with the way she was driving. She had no idea where to look first, but taking into consideration the type of person Julia was, she either had her own plane or was flying extremely expensive.

************************************************************

Julia had packed a small bag, and she rolled it behind her on tiny black wheels that bumped on the ridges of the airport floor. Casey carried nothing but herself, and her heart in her hand. La Guardia airport, with its immense runways and countless companies, was an eyesore. Huge concrete blocks, passed off as terminals, were almost always under some type of construction; signs posted on sheet-rock announced the new and upcoming gates and corridors. A loudspeaker sounded out the arrivals and departures above the cacophony of witty New York remarks and attitudes; the place smelled of new carpet and floor wax.

Casey surveyed the flow of would-be passengers filing past her, their hands loaded with packages and flapping ticket envelopes as they fought to take their places in the long check-in lines. Her hands were empty, and except for her wallet in Julia’s carry-on, she had nothing of herself to take with her. Frighteningly, Julia had all of her clothing she had left behind when their relationship had ended, keeping it in a storage bin at the bottom of her closet. This morning, she had pulled it out, choosing which articles Casey would wear on their trip. She hadn’t been surprised when Julia chose a pair of black, tight-fitting bell-bottom pants with unseen snaps for side seams; they had been Julia’s favorites. The dark blue, silk top Julia had picked was snug around her shoulders and chest; the bottom half of the blouse spread open, exposing her waist and a bit of her tight stomach. The tall woman hid behind dark shades, but Casey could feel the weight of her eyes caressing her body. She decided to annoy the woman by playing with her navel ring while they waited to be attended to. Julia pursed her lips, and Casey stopped her twisted play of the ring. Instead, she lay her hand on the cold ring flat against her collar, braided lengths of leather strung tight around her neck. It was a public collar, one that only those who knew what a collar was would recognize. They didn’t wait long before they were at the counter, showing identification and getting their boarding passes. Those flying coach classes glared at them.

**********************************************************

Traffic began to build, and Magali swerved around it, the Jeep careening to-and-fro. Through the music she heard the high pitched crying of her phone and picked it up off the seat, annoyed at it.

"What?" she yelled.

"A ‘good morning’ would suffice, Zero."

"Daly, what the fuck do you want now? I’m in the middle of something," she spat, taking another turn around a slow moving van.

"That’s what I get for caring about you? I just wanted to remind you that’s it’s been twenty-four hours since you were let out."

"Yeah, so?" Another car, a curve and a straightaway.

"Has it been that long? Your P.O, Zero. Parole Officer…ring a bell? You have to appear, remember?"

"I’ll get to it…later," she said throwing the phone down, just as an inclining median came into view, and she had to jerk the wheel to get away from it. That was when the strange sound she had heard the day before, and had begun to feel on her present drive, decided to show its true hazard. The steering wheel locked, and pulling on it with all her force did nothing but naturally force her foot down on the gas pedal. The first scrape was a mix of screeching metal and a thunderous crunching, as the concrete of the median rose under her sliding Jeep. She braced herself for the lamppost she and the vehicle were headed for; as the Jeep twisted onto its side, the front end hit the post and sent the automobile toppling over into the opposite lane of traffic on the highway.

**********************************************************

Casey twiddled her thumbs as they called out the boarding order: first class was first, and that meant her. She was finding it harder to breathe with every passing minute, Julia’s casual touches disarming. Knitting her brow, she glanced down the long hall of gates, searching for the wild blur she so desperately wanted to see running, insanely pushing people out of her way. Come on, Gali. Isn’t this when you come barreling down here, guns blazing or something? Julia’s hand grabbed onto her shoulder and the woman’s lips moved, Casey didn’t hear the words spoken, only felt the commanding push against her body that guided her in the direction of the boarding ramp entrance.

********************************************************

The steering wheel hit her full force, and she felt the snapping of bone reverberating through her. Propelled upwards, she hit the dashboard on her way towards the ceiling. Everything fell silent, and she could only see what was happening as if she was merely observing it all. The door flew open and she was headed towards it, as the last jolt of the Jeep’s landing put half her body outside of the vehicle. The smell of gasoline rose around her. She felt heat at her feet and painfully dragged herself away from the gaping mouth from which she had been spewed, using only her aching arms as aids. The ground under her shook with the explosion, and she shielded her face from the pluming flames, laughing, because there was nothing else she could do. Something was wrong in her chest. Casey…

Callie snatched the wheel from Eddie as he jumped out of the barely stopped car. Traffic was slamming to a halt, and Callie was amazed yet again at Magali’s seeming luck; most of the cars had been headed south when she crashed onto the northern side of the highway. She put the car in park and ran after Eddie, flames and oily, black smoke rising from the burning hulk of metal and parts that Magali was infamous for appearing in.

"Zee! Magali! Jesus fuckin’ Christ," he cursed, fanning the smoke away from his eyes.

Spread out across the white line separating the lanes, he saw her lying face down, her hands clutching at the pebbled surface of the road.

"Callie! Quick, get over here!"

Callie’s lithe body jumped the height of the median in one smooth arc, the speed granted from the rush of adrenaline bringing her to Eddie’s side in a flash.

He knelt by her side, pushing bloody tresses away from her face and leaning in close to hear her.

"I…can’t…breathe," she whispered to him. "Get…me…out…of…here"

"But…you need help, Zee. Just hold on, the paramedics will get here soon, I promise."

Magali gripped his wrist, her strength surprising him given what he had seen happen to the Jeep.

"Cops…they…lock me…up. Get—," she began to choke, coughing and cringing as she did.

Callie tapped him on the shoulder and gestured with her thumb towards the fiery wreck. "Parole violation," she stated matter-of-factly. "Can you feel your legs, Zee?"

Magali nodded as much as she could with not an inch of her body pain free.

"Pick her up, Eddie. We can get out before five-oh gets here. That Jeep isn’t even registered to her; it belongs to some dead guy."

Eddie turned her as gently as he could and cradled her in his arms. He was glad for his bulk then; she was a heavy woman. With Callie’s help he got her into the front seat of the car, and as the news helicopter made its first pass, they were off.

"We can take her to my place," Callie murmured, stroking Magali’s hair.

"You have a house?"

"Yeah, stupid. Williamsburg, Brooklyn."

"Great," he finished with a touch of sarcasm, and sped through the cars slowing down to get a look at what had happened.

Williamsburg Brooklyn was a recently restored neighborhood. Its rows of factories and warehouses near the river had been astutely turned into spacious lofts for sale or rent, and all the ‘artists’ of the city snatched them up in a matter of weeks. Callie told him where to turn, and when they were halfway up the street, the answer to the mysterious black box Callie carried was finally forthcoming. A garage type door lifted as she pointed the gadget at it, and Eddie drove the car through the rather large entrance.

The loft consisted of one immense space with cathedral ceilings; a row of hanging fans spun. Dark stained wood paneled the walls, and a high platform with a captain’s bed provided for an open spaced bedroom. It was a place that would be considered paradise by a claustrophobic. Two floor lamps cornered a leather living room set. At its center, a long entertainment system seemingly rose up out of the floor. The door shut behind them with a soft thud. Callie squirmed her way out of the back seat and ran up the wooden staircase to the bedroom.

"Get her out of the car…I’ll bring down a blanket for you to put her on!" she called behind her.

It was just as tricky to get her out as it had been to get her in. Although conscious, she was dead weight. Callie reappeared with a stack of thick blankets and quilts, quickly throwing them on the floor and arranging them into a soft cushion for Magali.

"Here, Eddie, put her down."

Eddie obliged, and as he set her down he could feel her body stiffen at the movement. Callie leaned over her, pushing and pulling at the blankets to make her comfortable. She stopped, bent close to Magali’s mouth, and shut her eyes.

"Shit."

"What?" Eddie asked in panic.

"It’s her rib-- it’s pressing on the lung."

"I knew it, I knew it! We should have waited. So what if she broke parole…"

"Shut up, man…We have to help her."

"Help her? How? We need a fuckin’ doctor."

"No time for that now…She’ll die if we don’t get her to breathe."

"How the fuck do we do that?"

"Upstairs, there’s a closet. On the floor I have a bag; bring it down here." She held on to Magali’s hand and took a long look into her eyes. "Don’t you go anywhere, we’ll be right back."

Eddie rushed up the stairs. Spotting the closet right away and throwing the door open he reached for the bag Callie had described and ran back down the stairs. By the time he arrived at her side, Callie was kneeling on the floor, a deep pan lying before her. She opened a bottle that read alcohol and dumped its contents into the pan. When she held her hand out, Eddie handed her the bag. Quickly she opened it and pulled out a small black case. Unzipped, Eddie could see its glimmering contents-- a collection of knives and blades, including a scalpel or two.

"Where the fuck did you get that?"

"I kill people for a livin’, Eddie. What the fuck do you think I use?"

"What ya gonna do?" he asked bending over her.

"You don’t wanna know…but I need you to help me out, alright? Just do what I tell you to."

Eddie nodded and stared at Callie, waiting for her to give him instructions.

"Eddie," she said without looking at him, "in between the cushions of that couch, I got a little pouch. Bring it to me."

Callie placed the knives into the alcohol and waited, monitoring Magali’s breathing as she did.

"I’m sorry, Zee, but you know I gotta kill the pain first, right?"

Magali signaled her agreement when she didn’t try to fight. Her instructions had been clear enough for Callie-- a woman who spent hours taking bodies apart-- to follow. Her eyes wouldn't focus properly, and the pain was giving way to sheer torment, but she managed to see the darkened metal of the spoon in Callie’s hand as she held it above the flame of a candle. The piece of cotton she put on the bubbling surface, the eye drop syringe she was plunging into the small white bundle. Callie tapped on the tube and put the needle down, a long rubber hose in her hand. Magali felt it wind its way around her arm, just above her elbow, and tighten.

"Are you crazy? That shit’s gonna make her sick!" Eddie’s voice echoed from a distance.

"No it won’t…It’s not her first hit. She won’t feel a thing…"

The pinprick to her skin was a drop in a storm. Warm and comforting, the liquid relief raced through her bloodstream. I don’t need to breathe. Do I? The blade of the scalpel hovered above her, its sharp edge neatly cutting away her shirt. Her skin slid open under Callie’s deft touch, warmth fanning down her sides. She pushed her head back in reaction to it, sweat beading on her forehead and chest. Callie’s hand was in her-- she could feel its pressure-- pulling at the bone pressing against her lung.

Callie heard it snap and pull away. Magali’s breathing returning to normal as unconsciousness mercifully claimed her at last. Eddie had gone for towels, and she piled them over the wound, praying the bleeding would stop. Her fingers were crimson with it.

"Call Jesse, she’s gonna need antibiotics…The good ones."

Casey? Casey, where are you? she screamed into the abysmal darkness surrounding her. I can’t see you, Baby. It’s cold here. Casey! Don’t go. Mother, don’t let her leave. She reached out, feeling for her Saint, grasping at thin air for a hold on anything. I’ll come for you, Casey. Wait…wait for me.

**********************************************************

The first few minutes of a flight were always the worst. Her ears were stopped up, and she was pinned to the back of her seat as the plane angled off, and away from the city. Not a cloud in the sky blocked her view of the miniature skyscrapers and highways. Ant-like, cars flowed down the city’s veins, clogging in places and speeding through others. Casey kept her face to the oval window, hiding the one tear that rolled down her face and fell towards the asphalt jungle below. I love you, Gali. Keep safe.

**********************************************************

Time trickled away in small racing currents, winding around crystalline pebbles and luminescent, stone pools. Images sped by and froze: still shots of the world that moved around her. Callie was never far from her side-- wiping down her fevered skin with cold compresses, pressing the rim of a glass to her lips, and forcing down a chilly stream of water down her throat. At some point, she wasn’t sure when, Jesse had sat by her side, taping clear dripping tubes to her arms and shooting her eyes with bright, yellow beams of light.

The gentle haze faded, pulling back away from her and taking with it its blessed oblivion. The sensations that rose in its wake revealed the thinness of the veil of tolerance separating pain from agony. Her body trembled with its awakening, craving the rogue relief delivered by a flame and the sinister prick of a needle—leeching blood, extruding poison.

A sudden, involuntary cry of pain burst from her lips. Callie reached for her-- holding onto the end of a mustard-colored hose with her teeth, while wrapping the rest of the coil around Magali’s bicep; the frail syringe was clamped gently between index finger and thumb.

"No more…" Magali rasped, aware through the mists that her temporary salvation was fast becoming more of a peril than her injuries.

Hesitantly Callie pulled away, loosening the hose she had prepared. "Just a little, Zee. Let me give you half a shot at least…So it won’t hurt so bad," Callie pleaded, dreading the critical hours that would inevitably come.

"No," she ordered. "Let me feel it…I can’t tell…if I’m dead…or alive." Her words were slurred and dimmed with torment.

Sympathizing with what she knew Magali would go through next. Callie opened one of the drawers in the frame of the king-sized captain’s bed. The wooden seams of it protested against the weight of its contents. She reached in and pulled out two thick bundles of heavy chain, and four thick leather straps. As tenderly as possible, she fastened the straps to Magali’s wrists and ankles, clipped the chains to them and attached the ends to eyebolts screwed into the bed frame. Lovers Callie had taken didn’t come close to having the dark woman’s strength, and she could only hope that the bonds would hold.

Magali had been kept numb and still by almost two weeks of oblivious rest. The stitches Jesse had tearfully sewn in were dry and tight, the skin’s healing eased by Magali’s motionless slumber. A constant flow of intravenous antibiotics fought off any infection that might have resulted from the hack surgery Callie had performed. Her skin, pallid and distinctly bruised, became ashen with the loss of the illusory solace Callie had provided. Magali’s lips turned violet and her hands clenched, but she remained motionless, fighting through the ever-growing, pain-wracking spasms. Eventually she would lose the battle and wrestle against the chains that held her.

Callie checked and secured the bindings restraining Magali, then left the room. It had been difficult administering the heroin to her savior, knowing how much she loathed the use of it. It was one product Magali refused to peddle. As impervious as she knew the woman to be, Callie was fairly certain that eventually the screaming would begin. But there would be time enough, while the withdrawal sickness was only a burning, for her to get some sleep.

Hours later, Magali realized she knew what a disemboweling felt like; it was what was happening to her from the inside out. She clutched the sheets, the white T-shirt and boxers she wore drenched in sweat. Crying out with yearning, she called her Saint’s name.

Prologue to the next Sacrament

Under the merciless stroking sun of the Los Angeles sky, short cropped hair gleamed almost white. She pulled off the sunglasses that shielded the dark brown of her eyes, the tiny loop decorating her eyebrow sparkled. She sat side-saddle on the deep leather seat of her bike, the discarded leather bandana hanging from the German, World War Two helmet she held against her thigh. Her skin itched with the grit of the road, and her jeans, stiff in places from grease and grime, stuck to her damp skin. The black, Harley-Davidson boots had seen better days, and the fading to brown, sleeveless T-shirt clinging to her back was begging to be put to rest. The collar stretched wide around her neck, exposing the sinewy ripples of her trapezii.

Any minute, the strawberry-blonde, in the light cream blouse and immaculate white dress pants would catch her staring. Her eyes raked the woman’s body, wishing they were hands. Casey was patiently filling the gas tank of a sleek BMW convertible, her nail scratching off a bit of dry wax that had remained on its gleaming black surface. Now her Saint was bending over to pick up a fallen coin, and Magali smirked at the view. A pink tongue darted out from sun darkened lips, and she ran its stud across her mouth unconsciously. The thought of running her hand along the creamy skin of those inner-thighs and up to cup the woman’s sex was dizzying. She had been watching her for days, each time approaching closer. Magali regarded her seemingly content Saint, trying to figure out whether or not she was deluding herself. Her pilgrimage was becoming an excursion into futility.

Note from Morrig: Phew! Okay now relax, this is just the second in a series so don’t go sending me e-bombs. This particular piece took me nine months to write, but remember I’m just a poor teacher with limited time during the school year. The next will happen much faster since I’ll be home. My Baby, Dee, wrote the poem at the end. Anyway, I want to thank my "Beta Woman" Dawn and my "Proofer" Day, and of course my partner for life, Dee. Ummm, I must have something for women whose names start with the letter D, huh? :::shrug::: I have to thank EM, for all her insightful feedback, and Alpha Mom Missy Good for inspiring me to take up writing in the first place. Without all these women I would not be able to pull through these stories, heck without women…what would Morrig do? Heheheheh. Midget? You know…you are the woman…nuff said. Hope you enjoyed it! I did…especially the moan at the end. <VBEG> Please send feedback to Pitipup@aol.com. Thanks, Morrig

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