One cherry martini sat at the very edge of a small black table. Two thin fingers toyed with a cherry garnish, and four amber eyes picked men out of the crowd.
She examined a handsome blonde man in worn blue jeans and a tight black tee shirt as he leaned against the bar. Underneath the thick skin of his neck the Carotid Artery waited to be plucked and played like a violin, with the razor edge of her bow... A muscular man walked by obstructing her view and her eyes followed him. Fat veins pulsed around his gigantic arms, but she was not amused.
The strong ones are no fun. She thought.
A sad man with a long face sipped on his poison, at the corner of the bar. His droopy eyes trained on every woman that walked by.
Ugh he looks like he could use a suicide. She continued.
Her eyes bounced around a bit until they fell on the suave chestnut perched on one of the vintage stools. His dark blue shirt stretched over his muscular shoulders, and the lint that covered it glowed under the black light. She stalked over to him and caressed his arm.
“Hello” she said so softly it sounded like cursive.
He shot her a glance from under his indignant brow. There was a pause as they both stared at a slender brunette man that walked by. He took a final swig from his drink so angrily he nearly bit the glass then slid off his stool. He was every bit her type handsome, confident, interesting.
“Are we leaving so soon?” she asked coyly.
He straightened up so that his shadow encompassed her, leaned in close and spat out “I’m not interested in easy women” His hot scotch breathe hung in her face as he left to a more private booth.
Rejection is not something she is accustomed too, certainly not in a sleazy bar at this hour. She didn’t take it well. Now she was going to have him, and she would un-wrap his skin and find out what he’s hiding underneath. For the remainder of the night she sipped on blood red martinis and watched him sit at the corner booth alone.
The bar was near closing when the man with the scotch, gruffly pushed himself from his seat and left. Her clicking black heels followed. Outside was cold and dark, and weak street lamps hung in the air. She followed as he headed down the main road. It was then that she noticed in front of her prey a small glowing light, the distinct light of a burning cigarette bobbing in the air. Her prey was hunting someone… without stopping she slipped out of her heels and left them toppled over on the side walk. The group walked until they reached some mediocre apartments where his prey took one last drag of a very long cigarette. A belt tightened around his neck and the smoke burned his lungs, as the man with the scotch breathe squeezed the leather around his throat. She heard the scotch man say something almost too quiet to hear, and then she distinctly heard the sound of crying as angry whispers spewed out of his mouth.
“God damnit! Fr. Fuckin’ selfish mediocre bastard…” he choked between sobs as he strangled the young smoker. When the life had left the young man’s eyes scotch took a moment to sob over his body and reattach his belt before he disappeared into the darkness.
She slithered over to the remains of the boy’s mangled body and looked down at him dispassionately. “What a waste” she said to herself “so much potential for lung cancer.” She cackled darkly and left.