Damien walked slowly through the long hall, his image reflecting in the golden panels. The lady at the small desk ushered him into the dim office. Slick’s face was heavily bandaged from his meeting with Goth. His feet propped up on his own desk, a cigar stuck prominently between his lips. The thin smoke was drawn to the ceiling fan, where it was distributed around the room. “Long time, no see,” he said, angrily glancing at the lady. She quickly made herself scarce.

“I hate to be seen,” Damien replied, walking over to the full length windows.

“It’s the red eye thing, right?” Slick asked. “You should have someone look at that.”

Damien rolled his eyes. “They’re naturally this color, for the thousandth time. Not that I’d expect you to remember that.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?!” Slick demanded.

“Merely an offhand comment,” Damien said calmly. “I suggest you state your business before I grow weary of this. You’d hate to see me bored.”

Slick cleared his throat and pulled a photo from his file cabinet. “Know this guy?”

Damien glanced at the photo. It instantly turned into a pile of ashes.

Slick yelled out in pain as his fingers were partially burned and stuck them in his mouth.

“I know the man called Goth. What about him?” Damien asked.

Slick responded, “I want you to kill him. But not now! Only when Marginoff is safely on a plane out of here. Understand?”

Damien nodded, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“One more thing,” Slick added, rising from his desk. He walked over to Damien and grabbed him by the throat. “Don’t ever do that again!”

For a moment, Damien only stared at him. “You’re boring me,” he said finally. Then, with lightning quickness, he lashed out, his knife making a surface wound in Slick’s arm. Slick cursed and backed away, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Have a nice day!” Damien sang as he left the office.

Though Club Olympus wasn’t normally open 24 hours a day, Goddess just didn’t feel like making the trip home tonight. After Jen had cleaned up the mess, she’d decided to reopen the club, just so she’d have an excuse to stay for the night. Jen agreed to help serve drinks, but insisted on getting at least $10.50 an hour for her services. Goddess easily gave in, not being the mood to argue. She was considering paying the girl $11 when her first customer came in.

The woman was uneasy; that much Goddess could see right away. As she came closer, the solid black outfit she wore seemed to shimmer in the light. Her long, black hair was tied neatly into a long ponytail, and she carried a large black purse. “Can you help me?” she asked a little nervously.

“That depends on what you want, dear,” Goddess said, leading her to a table.

“I need a place to stay for the night. Are there any motels around here?”

“None that I’d recommend to a nice girl like you,” Goddess said flatly. “I’d hate to see you end up on the evening news.”

The woman nodded with gracious thanks. “My name’s Karen.”

“I’m Goddess. Welcome to Club Olympus.”

“Goddess?” Karen asked with a strange look.

“It’s a gift,” Goddess replied, smiling sweetly.

“Right,” Karen said slowly.

“You can stay here, if you want. Might not get much sleep, but it’s better than out there,” she said, gesturing towards the door.

“I guess you’re right,” Karen admitted.

“I’m never wrong,” Goddess assured her. “Or no man has the guts to tell me.”

Dr. Lisa Marginoff stared out of the window, viewing the city of Yankers for the first time. A nervous feeling crept up her spine, but she quickly shook it off. She was here to meet with Slick Dick, one of the most powerful men on the planet. In his own mind, anyway. Then again, any man that could control the entire state of New York had to have some influence.

The private jet landed at Wank Airport five minutes later. As soon as she stepped into the afternoon sunlight, Lisa knew there was something she didn’t like about the place. Her escort appeared to be nothing more than three rent-a-cops, hastily borrowed from a neighboring city.

“Welcome to Yankers, Dr. Marginoff,” one of them said. “I’ll take your bags.”

Lisa slowly handed him her only suitcase. Suddenly, one of the others trained a gun on her. “What’s going on here?” she asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Another cop pushed her to the ground, while their superior rifled through her suitcase.

Three gunshots rang out. The first and second tore through the superior’s legs. The third penetrated his back and exploded from his chest. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

The other cops drew their guns, twin .45 magnums. “Show yourself!” one demanded.

The other grabbed Lisa and shoved his weapon against her throat. “I’ll blow her head off!” he threatened.

His “partner” instantly blew the man’s brains all over the runway.

Lisa fell to her knees, clutching at her neck.

The last cop kneeled by her side and handed over his gun.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“It’s my way of gaining your trust,” he said, wiping some blood off his uniform. Then, his face shimmered and literally went blank. For a few fleeting seconds, he had no facial features at all. Then a black overcoat sprouted over the uniform, and gray eyes stared out of a marble brow at her.

“What are you?” Lisa asked.

“The best bodyguard you’ll ever have,” he replied. “Welcome to Hell, Dr. Marginoff. Leave me and you’re dead. Stay with me, you’ll still die, but you’ll live longer first. Any questions?”

“Are all the people here like you?” she inquired.

He smiled. “Nope. Most of them are idiots. Let’s get you out of here, ‘cause this sure ain’t Kansas anymore.” He picked up her suitcase and walked towards a black Sedan parked nearby.

Lisa smiled, tucked the gun into her coat, and ran after him.