I’m guessing there may be three more chapters to go.

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After seeing to the young trollop, I drifted off into a deep sleep. I hadn’t slept properly for at least a few weeks, plotting tends to make my mind race and that usually makes me a little too restless for a proper night’s sleep. There’s nothing like a bit of “love” to help clear the head.

I dreamed, which in itself was a surprise, that I was a law abiding man. I had a wife, not Kitty, and a number of fat faced children that I assumed were mine were roaming our house loudly. They were tearing about all over the place, shouting and giggling, usually followed by the sound of something breaking. My wife laughed it off as ‘just what you expect of a group of children, dear,’ but with each crash my rage rose.

I was sat in a big wooden chair that was surprisingly comfortable. With each terrible noise from the other room I grasped the arm rests tighter, all the while my wife giggled away and knitted. Had she been knitting at the start of the dream? I couldn’t remember, but she was knitting now, completely disinterested in the hellacious racket the children were causing. Eventually, I gave in and stormed into the room.

By the time I got there, the room had turned into a vault, the kids were gone, and I was looking at myself loading a bag with cash. This is precisely why I hate dreams, they’re so confusing.

Other-Me was stuffing wad after wad of notes into his backpack, various denominations from various different countries by the look of it. This wasn’t a memory in the trappings of a dream, I don’t do bank robberies. If I’m stealing cash it’s always from someone’s safe, and I at least maintain some decorum when I do it, frantically stuffing notes into a bag does nothing but make you look like an amateur.

The dream shifted again, taking a turn for he macabre. Thick, vile bloodstains appeared on the vault walls, giant explosions of red liquid dribbled into horrid pools around my feet. The bodies faded in next, fifteen of them, all women, tied up and in various states of undress, lacerated necks pumping out rivers of thick blood. If I had been awake I was sure my stomach would have turned, but it would seem that I’m a little more caste-iron when asleep. That said, seeing Other-Me stuffing entrails into his bag instead of notes did make something vomit-esque start to bubble in my belly.

I snapped myself awake, that was quite enough of that dream. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have killed a few people in my time, but they were isolated incidents. I will reiterate that I am not a murderer or a sadist, no more than most at any rate, but from a logical standpoint I occasionally conclude that some people need to be put down. Fifteen unarmed women in one job though? That was beyond me, and I didn’t even want to consider the subtext to the clothing situation. I ay be a horrible bastard, but I’m still a gentlemen, mostly.

My eyes were a little behind my brain in the waking up stakes, taking a few seconds to focus. I allowed them this time, theorising that a refreshing view of Kitty’s rear end could wait a few seconds, and that perhaps the wait would make the event powerful enough to dislodge the bloody dream. Unfortunately, the first thing my eyes saw as they regained composure was the rotund form of another hostess.

I say rotund, but it would perhaps be more correct to say spherical. It wasn’t that she was fat, but I seriously began to consider whether this woman was where all the world’s fat actually came from. She was grotesque, roll upon roll of hideous flab fell over her waistband, which was probably for the best as she was wearing no trousers or skirt. I had to hand it to her though, she had managed to distract me from the dream for at least a moment.

The beast had frozen like a comical cardboard cut out. It had apparently been trying to sneak across the room for some reason, and my awakening had stunned it. From deep inside the mountain of podge that I guessed was its head, two black marbles flicked over to look at me. Then the numerous chins wobbled.

‘Oh, begging your pardon, mister. Didn’t mean to disturb you.’

I took a moment to consider the absurdity of that comment. This thing had tiptoed into a room I had paid for, while I was asleep no less, and didn’t even have the decency to apologise for being there. No, it would only apologise for being caught, and that was no way to act. Every sneak should know where they stand before they even begin to trespass, the right words at the right time can save you a lot of hassle.

Of course, the wrong words will heap it upon you.

I got out of the bed, naked from the waist down, and strode across to the blob. The black marbles shot down to my nethers, naturally, then back up to my face. Still, the woman (I suppose I really should refer to it as that) remained perfectly stationary as if she were some sort of statue. Not one I’d have in my garden, that was for certain.

‘Well, miss?‘ I hazarded. ‘Why exactly are you skulking about in another hostess’s domain? From my understanding of the business, that’s a major faux pas.’

She stammered for a moment. ‘Well, mister, I was just, sort of, collecting a debt, yeah?’ The woman spat out commas as though they were pennies and she were a slot machine, except the only clockwork you’d find in her was powering her pathetic brain.

I weighed the situation carefully. On the one hand I had no doubt that Kitty would be up to her neck in debt, whores usually were. They spent money hand over fist (similar to how they earned it in fact), they had to play the part after all, and often forgot exactly where the stuff came from and how much they had. Pressing the obese scarecrow before me would probably result in a perfectly legitimate account of Kitty’s debt-dodging ways, which would be something I could easily work into our relationship. It would, however, mean exchanging more words with the giant.

I didn’t want to talk to the thing anymore, so I calmly reached out and snapped its neck. I believe I mentioned earlier that a client is entitled to permanently dismiss a hostess to which they do not approve, and it was this rule that ensured no-one came coming when the mountainous woman hit the floor with the sound of a building collapsing. I would not be lying if I claimed that the floor visibly strained under her weight.

Kitty stirred but didn’t wake up, which was pleasant. Women are better when they are asleep, especially around a corpse. A conscious woman will often scream at the sight of death, which is the most unhelpful thing anyone can do. Even vomiting on the corpse is more helpful than a mere scream, largely because it is quiet and can, in an emergency, be used as a disguise.

I rolled the corpse back out into the hall, a thankless task that very nearly crippled me, and set about looking for my trousers. I found them quickly and put them back on, double checking the pocket to make sure the beast hadn’t robbed me in an attempt to settle Kitty’s debt. I know how thieves work, and that’s exactly what I would have done. The fact that my cash was still in place just went to show that I had been presented with a rank amateur.

Even rank amateurs can have good ideas from time to time, however. With this in mind I had a nose through Kitty’s things until I found where she hid her cash, a small cardboard box with ‘I heart my daddy’ written on it in crayon, and stole the whole thing. I had shopping to do before the job tonight, and I damn sure wasn’t going to use my own money.

Cash in hand, as it were, I gathered together the rest of my belongings and stepped out into the hall, bounding over the corpse, leaving Kitty fast asleep. It wasn’t as if she’d be welcome at the Dark Market anyway, and to be honest, why bother waking a whore to tell her you’ve gone? They should expect that by default.