“There she is,” Sonya says when I slide behind my desk.
“Hi,” I say raising a limp hand.
“Hey,” Diesel says jovially. He has the baby strapped to his chest in a carrier; instead of looking ridiculous he looks more dangerous with his cub. Now why would I think of that word? “Sonya tells me you’re looking for a place to stay.”
“Yup,” I nod. I become monosyllabic in the presence of handsome men. It’s one of my moronic personality traits.
“Well we have an abandoned cabin up in Shifter Grove about two miles from our place,” he said. “It’s abandoned and last I checked the owners all died or moved away so you shouldn’t have a problem. It was rented out a few years ago and the rent went to a PO Box so there is someone somewhere renting the property.”
“Do you think they’d be okay with a new tenant?” Sonya asked.
“I don’t know,” Diesel scratched his head. “But by the time a problem arises Lucy could find a new place. At least this gives her a wider window to look for listings in Waterville.”
Or someplace else. Maybe this is a sign from God that I’m done with Waterville and small towns.
“What do you say Lucy?” Sonya asked. “We’ll only be two miles down the road if you need us.”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”
Three words. That’s progress. I think.
The Waterville hotel is known for its family values and strict code of conduct. The Presidential Suite is currently hosting an orgy. Naked girls are everywhere, some are lounging about, backs arched so their meager tits look bigger, some are sucking cock or riding it.
It would be beautiful to watch if the men weren’t such ugly sons of bitches. Old, liver spotted hands cup young flesh; sagging balls slap against taut silky thighs. Two young men stand at the door watching the proceedings. One is significantly taller than the other. The short one has a twitchy moustache, black and scraggly. He has skin the color of weak tea.
The other is tall, well built and has a shaggy main of red hair. His green eyes drip contempt at what he is viewing. His generous mouth is slopped down in disapproval. He has thin scars running across his face from his left eyebrow to his right cheek as if a cat’s claw had swiped at it. It is a handsome face that could turn in to terrible horror when angered.
“Be nice,” Miguel says. He’s already got a hard on but he’s trying hard to keep it professional.
“Ah, they’re here,” a crusty old man with sagging balls calls them over. The girl pumping his junk doesn’t miss a beat. “So what do you have for us?”
“Dave lives in the area,” Miguel said taking a seat opposite the man. He’s a bit hypnotized by the woman’s bobbing head.
David looks pissed and he is pissed at the power positions in this meeting. These old white dudes know everything about him but he’s not even supposed to know their names.
“And?” the man asks. He must be in his eighties. The rest of his party aren’t that much younger either. All over the age of sixty they were getting serviced like kings. It payed to be that rich.
“The festival’s two days from now,” David says pushing his fists in his jacket pocket. He remains standing. “The Blood Moon marks the coming of age of most Shifters and the entire community takes part in it.”
“How many are we talking?” a short man with the smallest dick David’s ever seen asks. He has two girls wrapped around him.
“About 250 Shifters,” David say. “Their human family members don’t participate. They number around 300.”
“So the woods will be awash with Shifters two days from now,” the first man said. “Is there an area where we can recuperate; make base camp.”
“There’s an abandoned cabin a mile or two into the woods,” David’s throat is suddenly dry. “I can have that prepared for you.”
“Excellent!” the first man seems satisfied. “The bag,” he indicates to Small Cock.
Small Cock pulls a black plastic bag out from under his seat. He hands it to Miguel who takes it after wrenching his eyes from the girl sucking up Old Chief’s pipe. Miguel doesn’t check the money.