“They closed the case today,” Josie told him as they drove to the Party House. Feeling elated and daring, they had started hanging out there, where Mason, with Josie, had spent a lot of time. The house was run by a gang of bikers who were drug-dealers and car thieves.

Jerrold would often get really drunk, and get into fights, which seemed to impress Josie no end. So he did it as much as possible.

“World’s a better place without him,” Jerrold replied. “Besides, I’m a better dealer than he ever was.”

“Much better,” she said with a giggle, and kissed him.

He had never had anything to do with drugs in his life. But after killing Mason, he found it almost natural to take all that had been his. Mason’s suppliers were now his suppliers, Mason’s customers were now his customers. And Josie, too, was part of the spoils of war.

It was a primitive and deep-rooted feeling, and it made their love-making equally primal.

Josie liked it rough.

One rainy fall evening, as they were driving home, Josie was being unusually quiet.

“What?!” he shouted, to break her out of her reverie.

She smiled, almost wistfully.




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