So, the lock had been jimmied. Deck felt as if he was in real danger now. Should he go in and see what had been done? Hell, what could be done to that hellhole he called an "office?"

No, he decided to just walk (stumble, actually) away and go seek some comfort in a skirt.

Deck was having other feelings which were causing him great confusion. He didn't remember ever having feelings like that before. Hell, he couldn't really remember having a feeling before, except that deal when his jockies rode up his ass. Was he feeling a pang of guilt? Guilt over some Oriental kid that he didn't even know?

It just seemed that Kim Li was so. . . what was that damn word? . . . Vulvable? (No, that was Mona.) What was it? . . . Oh, vulnerable. And this damn Ute Lemper; just what was an obscure girl like that doing on this hit list with the high and mighty?

He called Mona and asked her to meet him at the usual place. She sounded distracted, and he could hear paper rustling, like she was filing or something. (Was she a secretary? Who the fuck knew what broads did when they weren't playing the skin flute?) She agreed to see him in an hour.

* * * *

Later, as he lay there with Mona in the rat-infested Motel 5 while she tried to cajole his cajones back into a frenzy of dik play, Deck blew smoke rings at the ceiling fan and tried to keep his mind on the task at hand.

"Hey, Mona, wanna get your hand off the throttle for a minute and go get that CD out of my car?"

Mona got up and put on Deck's coat jacket. "Damn," he thought, as she was walking out of the motel door with the bottom of her seductive ass cheeks showing just below the blue pin-stripe, "I'm almost out of smokes."

Mona came back in with the Ute Lemper CD and Deck told her to put it in the boom box. They lay there for a while, listening to the sultry chanteuse warble her cabaret songs.

Mona pretty much summed up the feelings for both of them when she said, "This bitch bites."

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