The Department of Hate - A Love Story (16 page)

“You bet. Nice isn’t it. What, you’ve never tried it?”
Marianne pretended to scowl back at her

“Cassie, you know I haven’t
.” Cassandra replied lazily

“Well, no time like the present.”
There was a coffee shop coming up on the right. It was Bulldogs. Adrianne stopped in front of it. She waved her hands, exclaiming

“Ladies.”
They followed her in.

The gnome was watching Cassandra from across the street. He was making an effort to keep out of sight. It would be better if she didn’t see him. Of course, he knew that Jarrod was just up ahead. He was feeling ebullient. He’d been working towards this night for so long. Finally, in about an hour, the two of them would meet. The Master would be pleased. It hadn’t been easy. But now, success, at last!  Afterwards he would kill someone – some random stranger, female of course – just for fun, to celebrate.

There were four Northerners following him, watching him. They kept back but were still in open view. Somehow the gnome failed to notice them. There were three men and a woman – the same ones that would be watching him at Waterloo Station a year later. The men were all tall and muscular, blue-eyed with short thick blonde hair. Two of the men seemed to be quite young – the other was older and clearly in command. The woman was magnificent, tall sleekly muscled and fierce. She had thick long black hair reaching all the way down her back. Her age was somewhere between that of the two younger men and the older man but apart from that impossible to tell. She looked like some kind of warrior Goddess – which is exactly what she was. The four of them continued to follow the gnome, watching him intently – their purpose as yet unknown. But their attitude towards him was obviously immensely hostile.

                        ***************

Jarrod and the others were now passing row after row of near naked girls standing in windows on display, offering up themselves for sale – or for rent to be more exact. All types, blondes, brunettes, short, tall, thin, plump – though not so many were plump. One of them caught Jarrod’s eye, something about the way she was standing or the way she looked back at him. She looked Italian, long black hair, eyes shining, staring back at him - challenging him. He walked on past, hurrying to catch up with the others, shaking his head, trying to put her out of his mind, but with no success. There really was just something about her and he hadn’t been with a female for such a long time.

They arrived at a large, garishly lit establishment advertising live sex shows. The next show started in fifteen minutes. A line was beginning to form. Oh well, no rush. They joined the line and waited, more or less patiently. Andy Sullen and Bruce McKenna started arguing about something – but Jarrod wasn’t listening. Robert McDowell looked around with a broad cynical grin. He felt that he had things worked out as well as they could be – which was fuck all but at least he knew that – and he wasn’t getting dragged into piss ant arguments with anyone – least of all those two. Jarrod couldn’t put it off any longer. Without saying anything to the others, he turned and walked back down the street.

The Italian girl, Luciana, was beautiful beyond belief.  She stood there in front of him completely naked. Her breasts were simply magnificent.  For a moment Jarrod could hardly breathe.  They were in a small room behind the display window – just large enough for a bed and not much else. Jarrod was sitting on the edge of the bed, also naked. He stroked her thighs and then her breasts. She smiled back at him, brightly, but with an underlying sadness she couldn’t quite conceal. She moved past him and onto the bed. She lay on her back, spreading her legs slightly, motioning for him to move up onto her. But Jarrod wasn’t impatient – he wanted to linger over her beauty and enjoy her fully. He tried to get her to roll over. She started to but then stopped with an embarrassed giggle and rolled back onto her back. Jarrod was surprised by this but then he remembered hearing that Italian girls – even professionals – were often remarkably modest when it came to the visibility and implied availability of their bottoms, specifically their anus. This was due no doubt to being trained since childhood to try to avoid encouraging the unwanted advances of predatory priests.

He looked at her lying there. He wanted her, desperately. He ached for her. But there was a basic moral principle here –
‘don’t be an asshole’
. He said out loud

“Sorry, I can’t do this.”
She laughed out loud and said

“Yes you can, look! It’s enormous!”
- taking hold of his erect penis in order to make her point more effectively. He mumbled something, pulled away, got dressed quickly, gave her another hundred euros as a tip, apologised quickly and then left. When he got back to the show the doors had just opened and the patrons were starting to move in. He rejoined his friends. Andy Sullen and Bruce McKenna were still arguing and hadn’t even noticed that he’d been gone. Robert looked at him curiously.

“That was quick, how was she?”
Jarrod looked back at him blankly

“Fuck off.”
Robert shrugged

“Whatever.”

                        ***************

Luciana could hardly believe what had just happened. Moralistic, hypocritical prick! What an asshole. So fucking English!  She didn’t care in the slightest about him specifically. The incident itself was just so fucking aggravating. She got dressed and went home for th
e night. She had had enough. Her pimp could go fuck himself as well. As she walked back to her cheap rented room she found herself getting both angrier and sadder at the same time - more and more – almost unbearably.  She came up to Amsterdam most weekends over the summer – sometimes for a week at a time – to try to make some extra money. She worked for a security firm in Naples. They paid her a pittance, it was never enough. Her debts kept increasing. She had always wanted to study music but that dream was rapidly fading. She loved the Opera. She knew many of them by heart. She always imagined herself in a starring role singing heart aching songs of true love lost. And here? An unending sequence of unknown mostly older men sticking their dicks into her for a handful of euros each time – of which she was allowed to keep only a fraction. She hated it. She hated them. Now this asshole who thinks he’s too good for her. Well who fucking cares what he fucking thinks. What a fucking asshole!

When she got back to her room she started drinking. She turned on the TV but wasn’t really watching it. She drank some more – cheap vodka, straight. Her misery just kept increasing beyond all bounds. This wasn’t the first time but it was by far the worst. She had no future and her present situation was insurmountable. To the world she was worthless - just another whore – and it was increasingly impossible for her to dispute that conclusion. She started crying, holding her face in her hands and shaking.  What was the fucking point of anything? She had no one. No one cared whether she lived or died. She decided to kill herself, then and there. She’d thought of it before but now what other course of action was even possible. It was something. A decision. A statement. She had some rope. She made a noose and put it around her neck. She got up on a chair and tied the other end to a beam on the roof, then she kicked the chair away. She dropped. The rope cut into her neck and throat instantly cutting off the air. She gasped for breathe but there was none. She started to kick and struggle but there was nothing she could do. It was too late. A minute later she was dead. Several minutes after that, she met the demon Asmodeous, face to face - on the plains of Desolation, just outside the city of Dis at the centre of Hell.  Being exactly his type she was immediately taken down to the thirty seventh chamber and secured in place.

                        ***************

Back on the Voorburgwal, Jarrod and the other three had filed into the sex show and taken their seats. The small hall was quite crowded, with more than a hundred spectators. They were a diverse lot, from all over the world, all ages and at least a quarter of them female. There was a large group of Japanese tourists, mostly couples. They giggled all the way through the show. Jarrod found them hilarious.  He found the performances mildly shocking - more nudity than he’d seen before and there were even couples fucking live on stage. But overall he found it tedious, repetitious and boring – not at all erotic. The only amusing performance was the conga line at the end. Male members from the audience were invited to join the line – alternating with beautiful nude girls. There was no shortage of eager volunteers. But the final girl to join the line, waiting until then behind a curtain, was not a girl at all but a large gorilla, a man in a gorilla suit, with an impressively erect phallus. He nestled in behind the last male volunteer, pressing up against him trying to poke him with his phallus. The young man looked around genuinely shocked. This was not what he was expecting. The look on his face was priceless. He tried to run off and the gorilla gave chase, its amorous intentions abundantly transparent.

They came out of the show half an hour later still laughing a bit at the final act but mostly unimpressed. Robert shook his head

“What the fuck was all that?”
Andy Sullen replied

“Ooh Ah Ooh Ah. What a joke! God is up there laughing his ass off.”
Jarrod smirked

“Yes, his divine omnipotence must find us all highly amusing - smug voyeuristic prick that he obviously is.”
Bruce McKenna clearly disapproved of these comments but said nothing.

They started to walk back along the Voorburgwal, eager to get back to the far more serious and satisfying task of smoking dope. Just ahead of them on the same side of the canal Cassandra and her friends were walking towards them. They moved closer to each other and for a few moments the Universe itself held it’s breathe. Adrienne and Marianne were talking to each other; Cassandra was looking about – feeling apprehensive. Andy Sullen and Bruce McKenna were arguing. Robert was scowling at them. Jarrod was quiet, looking ahead. But as they came closer and passed each other Jarrod and Cassandra both looked the other away – apparently by chance.  Jarrod looked to the left and Cassandra to the right. Each of them had had the sudden sense that someone was staring at them and looked to check – but found no one there. Jarrod caught a glimpse of Cassandra from the side and behind as he turned back. She caught his attention but not enough. He felt slightly compelled to turn and approach her but quickly dismissed it as nonsense and continued walking on with the others. They both felt quite strange and were quiet and uncommunicative for some time afterwards.

                        ***************

The gnome stood across the street – on the other side of the canal - watching all of this with rapidly exploding frustration and rage. He watched them walk off down the street – in different directions. He could hardly believe his eyes. This defied all projections.  After all of his careful plans and manipulations this just couldn’t be happening. He started to curse and stamp his feet.

“God dam, fucking, dam, dam, fucking ...“
He still hadn’t noticed them but the four northerners were still watching him carefully and had moved closer. The older man, clearly the leader of the group, walked across the sidewalk and stood next to the gnome. With mock concern he exclaimed

“What’s the matter little man?”
The gnome looked up at him, glaring. A knife appeared in his hand.

“I’ll show you what ... “
But the older man casually slapped the gnome in the side of the head sending him rocketing across the street, over the canal, and slamming him into a brick wall on the far side. Somehow no-one else seemed to notice what had just happened. The gnome picked himself up, staring across belligerently at his assailant. But he recognised him now and knew he could do nothing. Looking down, cursing some more, he slunk off.

The older man watched him go with clearly evident distaste. His three companions – the two younger men and the woman - came up to him. He turned to them.

“I could never stand that slimy little turd. It sickens me that we’re helping him.”
He was the one who had projected the distractions that prevented Jarrod and Cassandra from meeting. He was the Nordic God Odin – Lord of Asgard. One of the younger men spoke up

“I don’t understand my Lord Odin. We just stopped him.”
Odin looked at his companion impatiently. He might be a God but he was a long way short of omniscient.

“We’re not ready yet. We want them to meet, but not now, not yet. It will take place in London, next summer – one year from now.”
The younger man, Bragi, God of Poetry, nodded his head

“I understand my Lord
.” Odin sighed

“I doubt it. Hmm!  I suppose now we have to go back north. I hate that place. So fucking cold all the time!”
The other younger man - Thor, son of Odin, God of Thunder - spoke quietly.

“Sire, we don’t have to leave right away. Let’s get half a dozen hookers, a ton of weed, some food, lock ourselves in a hotel room for a few days and get totally fucked up.”
Odin looked back at him, proudly.