earshot. Liza looked back at her from across the scarred tabletop, her half-lidded eyes bloodshot and glassy.
“Have you ever heard of angel lust?” Chantal whispered, clearly suspicious of being overheard.
“I’ve heard of angel dust.” Liza practically screamed it across the restaurant, causing Chantal to wince and shush her friend.
“Come on, let’s go somewhere else.” Reaching into her battered purse, Chantal pulled out some change for the coffee and dropped it on the table, then stood to leave.
“Where we going?” Liza asked.
“Somewhere with less ears. Let’s go to my apartment. I want to show you something.”
Chantal’s apartment was actually a room at one of the cheaper motels in town, the kind that rented them by the hour or the week. Liza lived somewhere similar, but a few blocks over. Since the diner was midway between their subsequent turfs, they usually met there for coffee in the early morning hours when they weren’t having much luck. Tonight was one such night.
Chantal pressed the key into the lock. A yellow plastic disk embossed with the number 12 bounced against the knob. Pushing open the door, she flipped on a switch, bathing the musty room in muted light. Baby-shit yellow shag carpet, mismatched furniture, and tacky wall-hangings completed the mood. Most surfaces in the room were covered with empty food containers, booze bottles, and condom wrappers. The bed was unmade, its tangled sheets dingy and gray. An unpleasant odor of stale sweat, sex, and booze lingered, but Liza didn’t notice it. Her place smelled the same.
“Got any weed?” Liza asked hopefully.
“You know I don’t do that shit, Liza. Why you gotta keep asking? There’s some vodka in the top drawer.”
Liza rummaged through the dresser drawer in search of booze, while Chantal reached under the bed, pulling out a suitcase and retrieving a laptop computer. Pushing a pile of trash off the table top, she set it down and plugged it in. Having found the vodka, Liza wandered over, upended a chair so the garbage fell off and sat it next to Chantal.
“Since when do you have a computer?”
“I’ve got a regular. He gave it to me.” Chantal squinted at the screen as it booted up.
“He pay for the net, too?”
“Nah-I just hacked someone’s wireless; one of my johns showed me how.”
“So, who’s the regular?” Liza tried to keep the jealousy out of her voice.
“Just some guy. Has money. He’s into freaky shit and can’t get anyone else to do it for him.” Chantal negotiated her way through a forum, intent on the screen as she searched for what she was looking for.
“Is he blind?” Liza laughed, but Chantal didn’t.
“Yes.” If Chantal was offended by Liza’s remark, she gave no indication “Here it is! Look at this.”
“You know I’m not great with reading; just tell me what it’s about.” Liza sat in her chair and swigged directly from the bottle, trying hard to focus on her friend.
“Maybe if you weren’t so fucking high all the time. Never mind. I’ll tell you about it.” Chantal turned her chair so she faced Liza but could still see the computer. “There’s this guy on the internet. He’s always looking for videos and shit. Has some real crazy tastes. Wants videos of bestiality and eating shit and stuff. You know, one of those real sick fuckers. Always wants to watch some chick drinking cum out of a cup or some shit.”
Liza nodded knowingly, though she looked bored, picking at her badly polished nails.
“Anyways, he’s on here. Always a different last name and email address so no one can find him, but you can tell it’s him from the messages. So I’ve seen him around and apparently everyone says he pays good for what he gets, so he’s on the level.”
Liza rolled her eyes.
“Okay! I’m getting to it. He’s on here yesterday and he says he’ll pay a million dollars for a video of a chick getting it on with a dude who has angel lust.”
“What the hell is angel lust?” The mention of a million dollars instantly cured Liza’s boredom. She leaned forward in her chair, all business now.
“I was wondering the same thing, so I looked it up. I guess sometimes when a guy dies, he gets a boner. Like a permanent boner. The morticians have ways to make it go away so you’re not like staring at uncle Bob in the casket and he’s got a big ol’ hard-on or nothing, but I guess it happens like that.”
“So this dude wants a video of some chick fucking