Excerpt from, “A Slaughter of Angels.”
Driving down the highway to a strip club is normally my idea of a good time, unless it is for business. Business I should just ignore, but I need the money. You can’t be a business owner without money. Of course, you can’t be a business owner without business to bring in the money. It’s a vicious circle. For me, it seems all I do is travel in circles. Except for now, a strip club is where I’m heading.
Even I am different than the regular everyday Joe. I am what the Bible calls Nephilim, born of a human mother with the father of an angel. Can’t tell except for the odd sigils I bear on each of my wrists. To most people they look like tattoos so I can easily explain them off. Every now and then I come across someone who recognizes them. Lucky for me, those people are rare. Whenever I am in real trouble, they burn. Almost like my own spidey-sense. The Catholic Church calls me an abomination to human kind. There was this Pentecostal minister that called me by who I truly was. Of course he pointed and started speaking in tongues, which then got the whole congregation speaking in tongues. Why I go to church is beyond me at times. I’ll stick with going to Catholic mass. Just to annoy the church and let them know I’m there.
Baby J’s is a dark and trendy night club on the north-side of town, catering to the forgotten or ignored part of society. The kind that go bump in the night, along with those that bump back. Anyone or anything not 100% human usually frequented joint. On occasion, even a few humans stumble in. They get more than they bargained for. The owner of the club takes care of all her “clients” needs. Even those that are human. Everyone is equal under her roof. She enforces it regularly to the point that most play nice. For those that don’t, there are a few bouncers big enough to take care of the problem. If the owner has to come down to take care of it, well, that will be one less problem or a missing person case that will forever be unsolved.