maintain control

"Nuts to you." I thought. He wasn't that hungry, which meant he was looking to get a bit more power, perhaps to take over again. Its happened before. I'll wake up with two hookers who've been fucked six ways from Sunday and I'll feel him inside me, as content as a tipsy kitten on a bed of catnip, and never know how I got there. You think he pays them? Hell no. One body. One checkbook. Balls.

I shake my head to clear his voice out. "Pris, not tonight." I say and hate it. I know that when she leaves, I'll drink myself stupid to forget her scent. It happens.

"Oh, come on, Mike. Its been three weeks. I'm starting to get eyes for the delivery boy for Chrissakes." She moves closer to me again. I hate being a bastard to her, but I've got to sometimes.

"He aint that bad. Always gets me my Pastrami on Rye on time. Probably just as efficient in the sack. Make you cum in 15 minutes or he gets no tip." I said, already moving to the bar. I pour some Old Forrester and Ginger Ale and can feel her glare on my neck. I hate doing this dames, but its gotta be done.

"See you in the morning, Mike." she spits out of her pretty mouth. I don't watch her open and slam the door. I try not to hear her heels click in the hallway. I try not to admit I love her.

It never works.

So, I have a drink. Its alright. I have another. Yeziroth starts to pipe up, so I **** him with more bourbon and ginger ale. He's babbling incoherently now, through my mouth. His words are ancient Egyptian, Sumerian, some are in the languages of beetles and reptiles and boiling lava. I drink more. And more. We're stumbling along the wall. He's berating me.

"You stupid meat puppet. You have no possible idea of what would happen if you mess up and die, do you?"" I sneer at him in the bathroom mirror, and pull the flask from my hip. Straight moonshine from Appalachia. I use it to keep him in line. I feel him retreat as I swallow the horrible troll-piss down and grin like an insane asylum loony. Not tonight, pal. Not tonight.

................

When I woke up, I felt some sonuvabitch shoving an icepick into my skull. It got worse when I opened my eyes and the overhead light got involved, beating me senseless with photons. My mouth was as dry as the Pope's catch rag and I knew that if I tried to stand, I'd fall on the hardwood floor and break my nose, so I rolled over and scooted off the bed.

The phone rang just as I got to my knees. Perfect. I rolled over to it since I knew standing would require Olympic level skills that I did not possess, and ripped it off the receiver. I attempt to say "Reilly, Investigations." but I'm sure it sounded more like "Ri-hee. Infestervatshuns."

"Sober up and get in the office. You've got a client." Pris's voice, then a click. I looked at the receiver as if it had kicked a puppy, and struggled to my feet. Four cups of coffee, a shave, shower, ham and eggs for breakfast, more coffee, a read-through of the morning paper and a quick toss-off in the sink later, and I was right as rain.