Taking a shower was a shit idea. It only fueled my sexual frustration, instead of alleviating it like I thought it would. There was no wrangling the mongoose in that bathroom. At least, not for me.

I should have remembered from the night before how horrible the shower was. The terrible water pressure, dirty tiles, and thin ass towels. Oh, well. It didn’t matter anyway. I wasn’t in the right headspace after that damned computer toppled over, giving me a scare and making me miss the good part.

I swiped the water off my skin with the scratchy towel, and pretended I didn’t see the roach run across the floor. But the irony was right in front of me, staring me in the face.

That sums things up right about now… A fucking roach trapped in a roach motel, scurrying across the dirty tile floor and stuck in an endless loop of wanting to be something else but only ever amounting to being a roach in a fucking roach motel. I was feeling oddly philosophical and moody.

What’s wrong with you! The fuck is wrong? Rage asked, sticking his nose in my private thoughts.

“Nothing.” I didn’t have time to deal with his shit today.

Don’t lie to me! I’m in your heeaad, in your heeaad. Zombie, zombie, zombie. I tried to ignore Rage’s off-key shrieking going on in the background.

“I don’t know.” I knew the song he was singing, but didn’t particularly care for The Cranberries. Too whiny for my taste. “What’s with the singing anyway?”

“I’m excited! Aren’t you? We get to kill today!”

“Yeah. Well, If you're gonna sing background music, at least pick something good.” I groused, and fumbled through my bag for clean clothes. I wasn’t acting like myself, and I knew it. I felt bad for being an ass to Rage. Seems like I’m always being an ass to someone, these days.

“Fuck, Rage. I woke up a little off today.” That was an understatement, but it seemed to mollify the big guy. He wasn’t the one that had his rock hard erection hypothetically kicked into his throat. Owen gets to play while I get cock-blocked by gravity.

Rage switched gears, and started belting out a song from Five Finger Death Punch. I’m a little bit off today, something down inside me’s different. Woke up a little off today, I can tell that something’s wrong.

At least, he picked better music this time. His yowling wasn’t too terrible. The graveliness of his voice actually made the song sound better, and lifted my mood. A bit. I wasn’t inclined to tell him that, but I stopped complaining and settled the laptop on my lap. Like hell was I going to use the tumbling tower of blue balls, again.

“Ok, first things first. We need a lead.”

I spent the next hour combing through forums and message boards to no avail. I searched every rabbit hole I could think of, and a few I never heard of before. Nothing was panning out. I couldn’t find a transcription for anything close to resembling a smash and grab. Mercs were smart, but they weren’t that smart. There should be something advertising the job. How else would it get filled and the perpetrating party get paid?

“Fuuck!” I was getting nowhere.

I rubbed my eyebrows in frustration. Glancing up at the alarm clock, I was reminded of the late check out I had asked for. One hour left. My stomach didn’t like being put off another hour, and growled angrily in warning. I grabbed a granola bar out of my bag, and unwrapped it, chewing mechanically, not looking or caring to see if crumbs fell on the floor or not. The roaches could party after I left, for all I cared. Poor bastards.

“That’s it! Crumbs.”

I looked around the room triumphantly. I wasn’t expecting confetti and congratulations for stumbling upon divine inspiration devised from a damn granola bar, it's my job. But, I was still disappointed when all I saw was filth. Fifty-year-old filth in a two-bit, rundown excuse for a goddamn hole-in-the-wall—

Hey asshole! Rage shouted, interrupting my rant. He had stopped singing, and was getting impatient waiting around for me to snag a lead. To be honest, I was too.

“I gotcha.” I grabbed the laptop with renewed fervor, logged into the secure mail server we used, and drafted an encrypted email. The idea was to embed some code in the message that would leave a trail I could follow, like Hansel and Gretel. To the person reading it, the email would look like a standard report, but it would be anything but standard.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

It's Magnum. Rage whispered in my ear, sounding weirdly like a golf commentator. Ribbed for her pleasure.

I ignored Rage, and edited the source code, injecting some of my own. Essentially, I was creating a Trojan Horse to hide my prying eyes. My alterations would also disguise the email, allowing it to go through the server smoothly and undetected.

With wicked smooth contraceptive lube. Rage added, reading my thoughts as my hands flew over the keyboard.

Of course, I didn’t want anyone actually knowing the report was there. That is, unless they were specifically looking for sensitive information, the crumbs, I was sprinkling in the message body.

New studded texture for increased sensitivity. He was twisting my thoughts to his perverse pleasure.

I was confident that it wouldn’t arouse any suspicion on the off chance the email was flagged in a random security check, but I plugged the message with enough references to Jade that I was sure it would be forwarded along to whoever sanctioned the job, nonetheless.

Oooooh, plugs are fun. Especially the vibrating ones. Okay, now he’s getting out of control.

The back-end was a bit trickier.

It always is. Rage whispered.

“Stop your shit, Rage! You sound like a god damned condom ad in my head.” I double checked the code in the email, before tapping send.

It worked didn’t it? I’ve never seen you type so fast or hit the keys so hard—bwahaha! His annoying laughter cut off whatever else he was going to say.

“We aren’t fucking anyone, so cut it out!” I couldn’t get too mad at the guy. It was kinda funny.

Rage doubled over laughing, and holding his stomach.

“I'm getting too old for this shit.” I grabbed my stuff, and shoved it in my bag.

Aww, come on. Don’t be mad? Rage cooed, still laughing. Where we going?

“First, food. Then we wait and see who takes the bait.” I stood at the door, scanning the room before closing it behind me.

The shitty motel was on the other side of the road from an equally shitty gas station. I pulled up to the pump, and said, “we need gas,” like someone was there to argue with me about it. I expected Owen to say something about stopping at a better station up the road. But he wasn’t there. No one was there. Rage had retreated inside me, and I missed having someone to talk to. Hearing my voice bounce off the empty seats, echoed the emptiness I felt.

Several gallons of gas, a few gut rockets, and an energy drink to wash it all down with, and we were back on the road. I smiled when we passed the City Limits sign.

I can’t believe you eat that shit. Even with a stone stomach, I don’t eat gas station burritos.

“You… should.” Munch, munch. “Mmmm, they're good.” I said, wiping my mouth on my sleeve.

Gargoyles don’t eat, dumbass.

“So what about all the blood and guts you throw everywhere when you kill people?”

Gotta live up to the monster stereotype. You ever see someone piss their pants when you’re chowing down on their friend?

“That’s sick.” I looked at the laptop on the passenger seat, willing it to ding.

So? Rage didn’t seem to care what I thought.

“So, it’s sick. You don’t even eat. It just slides down your face, and gets everywhere.”

I know. It looks cool. He grinned, exposing his fangs.

“It’s fucking gross.” I cringed, remembering the tissue that clung to his stone body after we visited Jade’s mother.

Girls love it.

“What girls?”

All girls. Jade would.

“No she wouldn’t.” Did he really think Jade would like that?

How do you know? Let’s ask her. Call her.

“No! We’re on a mission.”

We’re waiting for your condom to get fucked.

“It’s a trojan and it is doing the fucking or rather… we’ll be doing the fucking when we find out who it’s being forwarded to.” I stared at the laptop again, expecting it to make a sound. Any sound. We drove for several minutes in silence. It was aggravatingly quiet. Too quiet… Then it hit me.

“Damn it!” I pulled the car over on the shoulder, and grabbed the computer.

What’s wrong? Rage asked, concerned.

“I forgot to activate the damn thing, because of your incessant stupidity.”

I struck the keys hard, punishing the keyboard for my mistake, and held my breath as I pulled up the program, hoping that it worked. There it is! It would have worked beautifully, if Rage hadn’t been distracting me, but that little bit of missing code… The message had penetrated the server’s defenses, then forwarded to someone outside the network. I was able to get an IP address from the server and, with a little finagalling, I was able to get a physical address for the bastard.

Bingo, baby!