He piloted a black mustang, with ice-blue flames, back into Sacramento from the private airfield.  Outside his house, he found Iris’ parked car.  She must have brought my baby back home.  Sheba will have missed me terribly.  He gathered up his belongs and headed for the front door.  It opened before he got there.  Iris stood on the threshold, stabbing him with a wrathful glare.  There were old scratches on both her arms, and a fresh one across her nose.  She’s been bonding with my cat.

     “That beast of yours isn’t natural!” Iris said.

     Cain smiled.  “Yes, I had a nice flight.  Thank you for asking.”

     “She shredded my waterbed!  And my fish…sweet God…my fish…!”

     So, who doesn’t like sushi?  “Where is the little monster?” Cain asked.  The house was too quiet.
     “I’ve got her locked in a closet with some catnip.  It was that or put a bullet through her fuzzy little head.  I tell you, that animal needs therapy.”
     Cain dropped his things and gathered Iris into his arms, soothing her.  “There, there, it’s alright.  I’m back now.”
     After a while, she quieted, sighing happily.  He turned her face toward his and kissed her soundly.  She offered no resistance, but backed him into a wall with every sign of having her way with him.  Her soft lips retreated though she still pressed her body fully against his.  “Is that what you wanted?”
     “Certainly,” he said.
     Her breathy voice was suggestive, “want more?”
     “Of course, I’m a man, aren’t I?”
     She shoved herself back and turned toward the door.  “So how’s it feel to want?”
     “Where are you going?” he asked.
     “I have to get ready for dinner.  You owe me a night out on the town, remember?”
     “Like you’d let me forget.  I’ll pick you up at eight,” he promised.
     “You better,” the detective said.  “And I’d better have the time of my life.”
     “That sounds like a threat.”

Iris paused at the front door to toss a cold cruel smile over her shoulder.  “You better believe it.  I’ll be packing my gun.”

She left and Cain went to his hall closet.  He opened it and stared fondly down at Sheba.  The beast was curled in a stupor, paws twitching as she dreamed of murder and mayhem, a catnip mouse poking out from under her head.  Cain left the door ajar, and carried his luggage up the stairs to his room.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he fished out his phone and grabbed the Yellow Pages from under the nightstand.  He had many details to arrange.

Wearing a silk dress that hugged her curves, a hostess ushered them in with a smile.  They passed bubbling aquariums where lobsters waved greetings with rubber-banded claws.  He was led to an outside deck with tables and chairs.  Gas heaters took the chill out of the night air.  The deck overlooked the river and a landing where numerous boats were tethered.
     Their table was immaculate with place settings and flowers.  Cain seated himself, reaching for a menu.  He knew Iris well enough to know that he’d better not pull her chair out for her and try to play the gentleman.  She’d see through that right away.
     “Someone will be with you soon,” the hostess said.  “Enjoy your evening.”  Cain watched her leave, enjoying the view.
     “It’s rude to stare at one woman when you’re with another,” Iris said.

“Really?”  He raised eyebrows in surprise.  “I’ll make a note of that.”

“If I weren’t staving, I’d walk out right now.”

“Why don’t you just pistol-whip me,” he suggested with a smile, “and get it over with.”

Iris managed to snort in a lady-like manner.  “You’d like it too much.  I’m not doing you any favors.”

He grinned, letting his roving eyes peruse the menu.  No favors?  We’ll see about that.  The night is young.  He tapped a menu item with a curved finger.  “The broccoli shrimp looks good.  I think I’ll get it with steamed rice and a beer.  Which way are you leaning?”

She offered him a wicked smile.  "I'm not sure yet.  I'm still trying to find the most expensive item on the menu."

“Do your worst,” he challenged.  “I’ve been saving my milk money.”

“You do know I want to go dancing after this?”

He assumed an expression of mock-grimness.  “I’d figured as much.  How about the Abyss?  We’ve been there before, though not on a date.”  As soon as he made the suggestion, he knew it was a mistake.  He saw a flash of pain in her eyes.  “Sorry.  I’d forgotten that place might hold some negative associations for you.”

She forced a smile, and waved off his glib contrition.  “That’s all right.  I know being a jerk comes natural to you.”

     He shrugged.  “At least I’m good at it.”

     “As long as we’re on the subject…” she studied him speculatively, “…I’ve always found it odd that after that night, my partner stopped cursing you on sight.”

     “Coleman and I reached an--understanding.”

     “Did that understanding have anything to do with the fact that the man who murdered his daughter on the dance floor was later found hacked to death in his private home?”

     “Why do you ask?  Wearing a wire, detective?”

     “Not tonight, but never mind.  I know better than to expect you’d incriminate yourself.”

     “Not unless I can turn myself in for a sizable reward and walk away, free and clear, to spend it.  I may be bloodthirsty, but I’m not stupid.”

     There was a disturbance across the deck, as a couple swept out of the restaurant, surrounded by an entourage straight from the hood.  The man and woman were white, suburban teenagers, vibrantly clothed gangsta-style.  They played at being “off the hook”.  Cain recognized the young man from the Hip-Hop Video Network as the front man for an alternative band that mixed rock and rap in equal portions.

     His date was pretty, in an anorexic sort of way, with eyebrows pierced and a tribal tattoo encircling her left arm.  Cain felt like yelling at her to hurry up and stuff some food in her face, not because he was concerned with her health, but because her shrill laugh was getting on his nerves.  He steeled himself to patience, not wanting to ruin the evening for Iris.

     “Who are they supposed to be?” Iris asked.

     “I think that’s Cracker Slush and The Posse.”

     “What are they doing here?”

     “Same thing we are.  Tryin’ to get fed.  Ah!  There’s our waitress.”

She approached their table. “May I take your order?”

Cain opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a bellow from the other table.  “Over here, bitch.  We need servicin’”

Bright smile indomitably in place, the waitress bowed toward the speaker.  “I will be with you soon.”

Cain considered going over to the table to chill the punk out semi-permanently, with malice-a-forethought.  But Iris read the intention in his eyes.  “Don’t you dare,” she said.  “I’m enjoying myself.”

Cain frowned.  “Well, that’s simply selfish.   You’re having fun so I can’t?”

One of The Posse sauntered over, and took the waitress by the arm.  He tugged.  “This way.  You musta got lost.”

Iris frowned at the rude display.  She stood.  “I’m going to the little girl’s room.  Whatever you do, have it finished by the time I get back.”  She walked deliberately away.

Cain waited until she’d entered the main restaurant, then got up and approached the stolen waitress.  His heart pulsed liquid joy through his veins as his lips set themselves in a cold contemptuous smile.  He lived for moments such as this.  Cracker Slush looked up as Cain got there.

“What do you want, Dawg?” he asked.  “An autograph?”

“Nah.”  Without sparing her a glance, Cain brushed the waitress back, getting her clear.  Knowing trouble when she saw it, she scurried away.  “I understand you gentlemen ordered a double-portion of whup-ass.  I’m here to deliver it.”

Cracker seemed delighted by the prospect.  “So, you feel froggy and want to jump, huh?”

     “No,” Cain answered.  “I’m the Scorpion and you’re the frog.”

     Cracker frowned.  “I think I’ve heard that story before.  Can’t quite remember…”

     His date spoke up.  “Jus’ beat ‘m down, hon, so we can order already.”

     Cracker shrugged and looked over his crew, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.  The biggest of them stood.  “Ah got this!” he said.

     Cain kicked the table.  Its edge caught everyone else, slamming them back into the floor, spilling the place settings and centerpiece.  Mingled curses were spat out.  The big man regained his feet quickly, drawing a Glock nine and shoving it in Cain direction.  He stepped closer and wrenched the weapon out of the man’s grasp, nearly taking the gunman’s trigger finger off in the process.  A left jab, broke a pre-flattened nose, and rocked the big man back a step.  A strike to the solar plexus dropped the guy to his knees with a WHUMPH of breath.

     Cain locked the muzzle onto Cracker’s face.  “I want hands where I can see them.”

     “Easy, Dawg,” Cracker cautioned.  “No need to get all riled.  We’re all friends here.  This-uz just a simple misun’erstandin’.”

     Cain gestured toward the deck rail and the embankment beyond with the gun.  “It’s a nice night for a swim.  Get going.”

     “Man, have a heart.  That water’s cold!”

     “Scorpions don’t have hearts,” Cain said.  “Of course, if you’d rather I just capped your ass…” he pulled back the slide, chambering a round.

     “Hold it right there!” the shout came from the railing.  Cain snapped a quick glance that direction and saw a photographer with a camcorder.

     “Damn, paparazzi!” Cracker cursed.  “Get ‘em, guys.  I want that camera—-in pieces.”

     The photographer saw them coming and turned to run.  Cain squeezed off a couple shots.  The camcorder shattered.  The reporter dropped what was left of it, running off.  Cain wasn’t doing anyone a favor; it was in his best interest not to let his face get exposure in the national rags.

     “Great shooting!” Cracker said.  “Thanks.”

     “Shut your face and get out.  This thing could go off again.”

     Cracker’s date grabbed his arm, tugging him toward the restaurant.  “C’mon, babe, I know a rave with our name on it.  We’ll hit Burger World on the way.  Food’s better there anyway.”

The party started for the restaurant and Cain stopped them.  “No.  You’re at least going to jump the railing like I told you.”

“You’re serious?” Cracker Slush asked.

     “As an open grave,” Cain answered, keeping the weapon in plain sight.  It never amazed, the lengths people go to not to be shot.  They went to the railing and climbed over and down, vanishing from sight with assorted curses.  He tossed the gun past them in a high arc.  It smacked the water and sank with a splash.
     Restaurant personnel arrived to restore order.  Cain had them bill him for the damage, then returned to his table.  Soon, Iris showed up.  She cast out an assessing glance and smiled.  “I half expected to come back and find headless corpses strewn about.”

Cain teased, “Another time perhaps...”

The waitress took their orders and hurried off.  There’s nothing like a little gunplay to get good service.  Killing time, he let Iris drag the edited details of his Oregon trip out of him.  Eventually, their food came and they applied themselves to eating.  Cain always found that committing mayhem gave him a good appetite.  Soon enough, they were done.  The waitress brought them the check and Cain paid with cash, leaving a sizable tip.
      They finished by cracking open fortune cookies.  Iris read hers: “’Flowers of true friendship never fade.’  Oh, and the back has my lucky lotto numbers!  Read yours.”
     “It says; ‘You display the wonderful traits of charm and courtesy.’ How very true .”
     Iris snorted softly in disbelief.  “I think you got the wrong cookie.”
      “Well, they’re not getting it back.”  He stood to go.  Iris followed suite.  They passed through the restaurant to the front parking lot and loaded into the car.  Once in the street, he opened the Mustang up and weaved past slower timid drivers who were too fond of existing to live.

     “You’re not afraid of getting a ticket?” Iris asked.

     “Not with you in the car.  If someone tries to pulls us over, just flash your badge.  They’ll assume we’re on a life-and-death mission with the fate of the world hanging in the balance.”

     “They’ll think I’ve been taken hostage by a madman.”

     He grinned.  “They’d be right.” He saw the sign he wanted and pulled into a parking lot that adjoined a white building with giant plaster white columns guarding a porch.  They disembarked and went toward the club.  A sign on the front doors announced a private party in progress; regular business was suspended for the night.  A rather humongous doorman was posted to prevent the wrong element from crashing.
    “There’s a private party going on,” Iris said.  “I think we’ll have to go someplace else.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

Iris smiled to herself.

“You don’t think I can get us in?” Cain asked.

“It’s not that.  It’s your Brazilian accent.  Your tee-aitch endings are all effs.  It’s cute.”

“Vicious psychopaths are scary, not cute.  And I can speak two languages.  How many do you know?”

“You’re also fluent in bullshit.”

“We’ll see.”  He addressed the doorman.  “Enrico, how’s my party going?”

“Fine, Mr. Cain.  Everything has been handled, as you requested.”  He opened the door for Iris to enter.  “I hope you and the lady enjoy yourselves.”

“It won’t be for lack of trying,” Cain said.

     Inside the club, the decor loosely replicated an Egyptian temple to the moon.  Gilded hieroglyphics and faded paintings were conspicuous on plaster walls and columns.  There were women in tight dresses with men swarming around them all across the main room, ensnared by eddies of laughter and conversation.  An open door led to a walled garden where a live band was attempting a metal version of the James Bond theme song “Live and Let Die”.  Loud and obnoxious, the music was just the way Cain liked it.

     He and Iris checked their coats.  A hostess arrived with a warm smile, offering a corsage.  Cain took it.  “Beauty should anoint beauty,” he mumbled, pinning it on Iris.  Taking her hand, he led her toward the bar.  They knew his tastes here; he didn’t have to order.  A green apple Pucker’s appeared before him in a tall cold glass.

     “Margarita,” Iris said.

     “Coming up,” the bartender said.  He looked enough like Enrico to be a close relation.  Cain noted the resemblance without commenting on it, reaching for his drink.  The band took a break, and in the relative silence that followed, Cain heard a disturbance toward the front door.  He cast a speculative eye that way and saw the bouncer backing into view, contending with numerous gatecrashers.

     Interest turned into irritation as Cain recognized Cracker Slush and his posse.  I just can’t seem to get away from that guy tonight.  I’m going to wind up killing him yet.  The prospect was not without some attraction.  The bartender went to backup Enrico.  The argument grew more heated as Cracker’s boyz faced the unpleasant reality that they weren't wanted.

     “Those guys give criminals a bad name,” Cain said.  “They get a little street-cred and they think they own the world.”

     “I suppose I could always bust them?”

     From the lack of enthusiasm in her voice, Cain knew Iris didn’t really want to have to work on her night out.  He decided she wouldn’t have to.  “Don’t worry about it,” he said.  They’re leaving.  Speaking of which, I’ve got to go to the men’s room.  Be back in a few…”

     He pushed away from the bar and headed into the crowd.  After several steps, he looked back.  Accepting a drink from a barmaid, Iris’ attention was elsewhere.  Cain changed his course, heading out into the garden.  Though the people here knew him, they ignored his presence, swilling booze they hadn’t had to pay for.

He crossed to an empty table by the wall, stood on a chair, stepped to the tabletop, and jumped from there.  Over the wall in a flash, he dropped down to pavement.  He doubted anyone had seen him leave.  Circling the building to the parking lot, he found Cracker Slush and his friends were in the midst of heated commentary on the sorry state of current affairs.  They didn’t see Cain until he materialized next to them.  Cracker jumped back a step.  His posse grew still and watchful.  Only Cracker’s date kept up a diatribe.
     Cain spoke loudly to pierce her vocal static.  “You guys need to go home and stay there.  I’m tired of running into you everywhere I go.”

     “It’s a free country!” the woman explained.  “We’ll go where we want, when we want.”

     Cain gave them his best graveyard smile.  “I was hoping you’d say something stupid.  Wait here.  I’ll be right back.”

     He walked toward his car, conscious that they weren’t waiting.  They followed him to his Mustang and watched with interest as he unlocked the trunk.  It popped open, and he removed his coat, tossing it in.  He stripped off his shirt next, not wanting to get it all sweaty and blood-covered.  The shirt went into the trunk as well.

He heard appreciative murmurs as his body ink came into view.  Tribal markings, succubus, dragon, scorpion, and skull images identified him to those who knew about such things—-not this bunch, of course.  He pulled a sheathed katana out and turned to sit casually on the lip of the trunk.  The sword caused raised eyebrows and speculative stares.

“Has it come back to you yet?” Cain asked Cracker.

“Has what come back?”

“The story of the scorpion and the frog.”  The man shrugged his indifference.  Cain went on anyway.  “Once upon a time, there was a scorpion and a frog trapped on a rock that was surrounded by rising water from a flood.  Now normally, the scorpion would just cap the frog’s ass and have done with it ‘cause he’s a total head case.  But seein’ the water rise, the scorpion knew that the frog was his only way to safety.  See, the frog could swim but the scorpion couldn’t.  All he’d ever done was just kill things.”

“Yeah, it’s coming back,” Cracker said.  “I’ve heard this story before.  There's a truce and the frog agrees to carry the scorpion to dry land.”

“Right,” Cain said.  “The scorpion stings the frog in the water.  They both start to sink.  The scorpion don’t care; he’s had his fun.  But the dyin’ frog can’t understand why the scorpion would act so crazy.”

“He musta been on crack,” the woman suggested.

Cain shook his head side to side.  “Naw, that’s not it.  A scorpion kills because he just can’t help himself.  He’s nature’s way of punishing those who are too trusting or too stupid to live.”

Cracker shrugged once more.  “So what’s the point of all this?”

Cain stood and drew his sword.  “Everyone should know why they die.”

Cracker and his posse leaped back.  Two of the band members snatched for guns, swinging them toward Cain.  The point of his sword danced, glinting with light.  He tapped the barrels, realigning them as they discharged.  One bullet caught Cracker's head, splashing blood and grey matter liberally about as he fell.

     Another bullet caught the woman in the throat, introducing her to blessed silence.  She crumpled, grabbing, her wound as her life slipped away.

     The two shooters froze up, horrified by what they’d done.  The others began to strip Cracker of his necklaces and rings.

     Cain sheathed his blade and tossed it back into the trunk.  After gathering up his shirt and coat, he closed the trunk and sauntered off toward the restaurant once more, dressing as he went.
     Cain found Enrico back at his post.  They both faced the parking lot, watching as the Posse bolted for their cars.  “Tragic,” Cain said.  “Such a gifted artist, cut down in his prime by street violence.”
    Enrico grinned hugely.  “Musta been a rival label from the East Coast muscling in.”

Cain nodded in agreement.  “I understand your sister is in the hospital.”

“Yeah, just sqeezed out a puppy.”

“Kids can be expensive.  Hospitals too.”  He handed the big man a clump of bills.  “Maybe this will help.”

“You are a kind man.”

Cain nodded, forced to agree.  “Sure, just don’t let it get

around.”

“You have my word,” Enrico promised.

“That’s good enough for me.  I think I’ll go back inside before I’m missed.  Maybe you should call the cops.  Dead bodies in the parking lot can’t be good for business.”

“Rest assured, I will see to it.”

Cain went back in.  He strolled past the coat checkroom, noticing that the girl was on break.  Threading the crowd, he reached the bar, taking the stool next to Iris.  She turned to him as he arrived.

“About time you got back.  I thought you might have fallen in.”

“Fortunately,” he said, “there was a lifeguard on duty in the restroom.  So, having a good time?”

“Matter of fact, I am.”  She finished her drink and signaled for another.  “But don’t think you’re going to have your way with me later.  I’m not that kinda girl—-‘less I want to be.”

“Whatever you say.”  He reached for his drink.  “I only think pure thoughts where you’re concerned.”

Iris snorted softly.  “Like I believe that.”

Cain raised an eyebrow.  “I believe you’re getting hammered.”

She ignored the suggestion, turning her head as the band began to play a slow ballad.  “I want to dance.”

“Sure.”  He stood and offered his hand.  “This is your night.”

“That’s right,” she went with his lead.  “And don’t forget it!”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”  On the dance floor, he assumed an innocent expression.  “I know my place in the universe.”

“You’re being enigmatic on me.”

She peered into his eyes.  He noticed she was having a little trouble focusing.

“Why are you being enigmatic on me?” she asked.

He took her into his arms, relishing her softness, the warmth of her presence.  She moved well with him, completing him in ways he’d never needed before.  “Just can’t help myself,” he admitted.  “It’s my nature.”