Seven Demons Aidan Truhen (reading an ebook TXT) 📖

Saul and Saul’s genitals is that he bivouacs with a landscape designer and I am the recognized sex partner of the world’s premier psychopathic bioscience researcher. My boy parts may or may not be physically equal to Saul’s but they are fucking intrepid. Doc’s present erotic jam is an experimental memory drug called Fisahypnozerasol. FHZ is the next thing I will illegally sell if I ever get back into the illegally-selling-things business because it is fucking brilliant. It acts on the brain to blur memory around the point of orgasm so you can remember the fact of having amazing sex but not exactly what was amazing about it or what led up to it, which means you can ask your partner to do something motherfucking weird without fear because both you and they will forget details of the whole thing the following day. On the downside if you do not orgasm you remember everything and therefore it is crucially important to have a backup plan because you do not want to collect a mental library of frustratingly incomplete sexual experiences. But that is fine because you also can do the same amazingly obscene thing over and over and not get bored of it. So Doc and I are having exceptional sex right now and every time it is nervous and new and intimate and totally disgraceful and then we get to do it all again. A month ago I woke up with scratches from my ankles to my ass and words from a Swedish road map written on my junk and I can safely say I will never see the Frösö bridge in the same way again.

I sit and think about the astonishingly obscene things I have done that I cannot remember until we reach the next station.

Cross the border into France. New guard is silent. She drinks coffee. She has a mark on her finger where there used to be a ring. Clips my ticket and we’re done.

Like that.

I read half a book and leave it on the table. Monte Carlo station looks like a golden bathroom with trains.

Short walk across town.

—

I let us in to Sharkey’s apartment and we get in the shower. Water comes out hard and hot because billionaires love not paying tax but they still expect good pressure or they start to think they’re getting ripped off.

I stand in the shower in my clothes. Saul stands next to me. Saul stands next to me in the shower in his clothes getting soaked and he is okay with that because he is a professional.

“Saul this is super professional I am impressed.”

“To be honest Jack I was thinking about porn. This is a kind of a porn scenario here.”

“That also makes perfect sense but the point is that I could not possibly have known that if you had not told me. That is professional.”

So we stand there being professional and now I’m also thinking about porn. I think about Doc and all the terrible things we have done to each other and about the way she moves and about the terrible terrible things she will do to Agent Hannah and—

Professional.

Sharkey gets in the apartment and hears the water and makes the obvious wrong deduction that his lovely lady Crystal is here and no doubt that in his mind there is also baby oil because he comes through the door naked and flings open the shower cubicle and after a minute or so where we all just look at one another. Because it’s there I guess Saul just rests the emphasis gun right over Sharkey’s erection like a cloche on a cake.

Sharkey passes out on the bath mat.

—

While I work I am still a little bit unhappy about the sawed-off situation like I feel I am the boss I should definitely have the coolest gun but the gas cannon was a very specific moment in my life and you know what they say you cannot go home again.

Sharkey wakes up.

Sharkey says: “What the fuck do you think—”

“No Sharkey no. Please not today. Today is a me day I am taking a me day.”

There is something in my voice or Saul’s face or maybe just the emphasis gun because Sharkey listens.

“I am unhappy Sharkey. I wish to converse in honesty and openness as between professional men. Men of commerce Sharkey who respect one another and who understand the ebb and flow of economic totality and who recognize imperatives.”

“What fucking imperatives Price for—”

With my free hand I point one finger downward. “Whut wait whut now,” Sharkey says, and looks. Then after a while he says: “What. The. Shit?”

I say: “That is a suicide vest for your scrotum.”

Because it is.

—

The vest is not absolutely a vest because it is more like a snood. I crocheted it out of detcord. It will not actually kill a person outright. Not immediately at least. Having your scrotum explode is not necessarily fatal it is just what you might say a turning point in a life such that there is a time before and a time after. That said, Doc assures me that very few people will voluntarily act in such a way as to cause explosive testicular vaporization. It is psychology plus also even in the event you are not real into scrotal lifestyles—and Sharkey is—having your sac blown into orbit by a detcord snood is no one’s idea of rock and roll.

Sharkey gets some clothes on like baggy sweatpants and a sports jacket so now he is real on-trend for the Yacht Club brunch and he says that I have his full attention which I do.

—

“Here is how we will do this Sharkey are you paying close attention? Say yes Jack.”

“Yes Jack.”

“I am right now in a mood Sharkey. I am in a pisser of a mood. But I will trade your continuing scrotitude for information freely and unstintingly given.”

“Aw come on Jack I cannot—”

“No Sharkey NO. I am TALKING.”

“…Okay Jack.”

“I do not want your general business details or