Lovers’ rock pumped out from four powerful speakers tilting down from each corner of the sumptuous leather-and-chrome-furnished room, flooding the air with meaty, pounding bass and swirling, crystal-clear strings. Rocking his head in time to the music. The Man was outwardly calm – inwardly, though, he was seething. Only the dangerous glint in his slanted catlike eyes gave any hint of the fire blazing within. Linda, his latest pick-up, lay beside him in a blissful haze of drug-induced euphoria, her white-blonde hair splayed out across her pale shoulders, her long legs curled beneath her, sending her short skirt high on her slim white thighs. With one glossy red talon, she idly scratched at his knee as her hot breath gently penetrated the crotch of his Armani trousers. The Man shifted irritably. It was two-thirty in the morning and he was not in the mood for any of her sex shit. A week down the line, and already she was beginning to irritate him.
