(Interpol office— Honolulu, 2015)
“Do I know you, agent Robinson?”
“Let’s just say that I’ve been keeping tabs on you, agent Benedict. Have a seat.”
“Please call me Bernie.”
Dauna walked up to his chair and leaned in. “Do you know me? No, not in the ‘biblical sense, my little god whisperer.”
“Aye aye aye aye? Ah, mi chorizo! You’ve been to Mexico? I must show you a little trick that I picked up in a Tijuana bar.”
Dauna leaned her back against her cocktail bar on one elbow, and zeroed in on Bernie while she drew down an entire cigarette in one continuous breath. From beneath the hem of Dauna Robinson’s skirt, a trail of smoke descended like a slo-mo waterfall into a pool that swirled and bathed her delicate feet.
“Did you like that? Do you talk, hun?” Dauna’s soft eyes were drinking in her new human chew-toy from head to toe.
Bernie watched her rub her cigarette butt into her masochistic ashtray. ‘Masochistic?’ Why would an ashtray be masochistic? What’s wrong with me? Locked and loaded, rocking, she closed in on her prey.
The rhythm! The shark! THIS might be a good time to panic.
Dauna smiled in response to his thoughts, wide and hungry. SHARK! You fuckwad! Leave now! Bernie cautiously backed toward the door as she mercilessly dipped and swirled her thick hair beneath him, filling his useless head with a near leathal dose of her Home Wrecker Perfume.
Dauna the Fijian Shark Goddess relished watching the silly mortal turn into easy-to-digest molten, runny, squishy mush.