"Because I'm armed as well, Paul."He blinks-my gaze is beginning to fry his brain. "What you got?""A knife. A very sharp knife. Do you want to see it?"He takes a step back, letting go of me, and levels the gun at my belly. "Showit to me," he orders.I raise my right leg in front of him. My balance is as solid as that of amarble statue. "It's under my pant leg. Take it out and maybe we can have alittle duel."Acting like a stud, throwing his pals a lecherous glance, Paul cautiouslyreaches up inside my pant leg. Throughout the act, he doesn't realize howclose he is to having his head removed by my right foot. But I havecompassion, and I don't like to drink from a gusher-it might stain myclothes. Paul's eyes widen as he feels the knife and quickly pulls it freefrom the leather strap. He handles it lovingly, showing his friends. I wait,acting impatient."I want it back," I say finally. "We cannot duel if you hold both weapons."Paul can't believe me. He is tired of my insolent manner. I begin to tire ofhim as well. "You's a smart-mouthed bitch. Why should I give you this knife?You might stick it in me while I'm lovin' you."I nod. "Oh, I'm going to stick it in you, be sure of that. I don't mind thatyou and your buddies prowl these streets like hungry panthers. This is ajungle and only the strong survive. I understand that, better than you canimagine. But even the jungle has rules. Don't take what you don't need, andif you do, be a sportsman about it. But you're not a sportsman, Paul. Youhave taken my knife and I want it back. Give it to me right now or you willsuffer unpleasantly." I stick out my hand and add in a voice as dark as mylong life, "Very unpleasantly."His anger shows; his cheeks darken with blood. He is not a true animal of thejungle, or he would recognize a poisonous snake when he saw it. He is acoward. Rather than hand over my knife, he tries to slash my open palm withit. Of course he misses because my hand is no longer where it was an instantbefore. I have withdrawn it to my side, at the same time launching my leftfoot at his gun. I hit only the revolver, not his hand, and see what theother three don't-the weapon landing on the roof of a three-story apartmentcomplex off to one side. Paul's buddies back up, but he continues looking forhis gun. His mouth works, but words are slow to form."Huh?" he finally says.I reach out and grab him by the hair, pulling him close, my left hand closingon his hand that holds my knife. Now he feels my gaze as beamed through amagnifying glass set in the hot sun. He trembles in my grip, and for thefirst time he must realize how many different kinds of animals are in thejungle. I lean close to his ear and speak softly."I see that you have killed before, Paul. That's OK-I have killed, too, manytimes. I am much older than I look, and as you now know, I am also muchstronger. I am going to kill you, but before I do I want to know if you haveany final requests. Tell me quick, I'm in a hurry."He turns his head away, but his eyes cannot escape mine. He tries to pullaway and finds we are momentarily welded together. Sweat drips from his facelike the river of tears the families of his victims have shed. His partnersback farther away. Paul's lower lip trembles."Who are you?" he gasps.I smile. "I'm a party girl, like you said." I lose my smile. "No finalrequests? Too bad. Say goodbye to mortality. Say hello to the devil for me.Tell him I'll be there soon, to join you."My words, a poor joke to torment a victim I care nothing for. Yet there is agrain of truth in them. I feel a wave of pain in my chest as I pull Paulcloser. It is from the wound when a stake impaled me the night Yaksha
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