It took a few hours but eventually, with the help of the mystery beast, the place got cleaned up (and it even ate my vomit from the night before). I kept a close eye on the thing, knowing that sooner or later it was going to try to escape or take a swipe at me. Every once in a while it would sniff at me, then look away when I flipped it off. It was nearly twice the size it had been this morning.

Mo’Lock kept pacing around the room while I drank and smoked myself into a nifty stupor. I had no idea what to do about the creature but my concern was nowhere near as great as the ghoul’s.

“We’ve got to think of something,” he said. “We’ve gotten nowhere.”

I was drunk. “I stand by plan A. Let’s put the little bastard on a spit and roast him.”

The ghoul got pissy and ignored me for the next hour.

I didn’t really care. Fuck him. He’s the one who got us into the mess in the first place.

Mo’Lock was sitting and pouting at the window when the limousine pulled up to the curb outside the building. I had started going to work on the second bottle and I was riding a pretty hard buzz.

He turned to me. “Cal, come here and look at this.”

I got up, fell back into the chair, tried again. Once I got my footing, I went to the window. The back door of a huge, shiny black limo was being held open by an equally huge bald guy at the curb in front of the house.

I sobered a bit and turned to the ghoul. “Get into my room with that thing and keep it quiet while I deal with this,” I said.

I immediately began scanning the room for blood or anything else that might give us away. Outside, I heard footsteps clicking up the walkway. I fast tiptoed over to the door and gently unlocked it. Behind me, Mo’Lock, with the creature in hand, shut the bedroom door. I fast tiptoed back to my desk and kicked over my trash can by accident. It made a tremendous noise, but I was sitting by the time the knock came at the door.

“Come in!” I yelled.

And in they came; three of them. I first noticed the two gigantic, oddly identical-looking thugs. They were the twin towers of goons. In front of them was a little crotchety old man, their boss, I assumed, who looked like he soaked in salt water for a month, then rolled in a ball and was pounded with a mallet until every inch of his flesh wrinkled.