"The fuck you say! I'm startin' to hurt, and I need them both, bad. So gimme your purse, and I'll only cut you a little." It was a lie. He intended to put a pattern on her face like the one carved on Pinhead in Hellraiser.

"No, you don't need them." She sounded patient, like a kiddie school teacher showing a retard how to tie his shoes. "You don't need them because you're not going to live long enough to require them. What you need, Slick, is to die, and I can take care of that."

She dropped her purse, and his eyes automatically followed it. Good, she wouldn't be able to pull a weapon. "Kick it over here."

"Are you kidding? That's patent leather, and I don't want to scuff it. You aren't listening, Slick. I said I'm going to kill you."

He sneered. "Yeah, right. You're gonna break my neck."

"Actually I thought I'd tear you up some and let you bleed to death. I don't feel like breaking your neck, it's too quick and clean."

His voice rose in anger. "I ain't playin' with you, girl."

"But I'm playing with you." And she pounced. That was the only word for it. She didn't run, or dive, or jump. She pounced. Slick whipped the knife up, aiming for her hip. He didn't want to kill her, at least not right away. A good gash in the meaty flesh along her hip should take the spunk out of her.

But she twisted sinuously, and the blade missed it's target. At the same instant her hand flashed past his face, and there was a sting on his right cheek. Instinctively he clapped his free hand to the hurt. When he drew it away, there was a thin red smear on his palm. The bitch had drawn blood! Was she armed after all? There was still no weapon in evidence, so she must just have caught him with a ring.

"All right, you get one. But that's it. This shit has gone on long enough."

"Oh no, baby." Her voice was throaty, with an odd vibration to it. "Believe me, it's just starting."

Her arm swung so quickly that he didn't realize what was happening till he felt the burn on his left cheek, and saw her pulling back. This time the blood flowed thickly, and it felt like she had applied a brand to his face. He might even need stitches.

"What the fuck was that?" Slick yelped. "You got a razor or something?" He hated razors: nasty, efficient things.

"No, nothing man made. Nothing..." She held up her hands, backs toward him, fingers spread and wriggling, like a woman showing off her new set of acrylics. "...unnatural." She said the last word with a giggle that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Christ, those things were an inch, inch and a half long. Why hadn't he noticed that? And they weren't rounded into ovals at the tips, they were needle sharp, and curved like fish hooks. That couldn't be right.

She was talking, as if answering some protest he'd made. "I know, I know it seems unfair. I have ten... Well, twenty, but I'm not taking off my boots, and you only have one. But hey, you're bigger than I am, right?"

Numbness had been creeping over Slick, but some deep rooted survival instinct finally reared up. If he went for her while she was distracted, he might have a chance. He lunged, just as she said "...right?", this time aiming for her soft belly, intending to open her up.

Again she seemed to shimmy out of the way, but he flailed as he staggered with his forward momentum, and the blade sliced into her right side, deep. He pulled back, waiting for her to collapse, or grab for her wound so he could get in a few more stabs.

She didn't do either. She plucked at the rip in the neon green polyester, spreading it. He could see a long gash, dark on her pearl white skin. It was slowly oozing something that looked like blackberry jam.

"Son of a bitch! This was one of my favorites, and it's ruined! You can't patch polyester without the seam showing." She kicked him in the crotch.

Slick dropped the knife and grabbed his basket, slowly sinking to his knees. It hurt so bad that he couldn't even scream. It felt like one of those big firecrackers he used to bomb mailboxes when he was a kid had exploded in his pants. As he fell on his face and began vomiting, he wondered if they made steel toed patent leather boots. It felt like they did.

She put a foot on his shoulder and pushed him over on his side. "Don't choke on your own spew, dickhead. That's too easy." She squatted beside him, and he had a clear view up her dress. Her thighs gleamed like white satin through the garish pink net. She did not keep her knees together, like a lady, and Slick saw that she was wearing cheerful paisley panties.

"You think this is happening because you tried to rob me, don't you?"

"Didn't mean it, " he croaked. "Take my money."

"You mean Mercy's money." Two quick slashes, opening the skin on his forehead and chin to the bone.

"Shit!" he wailed. "I'm sorry! I'll let the bitch go, I promise."

"Too late for that, Slickster." Before he could move she straddled his chest, knees pinning his arms on either side. He bucked frantically, but she just swayed easily with his motions, refusing to be unseated. She pulled off the sunglasses, eyes closed, and folded them, slipping them into one of the round front pockets of her dress.

Then she opened her eyes slowly, and they were red. Not blood shot, but red, and glowing like fresh embers. She smiled, showing far too many teeth. Even the ones in front, the incisors, that were supposed to be flat were sharply pointed. As he watched, she curled and stiffened her fingers, and another half inch of nails slid out. Slick felt his bladder let loose. "Since you took off half her face, I think it's appropriate that you lose all of yours."

Now Slick did scream, as she set to work with a will. She cuffed and slapped his unprotected face, each blow ripping skin and muscle. The blood splattered in gouts and ribbons on her dress, the red on green resembling a painting that might have hung in a Soho art gallery during Warhol's heyday.

Then, abruptly, the weight was gone. She was gone. Slick lost no time in rolling to his knees and crawling toward the alley entrance. Maybe it wont be too bad, he thought through his pain. Maybe if I get to the emergency room they can stitch it up, give me something for the pain...The damn dumpster was across the alley, blocking his escape. Groaning, Slick hauled himself up and shoved it.

It didn't budge. Trying to wipe blood out of his eyes, he threw his entire weight against it, and it didn't even tremble. It was like trying to push his way through a solid wall. But she'd moved it earlier, made it look like she was pushing a shopping cart.

There was a feral hiss, and she sprang out of the shadows along the wall. She landed on his back, sinewy legs clamping around his hips, arms going around his neck, and claws finding his face again.

Slick staggered back, the creature never pausing in it's assault. The bright copper taste of blood flooded his mouth as she tore through his cheeks. Then she was off him again. This time he tried to slide between the wall and the dumpster, but the gap was too narrow. He grabbed the rim and tried to heave himself over, feet scrabbling for purchase on the slick metal.

A taloned hand slammed down on his right shoulder, knocking him to the ground and amputating his ear in the process. That was when Slick realized that whatever this was had been toying with him, allowing him to think he had a hope of escaping.

He slumped to the filthy concrete, back against the dumpster. "Please." It was a thick gurgle. He spat out a wad of blood, but his mouth filled again instantly. He just let it dribble down his chin as he begged. "I took care of her. She wanted to, I swear. She was proud of how she could earnbefore... before..." He trailed away in dismay, realizing what he'd been about to say.

"You put her on her knees in every way possible, Slick. She's out there walkin' and talkin' and pumpin' warm blood, but she's deader inside than I am, and I'm pretty damn dead." She rolled her shoulders, like a boxer warming up before the bell rings. "Last dance!"

Her hands were a blur of motion. Gobbets of flesh and scraps of skin flew. The nose went, the eyes went. She hooked a nail in either corner of his mouth and jerked outward, giving him an unnatural ear-to-ear grin. Then she sat back on her heels and watched him, head cocked sideways in intense interest.

His chest rose and fell weakly for another minute or two. Once he managed to lift his hand to his cheek. When he touched his teeth through the gaping hole, his hand dropped back. Finally he was still. She leaned a little closer, delicate nostrils flaring as she sniffed. Then she nodded and stood up. "I'd tell you to say hello to Satan, but I seriously doubt you had enough of a soul for him to bother with you."