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RIO DE JANIERO, BRAZIL -- APRIL 16
Midnight
Brian

You know in Alice in Wonderland, when Alice approaches the catepillar, and he's like this big regal thing sitting on the leaf with the pipe in his mouth and a ton of psychedelic smoke and colors swirling around him, and he's looming over here all important and intimidating and Alice seems to shrink, as he shouts in her face WHO ARE YOU? and those letters come flying out of his mouth and float away into the skies of Wonderland?

Marisol was a Brazilian beauty, with the darkest tan skin I've ever seen and that deep, mahogany-red hair that can only come from a bottle. It was wildly curly, thick and bushy, and she wore a strappy bikini thing that reminded me of Princess Leia's golden bikini except it was hot pink. She had a silky robe on that hung sexily from her shoulders like a thin, sheer waterfall. It even sparkled as she moved. She was sitting literally on a throne and she had one of those long cigarette holders like Aundrey Hepburn in Breakfast At Tiffany's. She stared at me from behind thick, thick mascara and eyeliner, her mouth perfectly painted as bright as her bathing suit.

"What is this all about?" she called regally, eyes narrowing, lowering her cigarette from her mouth. Smoke streamed from her lips like the front of a steam engine, and she moved, shifting her long, naked legs, which ended in these sandals that twined up her legs like a Greek goddess.

I swear if I wasn't a married man, I would've wanted to jump her right on the spot. She was like a sexual vision of pure lust. She was liquid, like a panther. I could literally feel myself getting turned on watching her. I silently shot prayers of apology upwards as she moved, leaning forward, her breasts getting caught in the light, sparkling with sweat from the heat and... well, I've always been a breast man.

"You should already be in London," she purred, but it was a purr of anger, not of delight, like a puma about to pounce.

Part of me hoped she would pounce.

"Wait." She leaned close, inspected me. "Bring him closer," she cooed.

Two thick, beefy guys that I mentally dubbed to be Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee grabbed me by the arms, smudging my "tattoos" with their fingers and shoved me toward the thone. I stumbled, hit the cement on my knees, scraping my hands on the floor. Blood trickled from my palms, dirt embedded itself into my skin. I felt vomit rising in my throat.

My sexual lust goddess was about to figure out what was going on.

She reached out a foot, lifted my face with her sandal, her eyes squinted. She slid off the throne to the floor, crouching before me, her body so close to my face I could litterally smell her. She reached out a hand and touched my fake facial hair that Nick and Lucy had so carefully applied. Her sharp claw-like fingernails dug against my cheek skin, scratching me, clutched the edge of the hair, and ripped it off, revealing my own jawline. She pulled off my hat, her fingers ran through my hair.

"You shouldn't be here," she hissed. She loomed over me, her eyes intense and her mouth nearly upon mine. "Who ARE you?" she demanded.

"Uhh--"

"I'm waiting for a response," she whispered, pressing her cheek against mine.

"I- I-"

I wanted nothing more than to hear the door behind me burst open, to hear Nick and Lucy walk in, guns blazing. But all that happened was the door made a slight creaking sound. All eyes turned to it... but nobody came through. No Nick, no Lucy. No help.

Marisol stood up, yanking me to my feet beside her. My ankle wrenched and I let out a whoop of pain. "Shut up," she snapped. She glowered at me. "Why are you impersonating Alexander?" she demanded, using AJ's full name.

"Someone killed him," I gasped out, "He's dead. He was found dead in Sweden, he's dead. I'm his friend," I choked out the words, my voice shaking like crazy as she motioned for Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee to come forward. They each grabbed one of my arms and she stood before me, glowering. "He's dead."

"When?" she demanded.

"Last week," I gasped, "April 4th."

"Bullshit," she shrieked. "He was here just yesterday."

"What?!" I asked, just before the breath knocked from me at that moment as Marisol landed a well aimed kick directly to my gut. I doubled forward, hanging by my wrists, which Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee held firmly.

And suddenly there was a flash of light, a loud explosive sound, and the world went black as I hit the cement face first.


**********


"He's cracking."

I panicked. My hand flew into my jacket and out came the dynamite. A reach into my pants netted my lighter. Before Lucy's mouth could even open, I lit a stick.

"What--" she began to say. I pulled my arm back and tossed.

"are you--"

The stick hit the top step and, to my horror, began to roll back down. Towards us.

"doing?!"

Suddenly my mind spun backwards. I was eight years old again. The sun had brought out freckles I didn't even konw I had. My siblings were running around and yet I was out at the pier with dad and he was flicking his own lighter. "Hold it away from you," he commanded. The sparkler lit up and the sparks seemed to literally dance up towards the night sky. I stood immobile for just a second. Then, I broke into a smile and began to dance it around through the air.

The current moment played out a lot like that. When the dynamite rebounded, I was first frozen.

Then I remembered to dance.

"GO!" I yelled.

Lucy turned, but paused. She reached up and touched my mask. Her hip curved into the junction of my outstretched hand. It felt nice, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. She turned and I followed her at breakneck speed down the steps.

Once back on the ground floor, we got separated. I pushed my way through the throng of bodies and headed out the front door. My toe had just hit the junction between sidewalk and street when--

"BOOM!"

Now, dynamite can obviously do damage, but realistically one stick wasn't going to bring the whole place down into a giant fireball. Even so, that didn't stop the smoke from billowing out from the second floor or the horror in my stomach rising to my throat in a cry.

I had killed Brian. I had maybe even killed Lucy. Yes, she was annoying, but she had a lot of spunk. And she was pretty. Was?

The people that were still waiting in line were quickly backing up. All the door security had fled inside, pushing through all the people trying to get out. A lot of commotion was coming from a boat parked at the dock.

Different country, same mayhem.

I hadn't noticed it at first, what with my heart rate spiraling out of control and the heat from the explosion and overall humidity, but a heavy rain had begun to fall. A few black feathers on my mask drooped down, sticking to my cheek. I suddenly felt exposed even with the disguise. I darted back down the alley where we had first gotten in.

The entrance we had used to enter the club was at the very beginning of the alley. The dark corridor took a sharp turn up ahead. I kept close to the wall. The farther I walked, the more voices started to fade. Suddenly, there was a deadly quiet. A quiet that turned my palms cold, yet made me sweat at the same time. I reached back into my jacket pocket, ignored the other stick of dynamite, and pulled out a small flashlight. I clicked it on.

At first, I was sure I was seeing things.

There, dangling upside down from the building in the pouring rain, was Brian. He had a nasty cut on his head, but it wasn't the cut or even the fact that he was alive that made me dumbstruck.

No, what made me practically swallow my tongue was the fact that his lips were crushed against someone else's. Someone who was willingly kissing back. Someone whose dress was soaking wet, leaving very little to the imagination. A someone whose hands were cupping his head and accepting a little bit of tongue that the doggish-country boy was dishing out.

Brian was acting like we weren't in danger. Like he wasn't hanging with a sheet wrapped around his ankle upside down.

No, Brian was acting like he had been waiting all his life to do this.

To kiss Lucy. Lucy, whose hair was the color of caramel and chocolate swirled together. The girl whose waist had fit perfectly in my hand.

I had obviously discovered that fact a little too late.

It was like I was in one of those dreams where you dream you're awake but that you can't move a muscle. There I was, immobile, watching my best friend and our gorgeous tag-a-long, feeling completely betrayed and getting more and more drenched.

The sirens were the only thing to shake me out of my daze. That and the bleeding, giant breasted, first-breathing woman-dragon that stood in the alley flanked by two body guards.

"GET THEM!"