The club was dark, crowded. The smoky air and press of bodies was stifling. She felt a hand grope her crotch as she pushed her way through. She grabbed it without a thought, bending the fingers back until she heard a yelp over the din of the music. Her eyes met the bloodshot, pain-filled eyes of her molester.

"Oh shit, it's you Skunk. Sorry," Char yelled the apology over the music and left him nursing sprained fingers.

She continued to scan the crowd, she knew he was here somewhere. In the sea of black leather though, it would be hard to find anyone. She wedged her way through the tight mob, fending off more than a few wandering hands but with less force than she had used on her hapless friend.

She paused for a moment and watched as a young woman climbed onto the bar to dance. Hips grinding, the girl began a strip tease for the growing crowd of avaricious men gathering at her feet. The shirt came off, exposing full round breasts encased in black satin. She continued swaying, her hands caressing her body but with no obvious move to continue her disrobing. Hands reached out, grabbed the girl and she disappeared into the tight group of watchers. The black satin bra emerged and was passed through the laughing group, followed by what Char recognized as the young woman's skirt. Ugly crowd tonight. A bouncer appeared and roughly rescued the now-sobbing young woman. Char couldn't help but think it was a lesson learned with minimal injury. She moved away, still searching the crowd, the careless young woman all but forgotten.

She was about to give up and head for the door when she caught sight of unruly blond hair. Finally. She pushed through the undulating masses and approached her target from behind. Reaching out, she grabbed the leather- clad arm roughly. The man jumped and whirled to face her, an angry sneer on the handsome face.

The sneer disappeared and was seamlessly replaced with the familiar, oily smile. "Char, darling. Good to see you," he yelled almost inaudibly.

She leaned close and yelled into his ear, "I gotta talk to you Bruce. Now. Okay?"

He nodded and followed as she led him back the way she had come. She took his hand and pulled him to the battered door of the women's bathroom.

"Hang here. I'll go clear out any bodies."

She disappeared inside for a long moment, finally reappearing and gesturing him inside. With the door closed and locked, the music was reduced to a bass rumble vibrating the graffitied walls.

Bruce leaned in close, placing his hands on her shoulders, tequila fumes in a powerful aura around him. "So baby, how come you dragged me in here? Trying to get me all to yourself?"

She looked into the bloodshot eyes and pinpoint pupils and forced a smile. "Uh huh. Why else?"

He grinned and tried to pull her to him but she was sober and quicker.

"Down, big fella," she teased. "First I got a couple of things from Stella. You heard about Steve," she managed to keep her voice steady.

"Yeah. Too bad. Found him in the john of that dim-sum place, didn't they?"

"Wednesday night," she swallowed. "The service for him was today. I didn't see you there."

"Naw. I don't do funerals. They depress me." He shrugged, looking bored.

"He came and saw you Wednesday, didn't he?"

A paranoid glint sparked the bloodshot, blue eyes. "Maybe."

"I thought you weren't gonna sell him any more shit. You promised Stella. He was trying to get clean."

"What of it? His money's as good as anybody's. And I gotta make a livin'. You ain't blamin' me cause he OD'd, are you?"

She could see the hostility rising in the perpetually suspicious and paranoid dealer. "No. We all choose our own path. Steve chose his, you chose yours and I've chosen mine. Some of us just have a little more free will and motivation than others."

"That's right, baby. Now, how 'bout you choose to shut up and let's get busy."

Another tight smile. "I told you, I got some stuff from Stella. She was cleaning out Steve's desk and found a few things I knew were yours."

She pulled a brown glass vial from her right pocket. Through the tinted glass it was easy to see it was nearly full of white powder.

"Thought you'd want this. Me and Stella don't touch the stuff, so we thought we'd get it back to someone who'd appreciate it."

The blonde eagerly took the stash and grinned. Unscrewing the lid, he tapped a small hit onto the tip of his little finger and snorted it with obvious pleasure. "Right on baby. And Steve always had good taste."

She could see eagerness growing in the wild eyes. She quickly went on. "And here, I think this was yours," she pulled a small semi-auto handgun from her other pocket. "I think you left it there a few months ago."

"Hey baby, don't shoot. I thought we were friends," he stepped away, his tone light, but his eyes wary.

"Shit, Bruce, I wouldn't shoot you," she handed it to him grip first. "Here take it. I don't want it."

She watched as he slipped the clipless gun into his right jacket pocket. The brown vial found its way into the safety of his Levis. "So now, where were we?"

She let the unoriginal line pass without comment and took the collar of his jacket in both hands and pulled him against her. She kissed him hard, tasting tequila and cigarettes on his tongue. Rough hands went instantly for her breasts, kneading them with painful clumsiness. She unbuttoned her shirt, letting the greedy hands grope her without impediment. The hands found the buttons of her jeans and managed to undo the fly with minimal effort. She felt a hot, dry hand slip down between her legs, fingers bungling and unskilled. Bruce was breathing heavily, wafting alcohol vapors over her.

"Oh baby, come on, come on," he mumbled hoarsely.

She let herself be pulled against his chest. Rubbing against his rock- hard crotch, she whispered, "Not here. Let's go to my place. It's just around the corner."

"I can't wait. I want to fuck you now," he complained.

"It'll just take a minute, c'mon. I'll make it so worth it."

She pulled away and smiled up at him, buttoning first her jeans then her shirt. Eyes less clouded by drugs and lust would have been alarmed at the dangerously predatory nature of her smile. Bruce saw nothing.

She knew he would follow, docile as a puppy, so without another word she left the bathroom and plunged back into the fray. She pulled Bruce along by the hand, only releasing him as she neared the exit. She pushed ahead quickly, leaving him to negotiate his own way.

Bursting out into the bleak, rainy street, her eyes scanned quickly for signs that her hurried phone call from the bathroom had bore fruit. The street was nearly deserted. There, an obscure, dark-colored sedan with two men sitting motionless in the front seat. And leaning too casually against a parked van, two more men looking studiously rumpled. She made her way quickly across the street to the shelter of a darkened doorway and turned to watch the participants of her orchestrated drama play their parts.

Bruce stumbled out into the night, his head pivoting as he searched the night for her. The two loitering men left their post against the van and approached. In the quiet of the evening, she could hear a clear voice.

"Bruce Campbell? Portland Police, we'd like to talk to you."

She could see the panic run through Bruce's body. He tensed as if ready to run. The cops slowed their advance. Now was the moment she had waited for.

"He's got a gun!" she yelled hoarsely from the shadows.

Both cops reached for their weapons. Bruce reacted as she had known he would. His right hand went to the jacket and came out with the empty .25. Both cops fired. The noise was deafening as it echoed off the brick and cement buildings. Bruce crumpled to ground like the bag of sewage that he was.

"Your path just came to the end of the line," she muttered, a smile playing across her lips before she slipped away into the drizzling night.