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“Bro, that was intense,” Marc’s telling Alex in the locker room as they’re getting dressed after showers. Aside from a towel wrapped around his waist, Alex is naked except for a silver necklace that dangles a Black Nazarene medallion and tattoos on his back and arms. Alex makes sure to keep his privates properly covered with the towel. Guys walking around butt-naked in the locker room is another of Marc’s pet peeves. “Which part?” Alex asks him. “Cause that dude had so many climaxes.” At first, Marc looks at him as though he can’t believe what he has just said; then he bursts out laughing. “Yeah, that dude was having multiple orgasms,” Marc says. “Seriously though, you think he’ll be back? I’d hate to throw away my membership fee cause I just started here.” “He should be. I mean, all you did was tell him off. He’s a grown man. He can take it. And if things heat up again between you two, don’t worry. I’ve got your back.” “Thanks, bro,” Alex says and reaches over for another fis
“You’re THE Marcus de Sade?” Alex blurts out when they’re outside. They’ve spilled out onto the sidewalk and into the conflux of people, but it’s near noon so there are pockets of privacy. They’ve managed to slip into one of these pockets. “Yep, nice to meet you,” Marc says. “Whoa! Bro, you’re a legend yourself!” “Um, I wouldn’t really say that unless you’re a 30-plus-year-old mom or a virgin schoolgirl.” “I mean it, bro, you’re a legend in my circles too.” “And what circles is that, if I may ask?” Alex glances over his shoulder to check if there’s anyone within earshot. They’re both fast walkers so there isn’t. “I’m a PUA,” he says, using the well-known abbreviation for Pick-Up Artist. “Shut the front door!” Alex beams proudly at his new BFF. “Today’s chock-full of surprises,” he adds. “No kidding,” Marc says. “I always knew your kind existed even this deep in the Catholic bastion. I just never actually met one.” “Ha! Catholic bastion… I like that. How’s the Church treatin
Naturally, Alex won the game. Marc was an impatient player and tried to pull on him a Scholar’s Mate, or checkmate in four moves. Of course Alex was onto him and, when Marc saw that Alex wasn’t making the moves that he had hoped he would, all the fight left Marc that early on in the game. His shoulders drooped and all his body language and facial expressions reflected his defeatist attitude. Needless to say, Alex made quick work of his non-existent defenses. “Any pointers you can give me?” Marc asks as they scoop up the chess pieces and drop them haphazardly into Alex’s bag. “Well, you’re obviously focused on only the short game. Classical matches are usually four hours long. That means two hours per player. If you’re going to sacrifice a piece, don’t do it too early because a non-novice player can see you coming from a mile away. But yeah, a Scholar’s Mate can work on a beginner – or maybe somebody who’s only half-awake.” “Scholar’s…” “You know, the blitz strategy you tried to spr
At the funeral, Mr. Genie was survived by no family except Alex and then a whole spectrum of bigwigs from the government, private sector and military. Even Enderun’s Dean Lazaro was there, leading a small delegation of senior Howlers and not the particular batch who was allegedly responsible for Angela’s disappearance: Batch ’19. It was a veritable who’s who of the underworld. Not so much the illicit world of mobsters but the unseen web of shady people that actually run the country. Tensions ran so high the city government had to send half the police force in uniform, along with a dozen intelligence agents in plain-clothes. Mr. Genie was a high-powered accountant; the crooked kind. Alex guessed this was the reason why he gravitated towards orphanages and orphans and, in particular, Angela. Mr. Genie probably felt a constant need to atone for his sins. When it came to fast-talking, financing terrorists and making cartloads of money invisible to the tax man, there was no one better. M
“What other hobbies do you have apart from chess?” Marc asks. “Well, you know, just the usual. Riding my motorcycle, photography, MMA, cooking and street dance.” “A Jack of all trades, are we?” “Master of none.” “As a writer, I completely understand the need to be a generalist,” Marc says. “What do you ride?” “Kawasaki Ninja H2.” “Whoa! Your camera?” Marc’s questions are coming faster now, like in a one-sided 21 Questions Game. “Olympus PEN. I hate heavy cameras.” “What’s your fave theme to shoot?” “Nature. Trees and flowers. Sunsets. Fields, before they get excavated and steamrolled into subdivisions.” “The reason I ask is because I’m a photography geek myself.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. I’ve got a DSLR.” “What do you take?” “Pictures of people. It helps me with my writing.” “For real?” Marc nods. “I bought a drone last month and I’m still getting the hang of flying it. I’m telling you, it’s addictive. Of course it’s so I can take amazing aerial shots.” “Don’t you need to get a
“Does it work online?” Marc asks excitedly. “Over text or Fasebook Messenger?” “You betcha.” They fall quiet for a while and dine on all the meat in front of them, though Marc is more intent on putting away pints of beer. “With your target girl, your ex,” Alex continues, “there are several factors that come into play. First things first. What’s your goal?” “My goal?” “Yeah, your goal. Do you want to hang out with her, get back together…” “Well, first, hang out with her with the long-term view of getting back together.” “Why?” “What do you mean why?” “I mean, is this a one-shot thing? In and out. Bang her, get it out of your system? Or do you want her to be the mother of your future children?” “I’m going to be honest with you, I actually saw Steph and I getting married in the future. But her cheating on me threw all that away.” “Steph. Stephanie. Is that her name?” Marc nods. “Well, the first thing I need to know is if you’ve sent her any other messages, text or otherwise,
It’s hard to describe Hunter and Foxy's relationship. It’s that complicated. In the beginning, they’re drug dealers who use more than they slang. They’re also pimp and prostitute who are into voyeurism, exhibitionism, erotic asphyxiation, erotic humiliation and the cuckolding fetish. Then Hunter develops a taste for violence: kicking the door open on an unwitting client and robbing them, beating up other guys if they so much as look at Foxy the wrong way. They even turn to robbing stores and gas stations for a while. That’s when they become a sort of Bonnie and Clyde tandem, catching the media’s attention and throwing money in the slums to lose the pursuing authorities. Then one day, the short-tempered Hunter makes the grave mistake of beating up a teen who’s actually the son of somebody in the underworld. This is how they end up on the radar of Mr. Solomon, a drug kingpin. Mr. Solomon is attracted to Foxy and becomes her regular customer. Worse, it becomes apparent that Foxy also lov
“I-I don’t understand,” Marc stutters. “What are you doing here? Where’s Steph?” “Sit your ass down,” Alex says coldly. Alex’s server for the night, Julie, walks over and cheerily asks him what his friend would like to order. Alex tells her: “Oh, he’s not my friend. And he won’t be staying long.” “I see…” Julie says uncertainly. It’s the first time tonight that Alex is making her feel even mildly uncomfortable. “How’s the sisig?” “Like the original one in Angeles,” Alex says with a smile, and that swiftly restores the rapport between them. “No mayo or egg. No shortcuts. Like I said, those would’ve offended my soul.” After Julie left giggling, Alex’s genial demeanor turns ice-cold. “I’ve been onto you since day one,” Alex explains to the red-faced and dumbstruck Marc sitting across from him. “I followed you to the gym on Steph’s request, because you weren’t taking the breakup well. I know all about the death threats and the stalking.” Alex picks up the manila envelope next to h