‘Hey, what about that place?’ Asmodeus said. He was pointing across the road where a building with a brightly lit awning, blacked out windows and bright neon lights advertised cold beer, sexy girls, and good times.

Pyriel slowed down.

‘Crusty Crab? Not the most ingenious name for a strip club,’ she retorted.

‘Who cares, as long as they have decent whisky.’ After their encounter with Classyalabolas, he decided that he needed a drink more than ever.

‘Looks OK.’ She shrugged. ‘We can’t do much worse than the last place.’

‘That’s for sure,’ Asmodeus mumbled to himself, shuddering to expel the recent memories.

Pyriel parked the car.

***

Pyriel could hear loud bass music before they even closed the car doors. As she opened the club door the music hit her like a tsunami.

‘It’s damn noisy.’

‘If it’s too loud you’re getting too old,’ Asmodeus shouted back as he gave her an encouraging push.

Stumbling, Pyriel entered the club. Asmodeus strode in after her. Her eyes did not need to adjust to the gloomy haze created by cigarette and artificial smoke.

Taking in the ambiance, Pyriel liked what she saw. It wasn’t a high-end club, but it had a quaint touch of class about it. Several low-lit booths lined the wall with several free-standing tables dotted about. The carpet felt thick and sticky. Barely clad ladies walked about serving alcohol on cocktail trays. Further into the club, toward the stage, were most of the punters. Most sitting, starring, and lusting at the dancers as they performed erotic and gymnastic dance routines. A man stood up and tucked a 1$ bill into the dancers’ G-string. She, in gratitude, blew him a kiss.

Still standing in the gloomy, unlit entrance, Pyriel noticed one of the girls carrying a tray approaching. As the girl came closer, her welcoming smile disappeared. With mild amusement, Pyriel watched as the colour drained out of the girl’s face. Her expression changed to one of incredulity. Having turned white as a sheet, the girls knees buckled, and her tray dipped. Pyriel could hear the crash of shattering glass even over the music. Several patrons turned around.

‘I— I— thought—. I saw you die,’ the server mouthed.

Her chest heaved erratically as she continued to stare at Pyriel with Bambi eyes. Her hands shaking wildly. One of the security people, accompanied by two other girls, made their way over to investigate the commotion. One by one they stopped. Turning ashen. Staring in disbelief.

Ah crap, they know this meat suit. Pyriel thought. This could get awkward. Having been in this situation before she knew that amnesia is not only a very real symptom but also an ideal excuse in situations like this.

The security man gestured to someone. Moments later the music was turned down, allowing conversation.

The trio stepped closer. Pyriel was the first to speak

‘I’m sorry, it appears you know me. Unfortunately, I have no memories after an accident. Can you help me, please?’ Pyriel mustered a fake smile. This was the worst possible situation. From experience she knew that anybody returning from the dead caused problems in the world of the living.

One of the girls had regained some of her composure. She approached cautiously. Continuing to stare at Pyriel with an expression of doubt. She reached for Pyriel’s hand. Her own still shaking.

‘You’re cold babes,’ she whispered. The girl burst into tears. Feeling a sliver of compassion brush over her, Pyriel stared back with shock and surprise as the young woman lifted her arm and flat handed her in the face. About to snap her fingers, Pyriel shrieked as the young server grabbed her shoulders and gave her a crushing hug.

‘You bitch; they told us you were dead,’ The girl stammered. ‘We saw you die in the dressing room. They put you in a body bag. Then they took you away. We cried for hours.’

Just my bloody luck to stumble into the same place this body died in. Crap, here come more. Leave me alone. I just want a quiet drink. Now they’re going to question me. Then they’ll get all emotional, start crying and then they’ll want to hug some more… help… Where’s Asmo—. Asmodeus! You bastard. Pyriel watched with fury in her eyes as Asmodeus sneaked past. Grinning from ear to ear, he was pretending not to know her. I will get you for this, she swore to herself. Well, there’s only one thing left…

Having prised herself loose from the girl’s vice like hug, Pyriel gazed deep into her eyes before shouting: ‘SURPRISE! Let’s get a drink.’ One by one, the others thawed from their carbonised state. Unanimously it was agreed that a drink was in order. A bottle and glasses were sent for. Then the questions began. “How”, “Why?”, “When?”, accompanied by lots and lots of: “Really’s?”, and Pyriel’s favourite: “OH — My — God”, The way it was shouted, usually in a high-pitched voice with the occasional hand in front of the mouth for extra theatrics, gave Pyriel the hibbie jibbies.

***

Feeling like Houdini during his final act, Asmodeus shuffled to the side between the crash of glasses and the slap. He ensured that all attention remained on Pyriel, who had the expression of a condemned woman walking up the stairs of the gallows, as he snuck past. The fact that her body was known to the people here seemed like a her problem. Why should they both be made to suffer? Seemed silly. Giggling devilishly to himself, Asmodeus made haste toward the bar. Careful not to attract attention, while ignoring Pyriel’s death stares.

Much to Asmodeus’s disgust, the barman too seemed fully occupied with Pyriel’s arrival. Ignoring him, completely.

‘Hello?’ Asmodeus shouted. He waved toward the man. Besides giving Asmodeus a brief sideways glance, the man stood fast. Really? Feeling physically insulted, Asmodeus shouted:

‘Oi!’ This time the barman turned his head. His eyes met Asmodeus’s ruby glowing ones. Like a puppet, its string cut, the barman turned and shuffled over in jerky, robotic like motions.

With his eyes transfixed on Asmodeus, he spoke in a low monotone.

‘Yes master.’

‘Ah, good. Now that I have your full attention, I want you to pour me a whisky. A double. Top shelf.’ The man began to turn. ‘Oh, and should you see my glass-approaching empty, you will top it up. Pronto. Unless I tell you otherwise. I’m your number one customer, and you will make sure I’m happy and watered all night. No breaks. Do you hear me?’ The bartender, in a trance-like state, nodded.

‘Yes, master,’ he replied in the same monotone before shuffling away to do his masters bidding.

Asmodeus peered over to where Pyriel sat with an ever-growing crowd of people around her. Hey, where did she get that from? He had spotted a bottle on the table from which Pyriel was busy pouring herself triples. Downing glass after glass. But even with a whole bottle at her disposal he could see by her tortured expression that she was not having a good time. Humans could be so overbearing. With the arrival of his own drink, he quickly reverted his attention back to his own needs.

***

Pyriel was becoming increasingly grumpier. Finally, after repeating the same story and answering the same lame questions, as different girls came over after finishing their sets, she had enough. Out of the corner of her eye she had been watching the girls performing their routines on the elevated stage to the accompaniment of music and flashing lights. It looks easy, and fun, she thought. Swing around, twist a little and show a little flesh. Easy-peasy. What could possibly go wrong? With a newfound determination she got up. She pumped the air with her fist as she shouted like an Amazonian warrior.

‘Enough talk. Let’s rock this place.’ She glanced about. ‘Where’s my pole?’

Everybody cheered.

‘That's my girl’ The owner yelled as Pyriel stormed toward the stage motioning to one of the girls to surrender her pole. There was no objection. Having jumped onto the stage she crouched down on all fours beginning to lick the pole while looking seductively at the patrons who rewarded her with loud cheers.

How hard can this pole shuffle really be? she wondered as she gripped the cold, chromed steel. The pole felt solid to her. Obviously designed to withstand the most ambitious and acrobatic sets the dancers could conjure up. Grabbing the pole with both hands, Pyriel pulled herself up. Straddling the pole, she slid down to her haunches while throwing seductive glances at the onlookers. The natives went wild, cheering and throwing dollar bills onto the stage. Flopping onto her back she continued her show by flapping her legs in the air like a stranded turtle.

Time to get creative, she thought smiling, I’m going to give them a show they’ll never forget.

With the agility of a Buffalo climbing a tree, Pyriel managed to shuffle to the top, where she wrapped her thighs tightly around the pole, crossing her ankles for more anchorage.

Ooh, they’re going to love this. She threw her upper body backward, letting her arms flail about. With puckered lips and seductive smiles, she glanced about as she waved at the crowd. More cheers, more dollar bills.

Uh-oh, I’m sliding —. Before she could readjust, she felt herself accelerating down the pole.

Her head hit the stage with a hollow bang. Her body followed, fuelled by momentum and gravity. As her neck twisted to one side, a loud crack, like a dry tree branch being snapped in two, was clearly audible over the music. Several onlookers cringed and covered their eyes. Others shrieked or gasped. Pyriel’s body came to rest on the stage. Her neck twisted at an impossible angle. While her bum stuck up like a lollipop.

An eerie silence befell the club as somebody silenced the music. All eyes were transfixed on Pyriel. The girls who had shielded their eyes peered through their fingers at the tangled mess before them. Only Asmodeus’s imperturbable slurping broke the silence.

Pyriel’s arm twitched. Then a leg. Her eyes fluttered, then opened. Cautiously she began to take stock.

What the—. Why am I looking at my ankle? Ah, crap, my arm is pinned down by my leg. Shit, I feel like a bowl of spaghetti. Ok, how am I going to do this? Carefully she began detangling her arms and legs, managing to get herself into a kneeling position.

‘I’m OK,’ she shouted as her head flopped from side to side. Nobody replied. She found the pole and managed to pull herself back onto her feet. ‘I’m OK, really,’ she repeated while wondering why everything looked so different. Realising that she had lost control of her head, she felt about until she found the ears. Grabbing a tuft of hair, she managed to lift the head above her shoulders. The crowd gasped in unison.

‘This bloody thing won’t stay up,’ she grumbled, but still mustered a smile.

As she let go, the head fell to the side and rolled onto her chest.

‘Really?’ she exclaimed. Grabbing tufts of hair, she yanked the head back up. ‘This is going to be difficult to drive with.’ Using both hands to support the appendage, she glanced about. The crowd stood staring with gaping mouths. ‘Does anybody have some duct tape?’ she asked.

One of the dancers let out a blood-curdling scream.

‘Here we go again,’ mumbled Asmodeus as he threw back the last of his drink. The dancer, still squealing, began to run toward the stage door. Her scream became a catalyst. A mass exodus, to the accompaniment of loud screaming, shouting, and running, toward the exit or stage door ensued. Only the barman, with a vacant expression, and Asmodeus remained.

‘What now again?’ Pyriel shouted from the platform. She was still struggling to keep her head under control. ‘Hey, what about my duct tape?’

Colour changing spotlights bathed the stage in reds, greens, and blues while a ceiling mounted mirror ball continued turning, scattering light fragments in all directions. Feeling like a party pooper, Pyriel absorbed the gloomy atmosphere. It hadn’t been her worst night, but the thought of going back to the hospital was less than appealing to her.

‘Hey, pass me that bottle,’ she heard Asmodeus say to somebody. ‘You better get out of here too, but no screaming.

‘Yes master,’ came a monotone reply.

‘I can’t find my shoes,’ Pyriel complained. Still holding her head by the hair, she kept turning it to the direction she wanted to search in.

‘Here.’ Asmodeus handed her one of the shoes.

‘I’m sorry, I just had to get away from them. All those questions, the hugging, I had no choice. And it looked like fun.’

‘Never mind. C’mon,’ said Asmodeus, offering Pyriel a hand. ‘Let’s go.’

‘This party sucked anyway.’ Pyriel huffed as she clambered off the stage, struggling to support her head.

Outside the road was quiet. Most of the cars had gone and there was no sign of any police cars, yet. A couple, holding hands and laughing, came around the corner. Their smiles vanished as they spotted Pyriel.

‘C’mon, let’s go,’ said Asmodeus. He took Pyriel’s arm to guide her.

‘You better drive,’ she said snickering. ‘I’d need three hands, one to hold this damn head, one to hold the steering wheel and another to shift gears. And you know I’m no good at multitasking.’

Asmodeus, sounding annoyed, shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

‘Oh well, back to the lab again,’ Pyriel sighed as they got to the car. ‘I think you should keep it under sixty-five on the way back. I really don’t feel like getting pulled over again.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Asmodeus and waved his hand. The car started. ‘Since you cut our evening short, and I’m driving, I get to choose the music,’ Asmodeus explained. He waved his hand over the radio until he found what he was looking for. The voice of Johnny Cash blasted from the speakers to Asmodeus’s accompaniment. He sang loud. He sang proud.

‘—and we rode on a ring of fire.’

‘Heaven help us,’ mumbled Pyriel, her head rolling from side to side. Then the windscreen cracked, again.