Anne smiled as the door banged. Ax could not sleep on the flight back. Thinking too much. He was raging inside as he slowly sipped his vodka. People were like dogs. But, unlike dogs, they did not know it. Dogs had a good sniff to figure out who was the boss. People put societies in place to avoid that type of “confrontation.” But Ax knew. He had seen it too often not to know.
Anne was a bitch dog. She knew power and how to wield it. Every man in that room had been the same. They all knew power. What they did not know was how to die, he thought.
Ax took another deep swig, emptying the cheap plastic glass as he looked out of the cheap plastic window. He shook his head. They did not know how to die, he thought again. Do I know how to die, he asked himself?
“Another, Sir?” asked the pretty hostess. “Yes, please,” he said.
He thought about all the rules that society made. Just to keep the “normals” in order. But he was not normal. Never had been, he thought. He thought about the time he’d been “captured” by drug dealers, Venezuelans intent on finding out how he knew the shit he knew. They were going to cut him open. When they came back with his passport in bits he thought about dogs. Who had the bigger bite. Who was most ferocious? Ax got free of that. That “situation.” And when they came after him he took care of it. That was the thing. He knew, God how he knew, that he could be “a nice guy” but that was only half the story. He would kill the same person the next day if that person fucked up. Fucked him up. Tried to or would try to. End of.
Sooner or later Anne would have to go. It was a matter of time. Bitch.
He took the bottle from the pretty hostess, emptied it into the same plastic glass, emptied it into his brain, looked out of the window then closed his eyes and fell asleep.