King's Pleasure

Chapter 24

Rolling in the Deep

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Then There Was One

Chapter 32

Prologue

Quentin Dewayne Hinton was getting desperate. It began slowly, but now it was picking up steam. A part of him longed for the days when he was reckless and carefree—drinking by day, screwing by night. Why, oh why, did it have to end? Deep down, he knew the answer. His carefree life had ended when he became the very thing he detested: a successful businessman.

In the beginning, of course, it had been fun. But that was only because he had joined forces with his cousins, the Kings. And just like the three Musketeers—there were four of them. But as the late, great Biggie Smalls said: “More money, more problems.” And Quentin’s biggest problem seemed to follow him around wherever he went.

“Let me get this straight,” said Father Dickerson, braiding his fingers together. “You want me to perform an exorcism on you?”

Quentin coughed to clear his throat. “Well, me and my house…and my car. And if it’s not too much to ask, at this club that I work at.”

“You mean the strip club?”

Q coughed a little harder this time and straightened upright in his chair. “I guess for a lack of a better term… Uh, yes. I, uh, own a chain of strip clubs called The Dollhouse. Actually, there used to be four of us. Well, three, really. They were supposed to operate the clubs and I was just the money man—the silent partner. Then they started settling down and selling their shares in the business. The next thing you know—pow! I own the whole kit and caboodle.” He flashed the cleric an awkward smile.

Father Dickerson’s eyebrows crashed together in the center of his forehead. “Son, please forgive me if this next question offends you. But, uh, are you well?”

Quentin actually gave the question serious thought. “To tell you the truth, Father, I’m not sure I’m qualified to answer that just yet. I mean, honestly. I can be frank with you, can’t I?”

“Sure. Absolutely.”

“Good.” Another smile crept across Q’s face as he tried to clear his throat again with a deep cough. “To be honest, I feel fine—better than fine on most days. I mean, how could you own the hottest strip clubs in three cities and not feel upbeat about life, right?”

Father Dickerson just stared at him.

“Well, maybe you don’t know. But trust me. A man like me, still in his prime and surrounded by beautiful, firm, heavily oiled bodies is its own blessing.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” the priest said.

“Yeah, uh, right. Anyway, there has been some un- usual— Well, not quite paranormal activity happening from time to time.”

“Paranormal? Like ghosts?” the priest asked, trying to quickly get to the crux of the problem.

“Well, that’s the ‘not quite’ part of it,” Quentin said, squirming.

“Son, if you’ve come to me for an exorcism, that leads me to believe that you’re seeing or hearing some sort of, shall we say, disturbing spirits?”

Quentin looped the phrase through his head a couple of times, but he was still uncomfortable with it. “Now, does your definition of spirits mean that the person or persons are…”

“…Dead,” Father Dickerson supplied as more lines creased his forehead.

“Well, see, that’s still my gray issue.”

“Come again?”

“Well, the entity that I’m dealing with hasn’t exactly died.”

Father Dickerson continued to stare at Quentin.

“She—”

“It’s a woman?”

“Yes. Actually, she’s my sister-in-law, Alyssa.”

“Your living sister-in-law?”

“As far as I know.” Quentin shrugged. “I mean, I haven’t talked to her in a few months, but I’m sure someone in the family would’ve contacted me if something had happened to her. Then again, who knows? I’m not exactly on the best of terms with my family.”

Father Dickerson snatched off his black-rimmed glasses and proceeded to rub his eyelids. “Let me try this again,” he said. “You want an exorcist to get rid of a spirit that isn’t really a spirit but a recurring vision of a woman who is very much alive? Do I have that right?” he said in disbelief.

“Well, it’s more than just a vision. She talks to me and tries to give me advice—most of the time when I’m not asking for it. She’s made me look crazy in front of some of my dates. Her specialty is popping up right after I— Well just because you wear that collar doesn’t mean you don’t know what goes on between a man and a woman. Am I right?”

When the joke fell flat, Quentin couldn’t cough long or hard enough to clear whatever the hell it was that was stuck in his throat.

“Son, this is probably the first time in my thirty-one years at this parish that I’ve ever said this to someone who has come to me for guidance. I would love to help you, but what you need—neither I nor the church can really help you with. I think that you need to see someone in the mental-health field—maybe someone in a white coat, with the authority to prescribe medication or who can admit you to someplace safe.”

“I’m not crazy,” Quentin declared defensively. “At least my shrink doesn’t think I’m crazy.”

Relief flooded Father Dickerson’s face. “Ah, so you are seeing someone.” He reached over and picked up the phone. “Is there a number or…?”

“What about the exorcism?”

“Son, I can’t exorcise a spirit that doesn’t exist. It is metaphysically impossible for someone who is alive to haunt you. Clearly you are seeing and hearing things that just aren’t there. I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s not the answer you wanted to hear, but that’s the cold, hard truth.”

Quentin shook his head. “Well, can’t you just sprinkle some holy water around? I mean, what’s it going to hurt?”

“Mr. Hinton, are you even Catholic?”