After your entrance into the underworld, you begin to make a living disposing of your client's cheating partners. Love is completely off the table. After all, who would be able to find true love in a place like Hell?
From the author of Dancing With...
La Lune looked like the kind of place that would toss Striker and me out on our asses if we walked in looking like our normal selves. After a quick drive-by to see the outside, I drove us down several more blocks to a mall.
"Do you really think we have time for a shopping spree, darlin'?" Striker asked, crossing his arms as I pulled into a parking spot.
Killing the engine, I answered, "If we walked into La Lune looking like a couple of lower middle class nobodies, security would catch on quick. We need a change of wardrobe if we're going to do this right."
Striker rolled his eyes, getting out of my car. I ignored the attitude and followed suit.
An hour later, Striker and I were exiting the mall bathrooms in updated, more socially elite, outfits. Striker had chosen a classic black and white suit while I had opted for a brown Louis Vuitton dress.
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Giving me a sidelong glance, Striker chuckled, "That has got to be the ugliest fucking dress I've ever seen."
I shrugged, "I have a working theory I want to test. It doesn't matter how outrageous and ugly the clothes are, all that matters to the elites is the brand name."
