In Sintropolis, you don’t need to go looking for trouble; it walks right through your office door. The day began like most, the timid sun barely peeking out from behind the morose clouds to shed a few watts of luminance onto the concrete and steel spires. Sitting at my scarred, wooden office desk, the cracks in the plaster walls a bas-relief road map of some mythical place I’d never visit, the soulful sax playing on the r...

The taxi chauffeured me across town. The low-class pushers, prostitutes, and criminals disappeared along with the sirens, replaced by a much higher quality of pushers, prostitutes, and criminals. The ever-present, evening rain beat down on the pavement, slickly glowing in the dim streetlights. Clean-shaven, wearing my good suit, I managed to relax a little as the cab neared Club Infidel. I’d been there before. In Sintropo...

It took every ounce of my concentration to hold the telephone receiver to my ear. I was on hold, listening to distant, phantom voices. Tricia, the waitress from Club Infidel, last night, was on her knees before me, her mouth hungrily servicing my cock. I gave her a call after my reconnaissance at the Ginnis estate. She was nice enough, pleasant to be around, and insatiable in the sack. She had spent the night with me. My...