The young man was dressed in the garish attire of a male prostitute; daily dukes and a tight mesh Armani eXchange pullover. Light makeup did little to enhance his fair looks, but they completed the advertisement.

He knocked on the car's window, leaning towards the glass to make sure it was the man he was looking for. The window slowly glided down, and the man was beginning his protest when Argent's Blood-driven fist crashed into his temple.

...

The dripping sound was all there was when the man came to, until Argent saw him stirring. Pulling his chair near, he took the iPod's buds out of his ear and slapped the man to full wakefulness. With a wry grimace, the Daeva noted the small flecks of blood that flew astray, and the dripping noise paused.

"Daaaaaave," he drawled, holding up the bound and suspended man's driver's license, "Were you going to be naughty again? I see you've dyed your hair and grown a moustache, but you just can't seem to stay away from the boys' schools and orphanages, can you?"

If there were protests, they were lost in muffled noises around the dirty socks Argent had duct taped into his mouth.

Argent moved away, pickup up small speakers that had been resting on a police artist's rendition of a darker haired, facial hair free version of the man he held captive.

The dripping noise resumed as Argent plugged his iPod into the small speakers, but were soon lost behind Whitney Houston's voice.

"See, Dave, I do believe the children are the future, and you're certainly not giving them a sense of pride," he explained. He pointed, drawing the man's eyes to bucket below, filled with crimson liquid.

Drip.

Drip.

"I'm stealing your life away," Argent said, almost giggling. He tapped the tiny silver dagger embedded in the man's carotid artery, the source of the dripping rivulet. The man spasmed in pain, and again the dripping paused.

"How many smiles and laughs do we have here?" he asked, tapping the bucket with his toe. It skidded slightly, revealing the scale it rested upon. "Have I taken all you've stolen yet?"

Argent squatted until the other man could see him clearly.

"When the scale says I have, I'm going to let you go Dave. Hollow, and scared. Scarred. But... know this. I'm only doing this so that you understand, and live, with what you've done. If we have to 'chat' again..."

Argent smiled his winning, insouciant smile as he moved away.

He watched the man sag as the tension and fear of death left him, and he rolled his eyes at the ignorance as he picked up a larger knife and a Bernz-O-Matic.

He stopped to turn the music up, but the screaming still drowned out Whitney's ballad.

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