“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” Hunter asked, his voice quivering with awe.

Karine closed one eye and bent to inspect the giant rock of crack cocaine that Hunter was cradling to his bosom. Hunter attempted to fellate one of her bouncy brown locks of hair, and she belched.

“Whoa,” Karine said unsteadily as she stood. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Not on Hunter Jr., you’re not,” Hunter cried and pushed away from her on his office chair. Finnegan had installed him in a small office–a storage closet really–deep in the Residence. He went less than a foot and the back of his chair hit drywall.

“Is this what you do all day in here?” Karine asked. The office smelled like a mushroom farm.

“Yup, just me and Junior, smoking up and cranking the hog to motorcycle crash videos.”

“Must be nice, I have to go out there and they ask me questions,” Karine said. “Questions I’m supposed to answer. It’s very difficult. I’m under so much pressure.” She pulled a can of Bud Light from her purse and scrabbled at the tab with her fingernails.

“I know what you need,” Hunter said as Karine finally opened the can. Karine took a long drink and sighed.

“What do I need?” Karine asked, closing one eye and then the other. “Cock? Is it cock? Is it your cock? This is tiresome.”

Hunter giggled.

“I’m a rug-muncher, dammit; a clam-digger,” Karine said angrily. “I want a woman, smooth and hairless. Preferably one that one of you hasn’t jizzed in.”

“Is there no room for a bisexual in your heart, Karine? Aren’t we, in the end, just all people?”

“Demon,” Karine spat.

“Now, now. While I maintain you do need a few rounds of deep-dicking, I was thinking Junior here might be just the right medicine.”

“I am not smoking crack,” Karine said.

“Are you sure?” Hunter said in a high falsetto, nodding the softball of crack like it was talking. “I’m the cure for what ails you, Rin-Rin.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” the crack voice asked. “Stop being delicious? Stop being fucking awesome?”

“The voice is creeping me out,” Karine said quietly.

“But I’m your friend,” Cracky the Rock said. “Don’t you want to be mine?”

“Jesus,” she muttered in disgust, swallowing hard against a rising gorge.

“Smoke me, Karine,” the crack rock begged.

Hunter bashed the huge chunk down on the desk and Karine jumped.

“Ow,” the Cracky said. “That hurt, Daddy.”

“Well, I’m sorry Junior, but it’s not like Karine can smoke all of you,” Hunter said, using the large rock to nose through pieces that had broken off.

“This one looks just right,” Cracky said, pushing a piece the size of a butterbean toward Karine.

“Are you sure that’s not too much?” Hunter asked the rock.

“Of course not,” Cracky said. “Have I ever steered you wrong, Daddy?”

Hunter picked up the fragment of crack cocaine and slipped it into the pocket of Karine’s jacket.

“I’m just going to tuck that in here in case you need it later…” Hunter gave her a grotesque wink.

“Bye, bye, my little butterbean,” Cracky said. “You go play nice with Aunty Karine.”

“And the best part,” Hunter said as she backed out of the room, “They just restocked the paraphernalia vending machine down in the basement. Fresh stems and culinary blow-torches for everyone!”

Cracky saying, “I love you, Daddy,” broke the spell, allowing her to turn and flee.

Hunter licked the rock, one long slow drag of his tongue over its rough surface, and shivered in delight.