The Case 2

The scene is a chamber, draped with thick red curtains. The air is smoky and the lighting seductive - the atmosphere is that of a sordid little bordello. Reclining on a couch in the centre of the room is L, a whore. She is arrayed in a manner and garb that suggests but doesn't reveal. Enter S.

L: Well hello -

She eyes him up and down with distaste.

L: ...love. What's your pleasure?

S: Huh. This isn't the men's room.

L: Oh, like that is it? I swear, they always send the jokers to me. And by the smell of you, you're some kind of joke yourself. A joking joke, how about that? Are you one of M's? She's been trying to get back at me ever since I left her to handle those two Scots. She couldn't walk straight for a week, you know.

She eyes him up and down again, lips pursing.

L: Pretty poor joke, even for her. Look, love - I don't fuck punters with lice. No offence or anything, but it's hard enough to avoid things like that in a place like this. And if M sent you along, tell her she'll have to do better than that.

S finds his tongue.

S: You've got it all wrong, madam.

L: I'm no madam. Not yet, anyway.

S: Right, miss. Whatever you like. Fact is, I'm here on business.

L (laughing): Business, is it? Instead of pleasure? In here, they're one and the same, love. Though you'll be needing a wash before you get to do the business with anyone.

S pats himself down.

S: Not that kind of business. Do you think I just strolled in here, looking like this? As you've so charmingly put it, I reek. I stink of the gutter and I look like I've been living in it to boot. And as a matter of fact, I have been. Too many people in this world'll turn their noses up at a nice, cosy gutter. At least you don't have to share a gutter. That bed looks pretty comfy. How often do you have to share?

L: Often enough. Okay, I'll bite. What's a walking garbage dump like you doing in a place like this? More to the point, how did you get in?

S: One crisp banknote to the gorilla on the door, three crisp banknotes to the lovely woman at the front desk, and asking for you by name. You're quite famous, you know. In the gutters. Is it true that a man died in your arms, and your kiss stole his soul?

L: I wouldn't know about my kiss stealing his soul. He was over sixty, though. What can I say? He got overexcited. You'd be surprised how often that kind of thing happens in a place like this.

S: Yes, I'm sure you've seen it before. After all, you've lived in places like this since you were fourteen, haven't you? Do you know what they call you?

L: Don't say it.

S: The Nun, isn't it? Funny nickname for a whore. I suppose it must have to do with all the time you spend on your -

L: What do they call you? And more to the point, what the hell do you want? You're not interested in fucking me, despite the fact that you can't keep your eyes off me. You pay rather a lot of money to get into a room alone with me and then all you do is insult me and natter on about gutters. State your business or I'll call the matron. There are rules, you know.

S: Very well, we'll get down to it then. What would you do if I told you that the sun was rising at midnight?

L: That the moon would wax at midday. But wait a second -

S: Would you really? Well, in that case, I suppose I should inform you that the contest is over.

L: The victor the loser and the loser the victor. And the whores shall inherit the earth and take all the pleasure from it.

S: And with that pleasure they will hold the pleasured to ransom.

L: Taking all that was taken from them.

S: Withholding that which they were given.

L: Reclaiming what they gave! And then, when everything belongs for those who served for coin, they will make an end of it. No longer will man be slave to the orgasm.

S: No longer will women be slave to the orgasm.

L: The whole world's an orgasm.

S looks taken aback.

S: That isn't part of the script.

L: Fuck the script. I know what you're here for now, and you know that I'm who you were looking for. So fuck it. Fuck everything. Everything fucks and everything is fucked. The whole world's just one big orgasm.

S: Really? I always thought the world was a gigantic shit.

L: You're wrong. Working in a place like this, you figure out a few things. The world's what we call a screamer. The build-up is long, tough, hard. You might even bruise a bit, and you won't be good for walking much afterwards. But when the actual moment comes...

S: They scream?

L: That's one word for it. Have you ever heard a screamer? You stand there and smell like a dungheap, but I reckon you've been around the block a few times. You've probably had some pretty good sex, right?

S: My cock works the same as everyone else's.

L: I bet it does. Working here...living here...you get to see the ultimate in sex. A screamer is like nothing else on this planet. When the moment comes, you can't hold back. And I don't just mean you come. I don't even just mean you moan and your toes curl and you pant afterwards. A real screamer is one in a million. A real screamer is where everything that you are, every part of your soul, every bit of strength in your body is pushed out.. So much pleasure that there isn't room inside you for anything else, and everything that you are is forced out of you.

S: Out of your...

L: No. There's already stuff coming out there, if you're a man. And stuff coming in, if you're a woman. Didn't you pay attention in sex ed? So everything else has to come out of your mouth. It's more than a scream. It's everything. And then you take a huge, juddering breath right afterwards and pull it all back inside you.

S: And that's life, is it? A screamer?

L: It's a screamer without the breath, drawn out over years and years and years. You fill yourself up with pleasure until you don't have room to be you anymore, and then when your body's rotted away by all that pleasure and it can't take anymore, you go to take that huge breath to draw yourself back in, and you fall apart. That's life. You're either coming, or you're dead.

S: One time, I saw a man slit another man's throat for the change in his pocket. He had three silver coins, and he had his throat slit over it. He wasn't coming. Neither was the man who killed him. In fact, I'm pretty sure there was a distinct lack of orgasms in the area. There was plenty of shit though.

L laughs.

L: Love, that's not life. Life is here -

She fondles her breasts.

L: And here -

She indicates her crotch.

L: And if you're not with them, you're thinking about them, missing them, wondering when you can feel them next. That man with the coins? He was dead before the knife touched his throat. The man who did the killing? Dead hands on the blade. Everyone is dead unless they're fucking. Fucking is life.

S: I can see why they call you The Nun. This is practically religion.

L: Better. It's real. Now, you've got something to give me. Hand it over and get out. You've ruined my evening.

S: Sorry. Is it the smell? I'll do something about it next time I feel like being alive. Before I hand it over, you've got to say the last line. Orders are orders.

L rolls her eyes and gets up, crossing the floor to S. She puts a hand against his chest.

L: The end will come when dead men do.

S takes her hand and plants a kiss on it. From behind him, he presents a briefcase. L takes it calmly.

Lights down.