Monicas Grand Cherokee was black, and had bright blue fuzzy interior and dash board cover. The stereo was of high quality and so were the speakers in the back. When Monica drove down the street she had this constant light baby blue stain following her underneath the vehicle.
It wasn't Jezebel's style to say the least but it would have to do. Jezebel pulled out of the driveway with her headlights off; halfway down the street she flipped them on along with shoving one of her Metallica CD's in the stereo, and cranked it up.
At the end of her street, she came to a stop sign and saw a tall slender figure in a black worn trench coat and hat that Frank Sanatra would wear, leaning on the poll.
She honked the horn. No movement from the slim figure. Again she honked the horn, the figure still sleeping against the stop sign poll. Sighing she leaned over and opened the passenger side door, hitting the person in the knee.
"Roofie, Roofie, wake up lets go!" she yelled over her music. The young man shifted to the other leg and looked up at Jezebel. His were bloodshot, and his face looked like he'd been to hell and back. Scars on his cheeks and his hands.
"Ey Jezebel when you get here?" he asked in his sweet ever-present English accent.
" Twenty minutes ago ya dork now get in!" she yelled, faking annoyance. Roofie climbed in and sighed. He smelled like alcohol and pot. His clothes had seen better days; mud encased his big black boots, and his brown Jncos were wet at the bottom clear up to his ankles. The top he was wearing was stained in three different places and his hair was matted. Tell tail sign that he had not being home in a while.
"Why didn't you come to me?" Jezebel turned off the music altogether and asked the question that had being chewing at her for the past couple of blocks. Roofie sat up straight and looked at her ashamed.
"Well, your mum and dad don't really care for me much love. Besides I like living out here on my own." He said scratching his unshaven chin.
"What is their obsession this time?" Jezebel asked, knowing that Roofie would get what she meant.
" Heroin, bad batch this time. Dad shoots up and he's on a evil fit." Roofie balls his hands into fits and puffs his chest out. " Mum all she does is cry. It must be laced with something. He shifts I his seat and leans his head on Jezebel's shoulder. The conversation always ends this way with Roofie.
Roofies parents were drug addicts, and alcoholics when the money was short and they couldn't afford their addiction. When Roofie was a small child his mum and dad moved from a small village type city just out of Liverpool, England. His father supposedly was moving to get a better job, but the deal he had with his employer went bad. Who knew showing up drunken, unshaven and wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday would bother your clients? Now Roofie and his once respectable family live in the sticks instead of the lush Garden District.
Roofie is covered with childhood scars and fresh bruises, from his last time being at home. His father isn't a nice drunk, never was. Roofie gets away from it all by sleeping over a friend's house a lot and spending time in drug-induced comas.
Psychiatric ward, where Jezebel and Roofie met.
She had homicidal thoughts; he had the opposite, suicidal. They made a pact with one another, since they both hated their lives so much and could do nothing to get out of it. One wouldn't go without the other.

The warehouse district was always gloomy at 1:30 in the morning. Whores searching for johns, men wandering desperation in their cold eyes. The only reason it existed anymore even, for men that are too proud to get it done themselves.
Jezebel looked for anyone with raver or party attire. Jasper the high school flunking that hosted the raves liked to use abandoned warehouses. She slowed done to eye a guy walking the street with beads around his neck.

Turned out to he a homeless bum, begging for change to 'get him a woman', as he put it. Exasperated Jezebel handed him a twenty and told him to get himself 'some Jack instead, he won't turn you down.'
Down the street a ways she saw something glowing against an old meat- packaging factory. She pulled up next to the two young men who were tangled together. One in full rave attire with his face buried into the other a Tulane jocks crotch. Ravers and jocks together what else can this world handle? Jezebel asked her self snidely. The two men didn't seem to notice her, so she honked her horn, it echoed in the hot summer heat like a cougar call in the mountains.
The jocks head darted up, his face twisted with childhood fear. Its okay every jock like you does it, we already know! Jezebel chuckled. The raver said something inaudible to Jezebel. The jock zipped his paints and ran. The raver stood up from his knees, turned and spit on Jezebel's windows. White little soldiers ran down her window as the pissed off raver looked at her and mouthed obsentceies. Jezebel signaled she couldn't hear him, he stopped and put his slim little hand on his hip. Laughing she rolled down her window.
" Sorry hon, I don't service the ladies, thought that was clear, considering.," the raver said hotly trying to pick dirt out from under his nail.
" Not what I'm after. I need to ask you a question." She replied, but was cut off.
" You scared away my highest paying john to ask me a question?" the raver asked as he started to walk away, his hand up in the air. I love queens, I wish I could own them all! Jezebel said affectionately, as she inched the car along following the raver. Roofie was awakened by all the chitchat and was apparently crashing, hard.
" Pull up right next to the lil prick!" he grabbed on to Jezebel's arm. " Hey look if you stand still and let me ask you the damn question I'll get you whatever type of fix you want!" the raver stopped, wheels turned in his head. "Deal? It's just a question god how hard."
"FINE?" he inhaled deeply what is the fricking question?" he stopped to take a breath and for Jezebel to open her mouth but not enough for her to say anything. " This fix of mine you'll get me will be free? Just answer the question that lost my best john and boom my fix?" he looked at Roofie and then at Jezebel.
Roofie was crashing just as hard as this raver; both were sweating like they were in a Russian bathhouse. Both shaking. Both had those crazy eyes. Roofie was dazed; Jezebel had to shake him back so he could reply.
" Uhm ah yeah just answer the question." He said with a shaky unsure voice.
" Shoot."
" Why do ravers need Binkies?" the raver looked at Jezebel in confusion for a second then it clicked. Everyone who was anyone knew what Jaspers code was. That was how you figured out how to find where the next rave would be. The ravers' eyes blinked, and a spark of secret knowledge glistened in the orange street lamp.
"Oh this is the ass of the place," he pointed to the building him and his john were doing business on, then pointed down the road." Turn left at the light it has a load of girls looking for johns in front cant miss it." He smiled like an average person might.
"Come here mate" he patted the outside of his car door. As the raver made his way around the Cherokee, Roofie pulled out a red Sharpie.
Give me your arm that's what!" Roofie smiled at the guy for being scared. Yeah careful he bites! Jezebel was tempted." Call me around 4:00 tomorrow at this number. And I have that fix I promised. Oh yeah, what be your poison anyway?" Roofie asked.
"How about I tell you over the phone tomorrow?" The raver said, as he rubbed the plastic rainbow ring around Roofies middle finger. Roofies face reddened like it was on fire. A grin spread across it and almost swallowed his nose.
"Sure, been a while." Roofie said back to the raver as the man turned away with his head down as the black and white went bye.
Jezebel turned to Roofie, still rogue looking in the face. She reached for his hand and they were down the block and to the left in a split second.