Fletcher drove his Cadillac into the parking lot of 'CUNNING STUNTS', a strip club of sorts. A perfect place to do something illegal and get away with it.Fletcher himself was late forty fifty-ish, blond and well built. Two oblique scars ran over his forehead as if he had been marked for something. But nothing of that sort, it was just the work of a tiger's claw which was faithfully guarding a tibetian temple, and yeah died doing it. There was muffled beat of a song playing inside, once Fletcher pushed the door the decibel level increased by manifolds. As soon as he entered he involuntarily started picking up things like escape routes, probable weapons and vantage points. Just as he was moving towards his favorite girl of the joint Abbey, he felt a .38 pushed against his back.
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This started as an SMS exercise. I felt bored and wanted to write a story but was lazy to add to the blogosphere. So I texted each "Day" of the Devil's Dance. However requests from some of my friends asking me to put it here, has urged me to do this.Do keep reading and voting. I will see which option gets the most vote by the end of each week and try to incorporate that attribute into my story the following week. Remember, those who don't vote will probably dance on hot pans before the Devil >:)
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