"So this is Los Angeles?"
Mazikeen surveyed the city, unimpressed. Lucifer, standing beside her and taking in the same view of smog and skyscrapers, rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation.
"Yes!" he exclaimed, his expression animated. "This is the place! Millions of people lusting for riches and stardom or at least a good shag. This is where people reinvent themselves, where the Norma Jeans of Peoria do their best to become Marilyns."
"Mansons more likely than Monroes," Mazikeen huffed, not bothering to hide her disgruntled response to the relocation. "So we're here. What now? Where do we start?"
"Well, if I'm to settle down here there are so many things I'll need." He turned to his less than enthusiastic consort. "Come on, Maze. Let's go shopping."
"Yes, this will do nicely – at least until I can find more permanent accommodations."
Lucifer took in the luxurious hotel penthouse suite around him including the view of downtown through the floor to ceiling windows as Mazikeen poured herself a whiskey neat from the well-stocked bar.
"It'll do," she opined, taking a swallow, "for now."
"It is missing something though," Lucifer mused, taking the glass from Mazikeen's hand and draining the last of the alcohol. He put the glass down on the nearest horizontal surface, forgotten as soon as his fingers left the cool surface. "It's definitely too quiet."
Mazikeen let out a long suffering sigh and pulled out a new glass for herself, filling and draining it rapidly as if to ensure she got to drink it before Lucifer purloined it for himself again.
"You want noise?" she deadpanned. "Open the sliding doors. I'll bet you can hear the siren call of traffic on the freeways even this high up."
"Actually a few sirens sounds delicious – and I do mean the sexy mermaid kind, not the police sirens, frequent as they are in this city. What say you, Maze? Shall we head down to the bar to find ourselves some lovely playmates to liven up our evening?"
"Food first," she responded. "You promised me dinner someplace worthwhile and I could murder a good steak."
"That's my Maze," Lucifer remarked playfully. "Carnivore before carnal delights."
"Sir, you don't seem to understand: this is a classic car show, not an auto sales lot."
Lucifer dismissed the man's concerns with a wave as he watched Mazikeen long fingers caress the pristine black paint on the vintage fender of the car that had caught his eye. The convertible had clearly been cared for by someone with enough money to restore it to mint condition and maintain it in pristine shape.
"Nonsense," Lucifer scoffed. "Everything has a price and I wish to be the proud driver of this lovely piece of automotive workmanship. Just point me in the direction of the owner. I'm sure he and I can come to an agreement on a fair price. I'm certain everyone will leave happy."
"Again, sir, these cars are not for sale! The owners brought them here for display purposes only!"
"What good is showing them off when it's clear that they'll inspire envy, even among all these lovely rich people in Beverly Hills? Might as well put a price tag on the windshield! Not for sale, indeed."
"Excuse me…" Mazikeen turned as Lucifer did to spy an attractive woman approaching wrapped in a fur coat, both her accent and the broad-shouldered gruff looking bodyguards behind her said Russian. "This is my husband's car. Is not for sale."
"Oh, I'm sure we could come to some sort of agreement…" Lucifer sidled up to her, turning on the charm. "Tell, me… What do you really desire, more than anything?"
The woman was immediately transfixed by Lucifer's gaze.
"I… I want my husband to notice me. To treat me like an equal in our business. I want to show him I can make money like he can."
Lucifer let out a throaty chuckle. "That's just perfect, my dear. After all, what says successful businesswoman like earning a hefty profit on the sale of a simple asset like an automobile? And trust me, I'll make sure you'll earn enough to cover your bed in hundred dollar bills. So if the profits don't impress him? You naked covered in money should help him notice you."
The woman's answering conspiratorial smile was the sign Mazikeen knew meant it was a done deal.
She pulled out a wad of cash, peeled off a few bills and stuffed them in the car show organizer's blazer pocket.
"Congratulations," she told him, "you just made your first sale. Enjoy your commission."
"I need a tailor! I can't be jetting off to London or Hong Kong every time I need a new bespoke suit, lovely as they are from Saville Row."
"LA has to have thousands of places to buy clothes," Mazikeen intoned, playing with the sharp end of one of her knives, bored. "Including those huge beige boxes they call malls."
"Bite your tongue!" Lucifer admonished. "As if I'd buy off the rack."
"So what do you plan to do? Kidnap and torture the best dressed men we can find until they give up who does their alterations?"
Lucifer paused as if considering the suggestion seriously.
"You may have something there, Maze. When in Rome…" he said playfully, "ask the best dressed senator who his toga maker is!"
A short elevator ride later they were in the lobby and Lucifer was scouting out the men passing through the foyer, critiquing their attire with mostly frowns and a few appreciative nods.
"What about that guy? The one over there with the entourage? He's got some nice shoes on, but I can't see much past that." Mazikeen cocked her head over to a crowd by the entrance and Lucifer strode over to get a better look.
"Excuse me," he said, trying to get past the outer ring of hotel security. "I just want to ask that man where he got his shoes."
"Sir, please step back," one of the guards told him, putting up a hand to halt Lucifer's progress. "Mr. Pitt isn't meeting with fans today."
Disgruntled, Lucifer returned to Mazikeen who met him with an inquisitive expression.
"What the hell was that about?"
"Don't know, don't care," Lucifer said flippantly. "But I'll go back to Hell before I purposefully dress like Brad Bloody Pitt. Next!"
Lucifer stood at the public entrance, taking in his first view of the interior of Lux post-redesign. The new layout was just as he'd imagined, the décor stunning and the overall feel was that of glossy decadence: perfect for nights of debauchery with LA's most beautiful people.
"I'm glad you like how it turned out." The woman in charge of the firm he'd hired for the remodel was there for the final walkthrough and what would likely be her final trip to his bedroom afterwards. Sleeping with her had certainly helped construction go faster than expected, but now the menu of tasty treats was going to greatly expand once a parade of potential lovers began with the official opening of his nightclub.
"You've outdone yourself, really…" A few minutes of wandering through the bar and dance areas and a few seconds to tickle the ivories on the piano placed in a prominent position left him satisfied his vision had been fully realized. All the bar needed was some scantily clad dancers and Mazikeen holding a whip over the bartending and wait staff. "It's fantastic."
"Wait until you see your apartment upstairs," the woman purred. "It's so you."
"Is it now?" Lucifer beckoned to Mazikeen who was enjoying an eyeful of the burly men polishing the mirrors to a razor sharp shine. "Come see!"
The elevator ride took only a matter of seconds. The doors opened right into the apartment – every light in the place lit against the darkness outside the windows.
"Sexy…" Mazikeen purred her approval. "I like."
"Oh, yes…" Lucifer stepped into the space, immediately commanding it with his presence, feeling it fit him as perfectly as his custom Prada shirt and Armani suit fit his angelic physique. The views, the wall of liquors, his own private piano and a bed big enough for a crowd… "I can see myself being quite happy here," he mused aloud. "Quite happy indeed."