Regis St. George
by Maria Deira
“Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. Regis St. George hell,” he moaned.
“Yeah, I sent you to hell,” I said.
“Why, please, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa?” He looked at me, his crooked fingers pulling at his hair. I almost felt sorry for the little bastard.
“Because that’s where you belong.”
“Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. Deal. Regis St. George. Deal. Hell not deal,” he said, shaking his head.
“First of all, you ate my cat,” I said.
Regis St. George grinned at me, baring a mouth full of sharp, little teeth.