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obvious wet spot that ran from her right shoulder down to her armpit.  Not disgusted, but not delighted by the spot, she tried to console Victoria.
     
    “There, there.  Can you tell me what happened?”
     
    Victoria relayed the entire story.  From the mugging to the mace to the trek up to the country club and finally to the betrayal of the man she was willing to give her heart to.  Throughout the story, her eyes dried out and her composure returned.  Victoria fed off of the shock and disdain that Sarah quickly developed for the man who broke her heart.  Then Sarah said something that shocked her almost as much as her recent bout with betrayal.
     
    “We need to strike back.”
     
    “What?”
     
    “We can’t let him get away with something like that.  We need to fight for Niroki.”
     
    “It’s probably too late.  Neville spent the entire day with him yesterday.”
     
    “We can’t give up on it that easily.  This was supposed to be our future, our chance to finally make it in this business.”
     
    “What can we do?”
     
    “We need to make him suffer.  Hit him where it hurts.”
     
    Victoria knew just where to strike.     
     
     
     

 
    18
    The store was less like a maze and more like a battlefield with people running this way and that, unsure about what they were getting or where they were going but sure that they needed to be there at that time on that day.  Pandemonium was too soft a word to describe the chaos that was Neville’s shopping trip.  Chaos that was accentuated even more by the despair he felt in his heart.  He couldn’t believe that Victoria had seen him at the golf course.  He knew that she would blame him now and would most likely never forgive him. 
     
    The aisle with the frozen foods, specifically the microwave dinners that promised a gourmet meal in as little as five minutes, but delivered dry patties of mystery meat and a roll that was reminiscent of chewing on a piece of cardboard, was no less cluttered with half-focused people than any other area of the store.  He weaved his way through the crowds of people who stared blankly at the myriad of choices before them.  Arriving at the appropriate case, he opened the door and blindly grabbed a dozen meals, if they could truly be called meals.  But these were his go-to meals at times of sadness.  He didn’t have the drive to cook and didn’t want the company that going to a restaurant inevitably brought.
     
    Going to the store was nothing less than a waking nightmare.  There were no redeeming qualities the made themselves readily apparent.  If he was able to organize his thoughts, he would have paid someone to get his necessities for him.  Looking back, his wished he would have just given a courier a wad of cash and told him to pick up whatever he pleased.  Surely the prospect of losing a couple hundred dollars in the discretionary hands of a courier was preferable over the bedlam that came with a trip to the store. 
     
    But this trip was coming to an end.  He didn’t need much when he was in depression mode.  Quick meals, plenty of ice cream, sweats and a television with worthless late-night programming were the ultimate antidote for a bad case of the downers.    
     
      In the hair care aisle, he examined the selection of products before him.  He didn’t consider himself a vain man, but depression was no excuse for letting oneself go.  Even if circumstances confined him to bed with a smorgasbord of junk food, he was still determined that his self-loathing would never go so far as to keep him from shaving, showering, and making sure that each hair was in its proper place. 
     
    But of course, his horrendous day would not be complete without the store running out of his favorite hair gel.  Fuming now, he stomped down the aisle.  The lady at the checkout counter was in no way deserving of gratitude for her help since she was unable to provide any.  Neville could never understand why any