deposit again.
I hauled him to his feet a second time and backhanded him so he wouldn’t get any more bright ideas, then dragged him into the bathroom. I kicked the door shut behind me and flipped the switch to turn on the fan, then turned the cold water on full blast and shoved his head under the faucet. I didn’t know if it would do anything for the effects of pepper spray or not, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. And even if it did nothing to help the guy, I was getting a certain amount of satisfaction from seeing him gasp and gurgle under the frigid stream.
After he was in better control of his breathing and the orange smears around his eyes had been washed off, I let him up. I flipped the toilet lid down and sat him on it, then faced him with my back to the door so it was clear he’d have to go through me if he wanted to get out.
“So you don’t know anything about what happened at Spyder’s last night, huh? Lie to me again and I’ll make you wish you were dead.” I didn’t really plan to torture the slob, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Who are you?” he panted. I almost said ‘your worst nightmare’ in my best Batman voice, but stopped myself just in time.
“Never mind who I am. You just shot at me. What the fuck?”
“What the fuck yourself. My buddy picked you up at a bar and wound up dead. That’s some black widow shit.”
So he’d known who I was all along. I’d have to work on my disguises.
“Your buddy deserved it,” I said. “He tried to rape me.”
“I saw you last night,” he sneered at me. “Don’t pretend you didn’t want it. You know what they say—you can’t rape the willing.”
I smacked him. Hard.
My hair slithered under my ball cap in answer to my agitation, and the man’s eyes widened. It was terrifying enough when my hair was loose and doing its thing, but confined under the cap, it must have looked like something had burrowed into my skull and now wanted out. Wetness dripped down my cheeks and I reached up to swipe at the moisture under my eyes. When I looked down at my fingertips, they were red.
My breath caught in my throat and I hesitated. Nora’s prediction was coming true—I was crying blood. But what could I do about it? I was in too deep to leave now.
I pulled the hat off and dropped it on the floor, then pulled out the elastic confining my hair in a tight ballerina’s bun. Pleased with their freedom, the strands danced in a corona around my head and shoulders.
“You can’t rape the willing, huh?” I turned my attention back to Miller’s buddy. “You’re on dangerous ground. Now—who are you and what do you know about me? And why did you shoot at me?”
He looked at me, mouth working like a fish out of water.
“What, did you not understand the first time I backhanded you?” I demanded. “Answers, now!”
I raised my hand threateningly, but he just stammered, snappy comebacks forgotten in his terror. I grabbed a water glass off a paper coaster next to the sink and filled it from the tap, then shoved the glass at him.
“Here. Drink.” I was pleased with my ability to strike fear into his heart, but I wasn’t going to find out anything if the trigger-happy fool couldn’t get a word out.
He drank.
“Now talk,” I ordered.
He coughed a few more times, but managed to speak. “I didn’t think nothin’ of it when Clint didn’t come back to the bar last night,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Just figured he picked you up and got lucky, went home with you. First I knew something happened to him was when I saw the paper this morning.”
“OK, so you saw the paper and then I showed up. That doesn’t explain why you jumped right to shooting at me.”
“I saw it was you through the peephole, so I shoved the newspaper under the bed so you wouldn’t know I knew, and grabbed my gun. I recognized you from last night and figured you musta had something to do with Clint.”
“And you didn’t think you should ask a few questions
I hauled him to his feet a second time and backhanded him so he wouldn’t get any more bright ideas, then dragged him into the bathroom. I kicked the door shut behind me and flipped the switch to turn on the fan, then turned the cold water on full blast and shoved his head under the faucet. I didn’t know if it would do anything for the effects of pepper spray or not, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. And even if it did nothing to help the guy, I was getting a certain amount of satisfaction from seeing him gasp and gurgle under the frigid stream.
After he was in better control of his breathing and the orange smears around his eyes had been washed off, I let him up. I flipped the toilet lid down and sat him on it, then faced him with my back to the door so it was clear he’d have to go through me if he wanted to get out.
“So you don’t know anything about what happened at Spyder’s last night, huh? Lie to me again and I’ll make you wish you were dead.” I didn’t really plan to torture the slob, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Who are you?” he panted. I almost said ‘your worst nightmare’ in my best Batman voice, but stopped myself just in time.
“Never mind who I am. You just shot at me. What the fuck?”
“What the fuck yourself. My buddy picked you up at a bar and wound up dead. That’s some black widow shit.”
So he’d known who I was all along. I’d have to work on my disguises.
“Your buddy deserved it,” I said. “He tried to rape me.”
“I saw you last night,” he sneered at me. “Don’t pretend you didn’t want it. You know what they say—you can’t rape the willing.”
I smacked him. Hard.
My hair slithered under my ball cap in answer to my agitation, and the man’s eyes widened. It was terrifying enough when my hair was loose and doing its thing, but confined under the cap, it must have looked like something had burrowed into my skull and now wanted out. Wetness dripped down my cheeks and I reached up to swipe at the moisture under my eyes. When I looked down at my fingertips, they were red.
My breath caught in my throat and I hesitated. Nora’s prediction was coming true—I was crying blood. But what could I do about it? I was in too deep to leave now.
I pulled the hat off and dropped it on the floor, then pulled out the elastic confining my hair in a tight ballerina’s bun. Pleased with their freedom, the strands danced in a corona around my head and shoulders.
“You can’t rape the willing, huh?” I turned my attention back to Miller’s buddy. “You’re on dangerous ground. Now—who are you and what do you know about me? And why did you shoot at me?”
He looked at me, mouth working like a fish out of water.
“What, did you not understand the first time I backhanded you?” I demanded. “Answers, now!”
I raised my hand threateningly, but he just stammered, snappy comebacks forgotten in his terror. I grabbed a water glass off a paper coaster next to the sink and filled it from the tap, then shoved the glass at him.
“Here. Drink.” I was pleased with my ability to strike fear into his heart, but I wasn’t going to find out anything if the trigger-happy fool couldn’t get a word out.
He drank.
“Now talk,” I ordered.
He coughed a few more times, but managed to speak. “I didn’t think nothin’ of it when Clint didn’t come back to the bar last night,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Just figured he picked you up and got lucky, went home with you. First I knew something happened to him was when I saw the paper this morning.”
“OK, so you saw the paper and then I showed up. That doesn’t explain why you jumped right to shooting at me.”
“I saw it was you through the peephole, so I shoved the newspaper under the bed so you wouldn’t know I knew, and grabbed my gun. I recognized you from last night and figured you musta had something to do with Clint.”
“And you didn’t think you should ask a few questions
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