let it pass. Let him get comfy. I’m going to make him pretty damn uncomfy soon enough. “The bitch comes back. She begs for a little Ricky love, bruja. They all do.”
So we’ve gone from calling me slut to witch. It’s an improvement. I raised an eyebrow. “Just like Sylvie? Did she come back begging too?”
Despite being lazy, Ricky wasn’t a fool. His eyes returned to Carp. “Oh, shit. ” He could barely get the breath to whisper.
I moved. The chair squealed, glass shattered as I brought it down squarely on the table; the sound was incredible. The girl screamed; Ricky let out a yell, and I was on him.
My knees sank into the leather of the couch. My left-hand fingers sank into his throat. I smelled quesadilla and cologne, not to mention the thin acrid funk of a coke fiend. I pressed the gun to his temple and smiled into his eyes.
This was pure terrorization for its own sake. I am not a very nice person, and if there’s one thing I hate with a vengeance that surpasseth all understanding, it’s pimps. I never pass up a chance to make a pimp feel my displeasure.
“I would as soon blow your head off as look at you, you greasy little cocksucker.” My breath touched his lips. He shook like a rabbit in the snare. “I am going to ask you a few simple questions. Sylvie. Jewel. What did you do to them?”
I didn’t think for a second that he had much to do with it. Mostly because the girls were worth more to him alive and peddling their wares. And also because Ricky was, like all pimps, a fucking coward.
He spilled a lot of babbling in Spanglish, enough for me to determine a few things: he hadn’t even known Jewel was dead before we came calling. He also was more than willing to spill about the escort service, and I let him talk about that for a little while. Then he dropped one more piece of news.
I let go of him, reholstered the gun, and was off the couch in one motion. “You’re sure?” The number-one girl stood by the entrance to the kitchen, her fingers pressed to her mouth and her eyes huge, dark, and full of tears.
“Course I’m sure, the stupid bitch!” Ricky moaned, turning his face into the couch. There was a ratty little gleam to his eyes I didn’t like. “There’s a doctor on Quincoa—Polish fucker, name’s Kricekwesz, he takes care of that shit, but it ain’t cheap. Stupid bitch. Stupid fucking bitch.”
“You’re a real prince, Ricky.” I looked over at Carp, who was almost purple with restrained glee. It did him good to see me do something like this, something a regular cop wouldn’t be able to do without worrying about a brutality lawsuit. “You want to take him in?”
Carp shook his head. He sounded excessively casual. “Not worth our time right now.”
I silently agreed. Looked at the girl. Tears slicked her cheeks, and the way her eyes jittered away from mine told me there wasn’t much hope of questioning her. There was a fading bruise just visible under the scoop collar of her pink shirt. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but was already looking old.
“Do yourself a favor, honey.” My voice was harsh. “Get out of the biz.” Before you end up just as dead as those other two girls.
Then I stalked for the door. Pregnant. Sylvie was pregnant.
This puts a little different shine on things, doesn’t it. Two counts of murder for her and her baby; and all her internal organs gone. Why? What is this?
Outside in the hall, Carp eyed me while Saul curled his hand around my nape and reeled me in. I spent a few moments leaning against Saul’s chest, hearing his heartbeat, the shakes going down slowly. Very slowly.
I’d never told him about Val, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he guessed. I’d never told Mikhail either, even in the long, sun-filled afternoons we spent in the same bed. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Mikhail had known, too—he had treated me so gently in that one space, the space where we became more than just teacher and student.
Saul
So we’ve gone from calling me slut to witch. It’s an improvement. I raised an eyebrow. “Just like Sylvie? Did she come back begging too?”
Despite being lazy, Ricky wasn’t a fool. His eyes returned to Carp. “Oh, shit. ” He could barely get the breath to whisper.
I moved. The chair squealed, glass shattered as I brought it down squarely on the table; the sound was incredible. The girl screamed; Ricky let out a yell, and I was on him.
My knees sank into the leather of the couch. My left-hand fingers sank into his throat. I smelled quesadilla and cologne, not to mention the thin acrid funk of a coke fiend. I pressed the gun to his temple and smiled into his eyes.
This was pure terrorization for its own sake. I am not a very nice person, and if there’s one thing I hate with a vengeance that surpasseth all understanding, it’s pimps. I never pass up a chance to make a pimp feel my displeasure.
“I would as soon blow your head off as look at you, you greasy little cocksucker.” My breath touched his lips. He shook like a rabbit in the snare. “I am going to ask you a few simple questions. Sylvie. Jewel. What did you do to them?”
I didn’t think for a second that he had much to do with it. Mostly because the girls were worth more to him alive and peddling their wares. And also because Ricky was, like all pimps, a fucking coward.
He spilled a lot of babbling in Spanglish, enough for me to determine a few things: he hadn’t even known Jewel was dead before we came calling. He also was more than willing to spill about the escort service, and I let him talk about that for a little while. Then he dropped one more piece of news.
I let go of him, reholstered the gun, and was off the couch in one motion. “You’re sure?” The number-one girl stood by the entrance to the kitchen, her fingers pressed to her mouth and her eyes huge, dark, and full of tears.
“Course I’m sure, the stupid bitch!” Ricky moaned, turning his face into the couch. There was a ratty little gleam to his eyes I didn’t like. “There’s a doctor on Quincoa—Polish fucker, name’s Kricekwesz, he takes care of that shit, but it ain’t cheap. Stupid bitch. Stupid fucking bitch.”
“You’re a real prince, Ricky.” I looked over at Carp, who was almost purple with restrained glee. It did him good to see me do something like this, something a regular cop wouldn’t be able to do without worrying about a brutality lawsuit. “You want to take him in?”
Carp shook his head. He sounded excessively casual. “Not worth our time right now.”
I silently agreed. Looked at the girl. Tears slicked her cheeks, and the way her eyes jittered away from mine told me there wasn’t much hope of questioning her. There was a fading bruise just visible under the scoop collar of her pink shirt. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but was already looking old.
“Do yourself a favor, honey.” My voice was harsh. “Get out of the biz.” Before you end up just as dead as those other two girls.
Then I stalked for the door. Pregnant. Sylvie was pregnant.
This puts a little different shine on things, doesn’t it. Two counts of murder for her and her baby; and all her internal organs gone. Why? What is this?
Outside in the hall, Carp eyed me while Saul curled his hand around my nape and reeled me in. I spent a few moments leaning against Saul’s chest, hearing his heartbeat, the shakes going down slowly. Very slowly.
I’d never told him about Val, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he guessed. I’d never told Mikhail either, even in the long, sun-filled afternoons we spent in the same bed. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Mikhail had known, too—he had treated me so gently in that one space, the space where we became more than just teacher and student.
Saul
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