through my mind as I got up and went to the guard, who slid open the door. No way would Eddie come for me and not them. It must have been something I did, which was a lot of things.
“Out,” he said. I went through the gate and he slammed it shut behind me. He didn’t look at me twice, and just walked down the hall with me in back of him.
“Nice shiner,” he said when we got out of holding.
“Thanks.”
“You get that in the ring, or at the bar after?”
“The second one.”
The night before was a blur, but it didn’t happen at the fight. I got the cut over my right eye there, but not the shiner on my left. Someone caught me good at the bar.
“Well, Ms. Flax, it’s your lucky day,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Yup. The guy you jumped dropped the charges, and in all the resulting bullshit of the little war you started, even the cameras couldn’t pin anything too bad on you.”
I shrugged at his back. That was pretty lucky, actually.
“Here we are,” he said when we got to the main entryway.
“Huh?”
“You got posted,” he said. “What’d you think, I was giving you a tour? You’re free to go.”
He handed me my leather jacket and I put it on.
“I left what I found in the pocket. Consider that a gift.”
He held out a big yellow envelope like I should take it, so I did. I ripped it open and saw my cell phone and keys inside. When I looked back, he was pointing like I should get the hell out.
“A couple of your buddies dropped your bike off last night so it didn’t get towed; it’s in the lot out back.”
“Who bailed me out?” I asked. He jerked his thumb toward the wall.
“Nice fight, by the way,” he said. “The first one, not the second one.”
When I looked at where he pointed, I saw pretty boy from inside the cell standing there, arms crossed and back against the wall like some kind of pimp. When I turned back, the guard was gone.
I looked back and pretty boy was still smiling that smug smile I was going to learn to hate in about five minutes. If he’d really bailed me out, I’d almost rather have gone back in, but not enough to actually have done it. When people did things for you, they wanted something back.
“You do this?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, still smiling. He tailed me out. The sun was almost up.
“Why?”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
Bail, even for a back-lot brawl, was a big deal, but maybe it wasn’t a big deal for him. Maybe he was a fan, or maybe he did it just to pat himself on the back. Maybe it was to show off.
“What do I owe you?” I asked.
“I just—”
“Don’t screw with me. What do I owe you?”
“How about a ride home?” he said.
I still didn’t know what his game was, but a ride I could do. If that was all it was going to take, I could do that. A ride on the back of my bike in the cold might wipe that look of his face, even.
“A ride? Sure. Okay. You got it.”
His shit was so slick, I even bought it a little. Just a fan , I said to myself, or some punk with an itch to walk on the wild side. If it got his rocks off to be nice to a three, why not take him up on it? It beat a week in jail, and he was nothing to be scared of. Tight, but slight, and never fought a day in his life. Harmless, right?
What a crock of shit.
Nico Wachalowski—FBI Home Office
Whenever I was put under for maintenance, my mind always went back to the same place.
I never found out what knocked me down back then. Later I was told it was probably a concussion grenade. The last thing I saw was Sean turning from the radio as if he’d heard something; then everything turned to white noise.
I could see before I could hear; when I opened my eyes I was on my back, being dragged by one foot through the brush. Wet grass and branches whipped across my face, and I could see the night sky above me. I lifted my head and saw a figure trudging forward, the hand that was gripping my boot trailing behind him. There were two others with him.
Screaming and the
“Out,” he said. I went through the gate and he slammed it shut behind me. He didn’t look at me twice, and just walked down the hall with me in back of him.
“Nice shiner,” he said when we got out of holding.
“Thanks.”
“You get that in the ring, or at the bar after?”
“The second one.”
The night before was a blur, but it didn’t happen at the fight. I got the cut over my right eye there, but not the shiner on my left. Someone caught me good at the bar.
“Well, Ms. Flax, it’s your lucky day,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Yup. The guy you jumped dropped the charges, and in all the resulting bullshit of the little war you started, even the cameras couldn’t pin anything too bad on you.”
I shrugged at his back. That was pretty lucky, actually.
“Here we are,” he said when we got to the main entryway.
“Huh?”
“You got posted,” he said. “What’d you think, I was giving you a tour? You’re free to go.”
He handed me my leather jacket and I put it on.
“I left what I found in the pocket. Consider that a gift.”
He held out a big yellow envelope like I should take it, so I did. I ripped it open and saw my cell phone and keys inside. When I looked back, he was pointing like I should get the hell out.
“A couple of your buddies dropped your bike off last night so it didn’t get towed; it’s in the lot out back.”
“Who bailed me out?” I asked. He jerked his thumb toward the wall.
“Nice fight, by the way,” he said. “The first one, not the second one.”
When I looked at where he pointed, I saw pretty boy from inside the cell standing there, arms crossed and back against the wall like some kind of pimp. When I turned back, the guard was gone.
I looked back and pretty boy was still smiling that smug smile I was going to learn to hate in about five minutes. If he’d really bailed me out, I’d almost rather have gone back in, but not enough to actually have done it. When people did things for you, they wanted something back.
“You do this?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, still smiling. He tailed me out. The sun was almost up.
“Why?”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
Bail, even for a back-lot brawl, was a big deal, but maybe it wasn’t a big deal for him. Maybe he was a fan, or maybe he did it just to pat himself on the back. Maybe it was to show off.
“What do I owe you?” I asked.
“I just—”
“Don’t screw with me. What do I owe you?”
“How about a ride home?” he said.
I still didn’t know what his game was, but a ride I could do. If that was all it was going to take, I could do that. A ride on the back of my bike in the cold might wipe that look of his face, even.
“A ride? Sure. Okay. You got it.”
His shit was so slick, I even bought it a little. Just a fan , I said to myself, or some punk with an itch to walk on the wild side. If it got his rocks off to be nice to a three, why not take him up on it? It beat a week in jail, and he was nothing to be scared of. Tight, but slight, and never fought a day in his life. Harmless, right?
What a crock of shit.
Nico Wachalowski—FBI Home Office
Whenever I was put under for maintenance, my mind always went back to the same place.
I never found out what knocked me down back then. Later I was told it was probably a concussion grenade. The last thing I saw was Sean turning from the radio as if he’d heard something; then everything turned to white noise.
I could see before I could hear; when I opened my eyes I was on my back, being dragged by one foot through the brush. Wet grass and branches whipped across my face, and I could see the night sky above me. I lifted my head and saw a figure trudging forward, the hand that was gripping my boot trailing behind him. There were two others with him.
Screaming and the
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