My
gorge rises as I shake my head and put a hand to my mouth.
“Why should I?” I ask behind the hand as I narrow my eyes.
My cellphone is still in my other hand, and I have the nine with the one
dialed, just one more number and the call button. Then I’ll be on my way.
“You’re my fucking wife, aren’t you? If you want me to sign
your documents, help me to the bathroom, so I don’t bleed to death!” I have
never once claimed to be levelheaded around the sight of blood, but his
vicious, loud words cut through me and spur me into action.
He struggles to stand and wraps an arm around my shoulders,
and I gingerly kick off my heels. He has to be at least a foot and a half taller
than me, so he’s stooped low as I huff and grunt to the only door that could be
attached to a bathroom. I’m wrong.
When the door swings open, I’m assaulted with a light green
room harboring antique looking furniture. It’s nothing like the starkness of
his office. He points to the door off to the right of the room, and I hobble us
both towards it. As soon as the door comes open and he’s sitting on the toilet
with a first aid kit on the sink counter, I bolt.
Fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door opens, and his
ashen face appears in the opening.
“Can I call the police now?” I can’t keep the scorn out of
my tone, and he leans against the doorframe as he tries to breathe deeply.
“No, you can’t.” The bed creaks as I stand up and head for
the door to the bedroom. “Where are you going?” I turn around with a scowl on
my face and my hand on the doorknob.
“I’m going to call a doctor. Then you’re going to sign our
divorce papers, and I’m on the next flight out of this wretched city.” With
those words flung from my mouth, I open up the door and stomp out. He doesn’t
have enough energy to come after me, so I grab my cellphone off his desk and
glare at the elevator door that is still open.
It takes all of a minute to find a doctor on my phone that
will actually come to the building, and, so I pull the door out of the
elevator. I step back as it closes and wait another minute before I head back
to the room. He’s lying on the bed with a pinched look on his face, but it
seems the cut over his eyebrow has stopped bleeding.
“Why can’t I call the police? Are you involved in something
illegal?” His eyes don’t flutter open, but I can tell by his breathing that
he’s not sleeping. To keep myself busy, I grab a wet rag from the bathroom and
start to pat at the wound on his forehead and put the cool rag on the bruise
developing on his jaw.
“No, it’s not that. Well, it’s close to that. Some of the
cops are crooked and working for Yatzi.” I scrunch up my face when he says the
man’s name.
“You mean like the game?” This all seems a little
farfetched, but I guess anything can happen in Vegas. I lean back as he starts
to struggle into a sitting position.
“The game is fun. This guy isn’t. The passcode to the
elevator is 0221. Did you tell the doctor?” I feel like a fool for forgetting
and shake my head as he pulls some pillows behind him. “Then I guess you’d
better go get him. Yatzi and his crew should be gone. There’s a gun in the
filing cabinet of the desk that you can take down with you just in case.”
“I’m not touching a gun!” He manages to peek open an eye to
look at me and I get off the bed as soon as I can. I’m still, not in any shoes
when I walk out to his desk. The door to the room is closed, but I glance at it
just in case he might be watching. Then I slowly open up the filing cabinet
door and deftly move through the hanging folders.
Almost all the way at the back is a pistol that looks as if
it could be used by a toddler, but I have a feeling it’s just as deadly as any
other gun at close range. My fingers shake as I pick up the gun and hold it out
from my person at arm’s length. I’ve never touched a gun in my life, and the
cold metal makes me feel like I’m in
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