be cool. They’re not going to shoot us because one of their girls fell down.”
At least I hope not.
“They probably just want to check us out,” Parkman agreed. “If it gets bad fast, I’ll drop in the car and speed dial 911.”
“Like we need more police attention.”
The men stopped a few feet in front of Sarah. The tall one, clearly in charge, stared at her up and down, his mouth drawn back in a snarl, his pearly whites shining through with one gold cap. His black hat covered his ears, and his white T-shirt was two sizes too big, his jeans hanging low off the waist. His two minions wore similar clothes. The forehead of the guy on her left had street tattoos like the ones she’d seen in Toronto on a street gang.
There was no question these three were street fighters. They were strong and ready to fight in seconds, but the rest was for show. They wanted to make sure everyone knew whose territory this was and who owned the girls.
“You here looking for work?” the tall one asked. The expression on his face told her he already knew the answer.
Miles Johnson.
Sarah shook her head to clear the voice.
What the hell?
She looked around as if someone was whispering in her ear. Parkman was still by the car door. Sarah stood by the car’s hood, exposed and at a disadvantage.
“I hope your pretty little ass is here looking for work, because if you’re not, why the fuck you be up in here messin’ around with my girls?”
“You got it wrong, Miles.”
He looked at his backup and then at Sarah. “How you know my name?” He clicked something on his gun, then let it fall back to his side. “I asked you a question. Who the fuck are you and how do you know my name?”
“Where’s Mercedes? Stevie didn’t want to tell me where she was. If I don’t know in—” Sarah pulled back her sleeve and looked at her watch—“five minutes—” she let her sleeve fall back into place—“more people are going to get hurt, just like Stevie.”
“Get a load of this bitch,” Miles said as he laughed for his friends’ benefit. The laugh stopped abruptly. His face turned serious.
Then he rushed her.
She detected Parkman jumping as Miles reached around to grab her hair with his left hand while jamming the tip of the gun under her chin with his right hand. With her head angled back, she looked down her nose at the other two men. Both had their weapons aimed in Parkman’s direction.
There was no more movement behind her.
“I love it when a stupid whore talks back to me,” Miles said, an inch from her face.
She could smell the burrito he ate for dinner. Too much guacamole, she almost said to him.
“It reminds me,” Miles continued, “of my past when I would beat my mother for being such a stupid whore.”
His grip tightened on her hair, the sharp pain reminding her of the days when she would pull her own hair out. There was something about getting her hair pulled that would always feel comforting, even through the pain.
She raised both hands so they were level with his gun hand.
“Be cool,” she said. “I was just clowning around.”
“What you want with Mercedes? Stupid bitch didn’t come into work tonight. You have something to do with that?”
“No.”
“Then why you here?”
“We wanted Mercedes for a three-way.”
His hand tightened on her hair as he smiled.
“I hate liars. If that was true, why attack Stevie? Why go after my girls?”
“I didn’t. But that doesn’t matter because you’ve already made up your mind.”
“That’s right.”
His hand tightened again. Her eyes watered. Now it was bordering on serious pain. This was no longer fun.
“Be cool,” Sarah said, “or I will break your nose.”
An M1911. The slide stop can be depressed from the reverse side to incapacitate the weapon.
Sarah knew enough about guns to know
At least I hope not.
“They probably just want to check us out,” Parkman agreed. “If it gets bad fast, I’ll drop in the car and speed dial 911.”
“Like we need more police attention.”
The men stopped a few feet in front of Sarah. The tall one, clearly in charge, stared at her up and down, his mouth drawn back in a snarl, his pearly whites shining through with one gold cap. His black hat covered his ears, and his white T-shirt was two sizes too big, his jeans hanging low off the waist. His two minions wore similar clothes. The forehead of the guy on her left had street tattoos like the ones she’d seen in Toronto on a street gang.
There was no question these three were street fighters. They were strong and ready to fight in seconds, but the rest was for show. They wanted to make sure everyone knew whose territory this was and who owned the girls.
“You here looking for work?” the tall one asked. The expression on his face told her he already knew the answer.
Miles Johnson.
Sarah shook her head to clear the voice.
What the hell?
She looked around as if someone was whispering in her ear. Parkman was still by the car door. Sarah stood by the car’s hood, exposed and at a disadvantage.
“I hope your pretty little ass is here looking for work, because if you’re not, why the fuck you be up in here messin’ around with my girls?”
“You got it wrong, Miles.”
He looked at his backup and then at Sarah. “How you know my name?” He clicked something on his gun, then let it fall back to his side. “I asked you a question. Who the fuck are you and how do you know my name?”
“Where’s Mercedes? Stevie didn’t want to tell me where she was. If I don’t know in—” Sarah pulled back her sleeve and looked at her watch—“five minutes—” she let her sleeve fall back into place—“more people are going to get hurt, just like Stevie.”
“Get a load of this bitch,” Miles said as he laughed for his friends’ benefit. The laugh stopped abruptly. His face turned serious.
Then he rushed her.
She detected Parkman jumping as Miles reached around to grab her hair with his left hand while jamming the tip of the gun under her chin with his right hand. With her head angled back, she looked down her nose at the other two men. Both had their weapons aimed in Parkman’s direction.
There was no more movement behind her.
“I love it when a stupid whore talks back to me,” Miles said, an inch from her face.
She could smell the burrito he ate for dinner. Too much guacamole, she almost said to him.
“It reminds me,” Miles continued, “of my past when I would beat my mother for being such a stupid whore.”
His grip tightened on her hair, the sharp pain reminding her of the days when she would pull her own hair out. There was something about getting her hair pulled that would always feel comforting, even through the pain.
She raised both hands so they were level with his gun hand.
“Be cool,” she said. “I was just clowning around.”
“What you want with Mercedes? Stupid bitch didn’t come into work tonight. You have something to do with that?”
“No.”
“Then why you here?”
“We wanted Mercedes for a three-way.”
His hand tightened on her hair as he smiled.
“I hate liars. If that was true, why attack Stevie? Why go after my girls?”
“I didn’t. But that doesn’t matter because you’ve already made up your mind.”
“That’s right.”
His hand tightened again. Her eyes watered. Now it was bordering on serious pain. This was no longer fun.
“Be cool,” Sarah said, “or I will break your nose.”
An M1911. The slide stop can be depressed from the reverse side to incapacitate the weapon.
Sarah knew enough about guns to know
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