before—fear. “Follow my lead,” he says. “Keep calm.”
Brock opens the door and is reefed out.
My door opens, another guy with a shotgun pulling me up and out by the arm.
“The pink-haired bitch too,” says Scarface, all three of us forced to stand in a line in front of the car.
I see a taxi pull into the street at the far end. Upon seeing the scene, however, it reverses right back out. It wants no part of whatever is about to go down.
High on my ribs is my weapon holstered tight under my jacket. I look around, calculate, but there are too many to take on at once. As long as we’re not searched, I’ll be fine.
The guy with the fucked face places the shotgun over his shoulder and shakes his head at Brock standing before us. “Nice ride. Always had you pegged for a pink kind of guy.”
Brock just stares at him. It’s not looking good.
“I’m a busy guy, Brock, so let’s make this simple.” He knows Brock? “You tell me what Hernandez did with our stuff, and I’ll let you all go, no harm, no foul. You can drive your hairdresser car away in one piece.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Even I know that’s the wrong answer to give in a situation like this.
“Who’s this?” says Scarface, looking me up and down.
“A friend,” Brock replies, standing in front of me.
Scarface laughs. “Protective of the pussy, huh? That’s cute.” He jams the shotgun right into Brock’s gut. “Now tell me where the fuck my ice is!”
“I told you. I don’t-”
He draws the gun back and drives it hard into Brock’s side. Brock collapses onto his knees before standing, teeth gritted together.
Scarface pulls me aside and places the the point of the barrel against my chest. “I’ve already killed someone tonight. I don’t want it to become a habit.”
“Look,” says Brock, out of breath but sounding sincere, “if Hernandez is running again, I don’t know about it. I swear to god.”
Scarface directs his attention back to Brock. “I believe you, but you better find out, and fast.”
Scarface points the gun at Birdie, low, and fires. The sudden violence, the crack of the shot, causes me to jump.
Birdie goes down screaming, holding her leg. Brock immediately bends to help her, but he’s knocked back.
“Let that be a fucking warning,” says Scarface, barrel smoking and Birdie wailing on the ground, the metallic linger of hot blood in the air. “I don’t fucking care if it’s you or Hernandez, but somebody is going to bring me back my stuff tomorrow or there’s going to be a lot more hurt.” He turns and gestures to his goons with a twist of the neck. “You know where to find us.”
As soon as the bikers have left, I get down and pull off my jacket, tying it high on Birdie’s thigh to stop the bleeding. It’s a real mess. I take out my cell and dial in, fingers shaking, Brock with his head in his hands beside me.
He hits the ground with his fist. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
My hand’s trembling, blood flowing warm around it. I stroke Birdie’s hair back, her pained cries turning into a soft whimper. “Stay with me, Birdie,” I tell her. “Everything’s going to be okay,” but even I know that’s about as far from the truth as you can get.
*
I’m screaming at Brock on the way home. “I thought you said you’ve changed, that you were out of this shit?”
His shirt is still covered in blood. The car reeks of it. It’s sticky on the steering wheel under my fingers. Birdie was stable when we left the hospital, but they might not be able to save the leg.
Brock’s silent. I can’t fucking stand it. “Say something!”
He turns. “What do you want me to say, Maddy? I don’t know anything about this.”
“You can’t expect me to believe that.”
“I want you to trust me when I tell you I have no fucking idea what those guys were talking about.”
“Hernandez is fucking you and you don’t even know it.”
He doesn’t have anything to say about
Brock opens the door and is reefed out.
My door opens, another guy with a shotgun pulling me up and out by the arm.
“The pink-haired bitch too,” says Scarface, all three of us forced to stand in a line in front of the car.
I see a taxi pull into the street at the far end. Upon seeing the scene, however, it reverses right back out. It wants no part of whatever is about to go down.
High on my ribs is my weapon holstered tight under my jacket. I look around, calculate, but there are too many to take on at once. As long as we’re not searched, I’ll be fine.
The guy with the fucked face places the shotgun over his shoulder and shakes his head at Brock standing before us. “Nice ride. Always had you pegged for a pink kind of guy.”
Brock just stares at him. It’s not looking good.
“I’m a busy guy, Brock, so let’s make this simple.” He knows Brock? “You tell me what Hernandez did with our stuff, and I’ll let you all go, no harm, no foul. You can drive your hairdresser car away in one piece.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Even I know that’s the wrong answer to give in a situation like this.
“Who’s this?” says Scarface, looking me up and down.
“A friend,” Brock replies, standing in front of me.
Scarface laughs. “Protective of the pussy, huh? That’s cute.” He jams the shotgun right into Brock’s gut. “Now tell me where the fuck my ice is!”
“I told you. I don’t-”
He draws the gun back and drives it hard into Brock’s side. Brock collapses onto his knees before standing, teeth gritted together.
Scarface pulls me aside and places the the point of the barrel against my chest. “I’ve already killed someone tonight. I don’t want it to become a habit.”
“Look,” says Brock, out of breath but sounding sincere, “if Hernandez is running again, I don’t know about it. I swear to god.”
Scarface directs his attention back to Brock. “I believe you, but you better find out, and fast.”
Scarface points the gun at Birdie, low, and fires. The sudden violence, the crack of the shot, causes me to jump.
Birdie goes down screaming, holding her leg. Brock immediately bends to help her, but he’s knocked back.
“Let that be a fucking warning,” says Scarface, barrel smoking and Birdie wailing on the ground, the metallic linger of hot blood in the air. “I don’t fucking care if it’s you or Hernandez, but somebody is going to bring me back my stuff tomorrow or there’s going to be a lot more hurt.” He turns and gestures to his goons with a twist of the neck. “You know where to find us.”
As soon as the bikers have left, I get down and pull off my jacket, tying it high on Birdie’s thigh to stop the bleeding. It’s a real mess. I take out my cell and dial in, fingers shaking, Brock with his head in his hands beside me.
He hits the ground with his fist. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
My hand’s trembling, blood flowing warm around it. I stroke Birdie’s hair back, her pained cries turning into a soft whimper. “Stay with me, Birdie,” I tell her. “Everything’s going to be okay,” but even I know that’s about as far from the truth as you can get.
*
I’m screaming at Brock on the way home. “I thought you said you’ve changed, that you were out of this shit?”
His shirt is still covered in blood. The car reeks of it. It’s sticky on the steering wheel under my fingers. Birdie was stable when we left the hospital, but they might not be able to save the leg.
Brock’s silent. I can’t fucking stand it. “Say something!”
He turns. “What do you want me to say, Maddy? I don’t know anything about this.”
“You can’t expect me to believe that.”
“I want you to trust me when I tell you I have no fucking idea what those guys were talking about.”
“Hernandez is fucking you and you don’t even know it.”
He doesn’t have anything to say about
Similar Books
