Devil With a Gun by M. C. Grant

meeting with the Red Swan and her face glows livid.
    â€œYou stupid bitch! Why would you go looking into that?”
    â€œDon’t you want to know what happened to your father?”
    â€œNo! I don’t even remember him, and that’s the way I like it.”
    I notice that people are starting to pay attention to us, and that’s never a good thing.
    â€œLook at your life, Roxanne. Is this really what you want?”
    â€œFuck you!” she explodes. “You don’t know me or what I want.”
    â€œI can help,” I push. “I know some great people who can get you back on your feet.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, and off my back. I’ve heard the sermons before, sister.”
    â€œDamnit. Listen to me: you’re in danger here.”
    â€œNo.” Roxanne shakes her head. “The only one in danger here is you.”
    I look beyond the ox and see the bouncer moving in toward us. I glance over my shoulder and see a second bouncer coming from behind the bar.
    â€œPlease, Roxanne.” I hold out my hand. “Just come with me. Give me a day. We’ll see your sister.”
    Roxanne’s eyes are hard and dry as millstone. “You really think I have that choice?” she says. “Don’t be so fucking naive.”
    The first bouncer pushes past the ox, telling him to back off or take it upstairs, and advances on me.
    All I have is my boot knife, Lily, but I know it won’t do me any good. A smart fighter knows when a brawl is lost before it’s even begun.
    I raise my hands to show they’re empty and that I’m willing to go peacefully.

Thirteen
    â€œThe exit is back that way,” I say as the two bouncers lead me in the opposite direction. “My friend is waiting for me outside. She’ll probably be getting worried. Wouldn’t want her calling the cops simply because you have a lousy sense of direction, would you?”
    â€œThere’s nobody waiting,” the first bouncer says. “Think we don’t have eyes on the street?”
    I try a different tactic: “So are you two lovers?” I ask.
    â€œFuck you, bitch!”
    â€œKinda quick to anger there,” I press. “Strike a nerve? One-way love affair maybe? He’s straight, you’re—”
    I yelp as my arm is twisted behind my back and the bouncer’s thumb presses into the existing bruise on my wrist.
    â€œYou don’t have to hide your feelings with me, boys,” I groan. “I’m a live-and-let-live kinda gal.”
    â€œShut your mouth,” the bouncer snaps.
    At the end of a short, dilapidated hallway, we reach the rear of the hotel and a room labeled Storage . The first bouncer opens the door and flicks on the overhead light; the second one shoves me through the doorway.
    The room is mostly old boxes, forgotten luggage, stained mattresses, and dusty stacks of wooden chairs. I’m just happy that it’s not a torture chamber, complete with dentist chair and crazy Nazi with a drill à la Marathon Man , which I watched on Netflix last week.
    â€œThis your secret love nest?” I sniff the air. “Smells like it.”
    The lead bouncer shakes his massive head and I can see his muscles tense with rage. “The boss’ll want me to hurt you. I look forward to it.”
    â€œDeny, deny, deny,” I fire back bravely. “It’ll eat you up inside.”
    The bouncer makes a move to rush me, but his partner holds him back, cluing me into the fact that they’re not allowed to do anything until the boss shows.
    They both retreat into the hall before slamming the door closed, leaving me alone inside the windowless room.
    I allow a small smile to break through my secret terror, knowing that if I hadn’t made them so angry, they might’ve engaged their brains and searched me. As it is, they couldn’t wait to get out of earshot. Typical.
    I touch the pearl-handled switchblade in my boot to