do you wanna do with this cum-drain, Leon?” Oscar said.
“Leon, tell him not to talk to me like that!”
SLAP!
Flood flinched again. Leon the Black Guy calmly walked back into view: tall, lean, well-groomed.
“You don’t like it when Oscar talks to you with disrespect?”
Jinny was sobbing now through obvious stinging pain. “Nuh-no!”
“Then why do you treat me with disrespect?”
Now the silence gaped.
The girl looked up wanly as Leon and Oscar towered over her.
“Whuh-what do you mean?”
“Don’t insult me, Jinny. I’ve always taken care of you, and now you betray me.”
“I-I never...”
“You’re made, bitch,” Oscar said, his bald head out of frame. “You’re busted.”
“We know, Jinny. So admit it. If you admit it, then everything’ll be cool. If you don’t... Just, please—don’t insult me.”
Flood’s eyes were peeled now, the drama cutting through the dark. More words flew upward, like tiny bats.
“I-I worked a car show in Tampa luh-luh-last weekend...”
Flood could see Leon standing, arms crossed, his head, too, out of frame.
“Um-hmm. And?”
The girl’s lower lip quivered, one cheek a blushing pink from the slaps. “And—that’s all.”
“Solo? Or were you working for Henry Phipps?”
“Solo!” she nearly jumped up and exclaimed.
“Hmm? Really?”
“Yes! I swear!”
“I’ve lost three girls to Henry. I’m not going to lose anymore. I won’t let you girls embarrass me like that. I take care of you all, and I don’t deserve to be humiliated.”
“I was soloing the car show, I swear to God! I wasn’t working on the side for Phipps!”
“I heard she was,” Oscar said.
“I wasn’t! I swear, I swear!”
Leon: “What do you think, Osc? You believe her?”
“No. Lemme fuck her up. Lemme bottle-job her.”
Jinny put face in hands, sobbing. “I didn’t, I didn’t. I’d never work for someone else...”
“I...,” Leon began. A beat. A gust of breeze. Then: “I believe her.”
Now her sobs were of relief.
“Thank you for being honest, Jinny. I hope we can maintain a wonderful friendship and working relationship.”
“Thank you, thank you. I made about a grand, I’ll give it all to you tomorrow.”
“Not necessary. I know you need it for your child. But you know the rules. If you hadn’t told the truth, it would be... much worse. Right? You know the rules?”
She gulped and nodded.
“Do you deserve what’s coming?”
Another gulp, another nod.
“Good girl. I’ve always liked you. You can make it hard, or you can make it easy.”
The girl stood up, head stooped, her nudity lusterless now.
Oscar seemed to be putting something on his hand. Flood’s mind flashed with the worst possibilities ( Brass knuckles? A blackjack? ) but then he noticed it was a glove, a large black glove. The girl turned to face Oscar, while Leon chicken-winged her from behind.
“Don’t make a sound,” he said into her ear.
By now Flood realized the glove’s uniqueness: it was a sand-mitt, something police and prison guards used as a non-lethal weapon.
Holy shit, he thought.
In the dark he reached for the phone to call hotel security and report an assault, but—
The room’s darkness around him, and the glaring image from the lit window, made him feel encased in cement.
“Not the face,” Leon said, propping the girl up by her elbows.
Oscar opened and closed the gloved hand, smacked it into his palm several times.
Call security, Flood thought.
The bald man belly-punched her once with a sound like a sandbag hitting the floor.
WHAP.
She tried to double over but Leon’s hold wouldn’t permit it.
WHAP. Another jab to the belly. Then another, and another.
The legs she stood on gave way; Leon kept holding her up, like a trainer holding a boxing pad. The fifth blow to the belly sent her head bouncing around, a ball on a spring. She must barely be conscious now.
Call the police! Flood screamed at himself, hand hovering over the
“Leon, tell him not to talk to me like that!”
SLAP!
Flood flinched again. Leon the Black Guy calmly walked back into view: tall, lean, well-groomed.
“You don’t like it when Oscar talks to you with disrespect?”
Jinny was sobbing now through obvious stinging pain. “Nuh-no!”
“Then why do you treat me with disrespect?”
Now the silence gaped.
The girl looked up wanly as Leon and Oscar towered over her.
“Whuh-what do you mean?”
“Don’t insult me, Jinny. I’ve always taken care of you, and now you betray me.”
“I-I never...”
“You’re made, bitch,” Oscar said, his bald head out of frame. “You’re busted.”
“We know, Jinny. So admit it. If you admit it, then everything’ll be cool. If you don’t... Just, please—don’t insult me.”
Flood’s eyes were peeled now, the drama cutting through the dark. More words flew upward, like tiny bats.
“I-I worked a car show in Tampa luh-luh-last weekend...”
Flood could see Leon standing, arms crossed, his head, too, out of frame.
“Um-hmm. And?”
The girl’s lower lip quivered, one cheek a blushing pink from the slaps. “And—that’s all.”
“Solo? Or were you working for Henry Phipps?”
“Solo!” she nearly jumped up and exclaimed.
“Hmm? Really?”
“Yes! I swear!”
“I’ve lost three girls to Henry. I’m not going to lose anymore. I won’t let you girls embarrass me like that. I take care of you all, and I don’t deserve to be humiliated.”
“I was soloing the car show, I swear to God! I wasn’t working on the side for Phipps!”
“I heard she was,” Oscar said.
“I wasn’t! I swear, I swear!”
Leon: “What do you think, Osc? You believe her?”
“No. Lemme fuck her up. Lemme bottle-job her.”
Jinny put face in hands, sobbing. “I didn’t, I didn’t. I’d never work for someone else...”
“I...,” Leon began. A beat. A gust of breeze. Then: “I believe her.”
Now her sobs were of relief.
“Thank you for being honest, Jinny. I hope we can maintain a wonderful friendship and working relationship.”
“Thank you, thank you. I made about a grand, I’ll give it all to you tomorrow.”
“Not necessary. I know you need it for your child. But you know the rules. If you hadn’t told the truth, it would be... much worse. Right? You know the rules?”
She gulped and nodded.
“Do you deserve what’s coming?”
Another gulp, another nod.
“Good girl. I’ve always liked you. You can make it hard, or you can make it easy.”
The girl stood up, head stooped, her nudity lusterless now.
Oscar seemed to be putting something on his hand. Flood’s mind flashed with the worst possibilities ( Brass knuckles? A blackjack? ) but then he noticed it was a glove, a large black glove. The girl turned to face Oscar, while Leon chicken-winged her from behind.
“Don’t make a sound,” he said into her ear.
By now Flood realized the glove’s uniqueness: it was a sand-mitt, something police and prison guards used as a non-lethal weapon.
Holy shit, he thought.
In the dark he reached for the phone to call hotel security and report an assault, but—
The room’s darkness around him, and the glaring image from the lit window, made him feel encased in cement.
“Not the face,” Leon said, propping the girl up by her elbows.
Oscar opened and closed the gloved hand, smacked it into his palm several times.
Call security, Flood thought.
The bald man belly-punched her once with a sound like a sandbag hitting the floor.
WHAP.
She tried to double over but Leon’s hold wouldn’t permit it.
WHAP. Another jab to the belly. Then another, and another.
The legs she stood on gave way; Leon kept holding her up, like a trainer holding a boxing pad. The fifth blow to the belly sent her head bouncing around, a ball on a spring. She must barely be conscious now.
Call the police! Flood screamed at himself, hand hovering over the
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