you didn’t have the money?”
She licked her lips. They tasted coppery, like blood. She was bleeding somewhere. “I think he thought I could lend him what he needed. To pay back this guy.”
“How much did he need?”
“Fifty thousand.”
Goatee Man stared at her. Celie held her breath.
“And what’d you tell him?”
“I told him I didn’t have that kind of cash. But maybe I could get it. A loan or something. If he’d just be patient.” She cleared her throat. “But then he died, so…”
He glanced at his partner in back. Celie felt her heart thundering. Was he actually buying this? She had no idea. Maybe he planned to kill her no matter what she said.
Oh, God. She could describe him. Both of them. They hadn’t bothered to conceal their faces.
She had to think of something.
“This money,” she sputtered. “Saledo’s money? Robert said he thought someone might try to take it, so he was keeping it somewhere safe. Until he could pay it all back. He didn’t say where. Maybe his car or his motel or something.”
Her voice was so wobbly now, even she could barely understand herself. Sweat streamed down her neck, between her shoulder blades. She looked at the gunman, pleading with him with her eyes. “He took my car, too. I swear that’s all I know.”
“She’s fucking with us, man!” The man in back was practically vibrating now. “I say we cap her.”
The gun swung toward the backseat again. A flurry of angry Spanish ensued, and Celie knew she was about to die. They were going to shoot her. Right here in this alley. She thought of her mother and her sisters. What would they do when someone told them she’d been murdered?
She watched them arguing. Goatee Man’s head had been shaved recently. Short black bristles covered his scalp, except for a jagged, crescent-shaped white scar above his right ear. Was the scar from a knife? A beer bottle? Celie knew with certainty his haircut was meant to show off the scar, to make him look more menacing.
A horn blared behind them, and everyone turned in unison. A delivery truck was trying to get by, but the black pickup was blocking its way. The driver opened his door and climbed down from the cab.
“ Fuck, man!” The man in back snatched his gun off the seat.
“Hey!” Goatee Man nodded at the weapon. “Chill the fuck out.”
He turned his attention back to Celie. “We’re not done with you. We’ll be back.”
Celie’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror. The truck driver was striding past the pickup now, and he looked peeved. Celie prayed he wasn’t about to get shot.
“Hey!” Her attention snapped back to Goatee Man. His gun had disappeared, but the look on his face was every bit as threatening. “Talk to the cops and you’re dead. We’ll be in touch, bitch.”
Celie nodded.
An instant later, both men were out of the car. Celie watched in the rearview mirror as they approached the truck driver. Their hands were empty, and she could tell by the driver’s indignant expression that he had no idea he was confronting two armed men. After a brief exchange, the driver returned to his truck, and the other two got into their pickup.
She was free.
The breath she’d been holding whooshed out of her lungs. Her hands were trembling all over the place, but she managed to lock the doors and put the car in gear. She raced down the alley, bouncing over potholes, nearly sideswiping a Dumpster. When she reached the first cross street, she made a sharp right turn and stomped on the gas.
John perched atop Celie’s stepladder with a metal trowel in one hand and a tub of spackle in the other. He hadn’t repaired Sheetrock in years, but this little patch of ceiling had been a breeze. Now all he needed was a can of touch-up paint, and it would look good as new.
“You know if she keeps any of this paint around?”
Dax looked up from his Entertainment Weekly . “She doesn’t, but I do. Got it from maintenance after my last party.”
John
She licked her lips. They tasted coppery, like blood. She was bleeding somewhere. “I think he thought I could lend him what he needed. To pay back this guy.”
“How much did he need?”
“Fifty thousand.”
Goatee Man stared at her. Celie held her breath.
“And what’d you tell him?”
“I told him I didn’t have that kind of cash. But maybe I could get it. A loan or something. If he’d just be patient.” She cleared her throat. “But then he died, so…”
He glanced at his partner in back. Celie felt her heart thundering. Was he actually buying this? She had no idea. Maybe he planned to kill her no matter what she said.
Oh, God. She could describe him. Both of them. They hadn’t bothered to conceal their faces.
She had to think of something.
“This money,” she sputtered. “Saledo’s money? Robert said he thought someone might try to take it, so he was keeping it somewhere safe. Until he could pay it all back. He didn’t say where. Maybe his car or his motel or something.”
Her voice was so wobbly now, even she could barely understand herself. Sweat streamed down her neck, between her shoulder blades. She looked at the gunman, pleading with him with her eyes. “He took my car, too. I swear that’s all I know.”
“She’s fucking with us, man!” The man in back was practically vibrating now. “I say we cap her.”
The gun swung toward the backseat again. A flurry of angry Spanish ensued, and Celie knew she was about to die. They were going to shoot her. Right here in this alley. She thought of her mother and her sisters. What would they do when someone told them she’d been murdered?
She watched them arguing. Goatee Man’s head had been shaved recently. Short black bristles covered his scalp, except for a jagged, crescent-shaped white scar above his right ear. Was the scar from a knife? A beer bottle? Celie knew with certainty his haircut was meant to show off the scar, to make him look more menacing.
A horn blared behind them, and everyone turned in unison. A delivery truck was trying to get by, but the black pickup was blocking its way. The driver opened his door and climbed down from the cab.
“ Fuck, man!” The man in back snatched his gun off the seat.
“Hey!” Goatee Man nodded at the weapon. “Chill the fuck out.”
He turned his attention back to Celie. “We’re not done with you. We’ll be back.”
Celie’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror. The truck driver was striding past the pickup now, and he looked peeved. Celie prayed he wasn’t about to get shot.
“Hey!” Her attention snapped back to Goatee Man. His gun had disappeared, but the look on his face was every bit as threatening. “Talk to the cops and you’re dead. We’ll be in touch, bitch.”
Celie nodded.
An instant later, both men were out of the car. Celie watched in the rearview mirror as they approached the truck driver. Their hands were empty, and she could tell by the driver’s indignant expression that he had no idea he was confronting two armed men. After a brief exchange, the driver returned to his truck, and the other two got into their pickup.
She was free.
The breath she’d been holding whooshed out of her lungs. Her hands were trembling all over the place, but she managed to lock the doors and put the car in gear. She raced down the alley, bouncing over potholes, nearly sideswiping a Dumpster. When she reached the first cross street, she made a sharp right turn and stomped on the gas.
John perched atop Celie’s stepladder with a metal trowel in one hand and a tub of spackle in the other. He hadn’t repaired Sheetrock in years, but this little patch of ceiling had been a breeze. Now all he needed was a can of touch-up paint, and it would look good as new.
“You know if she keeps any of this paint around?”
Dax looked up from his Entertainment Weekly . “She doesn’t, but I do. Got it from maintenance after my last party.”
John
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