thirsty.”
“There’s a bar just down the street,” he said.
“There’s a bar in the corner,” I said, nodding in the direction of a big wooden bar. “A gentleman would offer me a drink.”
“I’m not a gentleman,” he said, “and you’re leaving.”
“I’m going to enjoy beating the truth out of you,” I said, pushing my lips together in a feral smile as I raised my fist and cracked my knuckles. “It’s going to be the highlight of my day.”
He sauntered out from the doorway, baton in hand. “I don’t think so.”
“Reed, get me a drink, will you?” I asked. I put on a ham of an accent. “I need to teach this degenerate some manners. Momma always said that hanging out in places like this produced some bad habits, but … I just didn’t believe her …”
The thug smiled. “You think tough talk is going to scare me?”
“No,” I said, smiling coyly, maybe a little psychotically, “but watching your blood drip out as I break lots and lots of your bones probably will. And if that doesn’t work, scattering your body parts all over the city will probably do it. And if that fails … well, I’ll come up with something even more creative.”
“Holy shit,” Reed muttered, making his way behind the bar. He was watching in a distracted sort of way, like he didn’t want to see what happened next.
“Tough talk,” Thuggy said, still smiling. “Let’s see what kind of action you can take to back it up, cop.”
I swept in at him as he raised a fist, baton in hand, and I punched him, ramming my knuckles right into his. It made a fearsome cracking noise that echoed through the makeshift casino. It took a second for the force of the impact to run through Thuggy’s nerves, and then he flinched, dropping the baton. I drew back a pace to see how he reacted.
He pulled his hand back, a pained look on his face as he cringed. “Ungh!” He clutched at his wrist.
“Yeah, that’s not going to fix the problem,” I said. “Wanna talk now?”
“I ain’t saying shit to you,” he said, still holding his hand.
“Ooookay,” I said and wound up again, bringing my hand behind me very theatrically.
He didn’t even cringe away, though he had to know something horrible was coming. I shrugged and relaxed, instead leaning forward slowly to flick his ear. He started to relax until my fingertip snapped against his lobe and the damned thing ripped off and went flying across the room like Tyson had just bit it off.
“Augh!” Thuggy shouted as he grabbed for his damaged ear with both hands.
“One of your regulars was murdered just down the road last night,” I said as he bent double, blood dripping from between his fingers. “His name was Carlton Jacobs. Dressed pretty snappy, tended to win pretty big.”
“I don’t know nothing about that,” Thuggy said, his face creased with pain. “I don’t know nothing about nothing!”
“I believe you when it comes to grammar,” I said, “but I’m finding myself more skeptical when it comes to Dr. Jacobs.” I raised my hand again, positioning my fingers for another good flick. “Come on. I’m hurting you almost as little as I can, here. Work with me.”
He scowled at me through gritted teeth and suggested I do something to myself that was very impolite, so I kicked him in the knee and watched him fall down. I probably broke something, maybe the patella, maybe the shin, I wasn’t really sure and I didn’t care. “If only I could,” I said, almost commiserating to him. “Unfortunately, someone destroyed my hotel room, and since I’m not a fan of exposing myself in public, I guess I’m just going to have to keep effing you up instead.”
Thuggy grunted. I’d clearly added to his list of woes. “I’m not saying … anything.” At least his grammar was improving. I felt like that was my contribution to society, and you’re very welcome.
“Suit yourself,” I said, and kicked him in the gut. It was more of a push than anything, sent him
“There’s a bar just down the street,” he said.
“There’s a bar in the corner,” I said, nodding in the direction of a big wooden bar. “A gentleman would offer me a drink.”
“I’m not a gentleman,” he said, “and you’re leaving.”
“I’m going to enjoy beating the truth out of you,” I said, pushing my lips together in a feral smile as I raised my fist and cracked my knuckles. “It’s going to be the highlight of my day.”
He sauntered out from the doorway, baton in hand. “I don’t think so.”
“Reed, get me a drink, will you?” I asked. I put on a ham of an accent. “I need to teach this degenerate some manners. Momma always said that hanging out in places like this produced some bad habits, but … I just didn’t believe her …”
The thug smiled. “You think tough talk is going to scare me?”
“No,” I said, smiling coyly, maybe a little psychotically, “but watching your blood drip out as I break lots and lots of your bones probably will. And if that doesn’t work, scattering your body parts all over the city will probably do it. And if that fails … well, I’ll come up with something even more creative.”
“Holy shit,” Reed muttered, making his way behind the bar. He was watching in a distracted sort of way, like he didn’t want to see what happened next.
“Tough talk,” Thuggy said, still smiling. “Let’s see what kind of action you can take to back it up, cop.”
I swept in at him as he raised a fist, baton in hand, and I punched him, ramming my knuckles right into his. It made a fearsome cracking noise that echoed through the makeshift casino. It took a second for the force of the impact to run through Thuggy’s nerves, and then he flinched, dropping the baton. I drew back a pace to see how he reacted.
He pulled his hand back, a pained look on his face as he cringed. “Ungh!” He clutched at his wrist.
“Yeah, that’s not going to fix the problem,” I said. “Wanna talk now?”
“I ain’t saying shit to you,” he said, still holding his hand.
“Ooookay,” I said and wound up again, bringing my hand behind me very theatrically.
He didn’t even cringe away, though he had to know something horrible was coming. I shrugged and relaxed, instead leaning forward slowly to flick his ear. He started to relax until my fingertip snapped against his lobe and the damned thing ripped off and went flying across the room like Tyson had just bit it off.
“Augh!” Thuggy shouted as he grabbed for his damaged ear with both hands.
“One of your regulars was murdered just down the road last night,” I said as he bent double, blood dripping from between his fingers. “His name was Carlton Jacobs. Dressed pretty snappy, tended to win pretty big.”
“I don’t know nothing about that,” Thuggy said, his face creased with pain. “I don’t know nothing about nothing!”
“I believe you when it comes to grammar,” I said, “but I’m finding myself more skeptical when it comes to Dr. Jacobs.” I raised my hand again, positioning my fingers for another good flick. “Come on. I’m hurting you almost as little as I can, here. Work with me.”
He scowled at me through gritted teeth and suggested I do something to myself that was very impolite, so I kicked him in the knee and watched him fall down. I probably broke something, maybe the patella, maybe the shin, I wasn’t really sure and I didn’t care. “If only I could,” I said, almost commiserating to him. “Unfortunately, someone destroyed my hotel room, and since I’m not a fan of exposing myself in public, I guess I’m just going to have to keep effing you up instead.”
Thuggy grunted. I’d clearly added to his list of woes. “I’m not saying … anything.” At least his grammar was improving. I felt like that was my contribution to society, and you’re very welcome.
“Suit yourself,” I said, and kicked him in the gut. It was more of a push than anything, sent him
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