Triage: A Thriller (Shell Series) by Phillip Thomas Duck Page B

knock as I reached the fourth door to the left of the elevator.
    I opened up, walked in, turned and clicked all the locks in place behind me.
    Small apartment, living room and kitchen bisected by a waist-high counter. Living room furnished with a tattered brown couch and a Salvation Army chair I’ll charitably describe as green. The tan carpet seasoned by drink stains and cigarette burns. Then further marred by cheap stitch work. No television. No stereo. A bare kitchen, except for a few cold drinks in the throbbing refrigerator, an old off-brand model that probably hadn’t worked particularly well even when it was new.
    Although it had been close to a year since I’d last been here, I knew all of this without having to take an inventory. Some things never change.
    A film of light leaked through the small crack at the bottom of the bathroom door.
    I heard the sink running, a woman’s soft melodic voice humming a tune.
    I made my way to the doorway.
    She stood by the sink, naked from the waist down, with soap on her fingers and using them to massage clean the lips of her vagina. No bath cloth, but a big towel lay next to her on the sink. Resting on the towel was a folding pocket knife with a serrated blade sharp enough to filet any man foolish enough to test it. She rinsed her fingers under the tap, then cupped a handful of water and thoroughly cleansed the residual soap from her genitals. Done with that, she carefully picked up the knife, pulled the towel out from under it, set the knife on the counter like a trusted friend. Patted herself dry with the towel, humming a song the entire time. Her movements so careful and thought out.
    I stood silently in the doorway and watched.
    She wore a peach-colored bra, the left strap hanging off her shoulder. I could only see her back, but I knew her body as well as I knew my own. Medium-sized breasts, nipples and areolas the color of pale pink rose petals, a small pouch of a stomach, belly button piercing, a fake silver dolphin strung from its chain that dangled to her thatch of blondish-brown pubic hair. The pubic hair she refused to trim. Skin the color of evaporated milk.
    “You scared the living shit out of Jiang,” she said suddenly, without looking up at me. “After what happened last time he…well, that’s water under the bridge. I won’t even go there. Why don’t you wait for me out in the living room? Check the fridge if you want something to drink.”
    “Pepsi,” I said.
    That got her full attention. The reflection of her eyes in the mirror regarded me for the first time since I’d entered the apartment. Blue eyes with a cast that made her look years older than her actual age. I noticed wrinkles around her eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there just a year prior, some strands of stubborn gray in her color-treated hair. In a few years, I wouldn’t kick Jiang’s ass in an alley to get a crumb of her time. Few would after she lost the inevitable battle with time. I wondered how well she would handle that transition.
    “You have a mean streak a mile long,” she said, smiling. “Jiang must’ve been crazy to deny you.”
    “He won’t again,” I said.
    “You’re preaching to the choir, baby. Believe me. Jiang’s thinking about having his fifteen-year-old daughter close the restaurant at night from here on out.”
    “He should hire some muscle.”
    She snickered at the thought. “As cheap as he is? When’s the last time he replaced anything in the Panda?”
    I shrugged.
    “Mao Zedong was still the leader of China, I’d imagine,” she said.
    I raised an eyebrow, impressed, and said, “Irony.” I thought smart hookers only showed up in movies and books that were trying to be cute.
    “What?” she asked with a frown.
    “Nothing,” I said. “But Jiang should have someone to keep you girls safe.”
            “You interested?” The frown turned to a fetching smile.
    “No.”
    She full out laughed. “Jiang can save that money. I’m