“If you come near me,” I speak loud enough that he’ll hear, “if you so much as touch your dick while I can see, I’ll take the fishing knife from my pocket and cut your dick off. I’m done. I’m already a criminal, therefore, you’re the only one here with something to lose. You see this coffee in my hand? You see the steam coming out the top?” The man watches me with equal parts worry and defiance. “I’ll dunk your dick in the boiling liquid. I’ll slice if off, boil it, then I’ll feed it back to you while you bleed out. Does that sound like fun?”
Yellowing eyes flick between mine and my coffee. A week of growth on his jaw and throat can’t cover the way his Adam’s apple bobs nervously.
“Answer me, motherfucker!”
“No.” Clearing his throat, he steps back until half his body is covered by the corner of the building. “Not fun.”
“Right. So stay the hell away from me. Stay away from 5A. Go have a shower and get a fucking job, you derelict loser.”
His head bobs nervously. “Yes, ma’am.”
Yes, ma’am.Exactly!
I juggle my things and work a ten dollar bill out of my back pocket. Setting it on the ground, I place a rock over it and meet Murphey’s eyes. “Leave me alone, and you can eat fancy today.”
Those yellowed eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” A truce made, I stomp across the parking lot, push through thesecurityglass door, and hit the first flight of stairs at a jog.
Like every other time I’ve been here, heads poke out of doorways, the sounds of TVs blast through thin walls, and people grab their dicks like they think that’s inviting enough that I’ll drop to my knees.
I give them no reaction.
No whimpers of fright.
No mouthful of attitude.
I give them nothing but the ice princess impersonation I’ve somehow mastered in the last hour. But it all comes to a screeching halt when I reach the fourth-floor landing and come to a dead stop at a familiar face.
Red and black flannel shirt, sandy blonde hair and light stubble, he stands in a doorway with his left ankle kicked over the right and a broad hand scratching his jaw.
“I’m forgetting I ever met you.” Eyes down, I continue past him to the next flight. “You told me to forget. I’m asking you the same thing.”
“Did he die?”
“No.”
“Did you accidentally shoot off a round? I warned you not to play with guns.”
“I shot, but it wasn’t an accident.”
His light eyes twinkle with humor. “Ya know, it would seem I’m in the apartment directly below the one you spent the night in.”
“Okay. Don’t care. Go away.”
“Your gunshot woke me the fuck up.”
“Uh-huh. Loads of gunshots kept me awake last night. I absolutely don’t give a shit that you were woken up in the middle of the damn morning.”
His chest bounces with laughter. “Right, that’s true. Lots of crime around here. Lots of assholes. Those gunshots in the street are barely a bother, but the bullet zinging through my ceiling was something else entirely. You had me hauling my naked ass into the bathroom and bunkering down until the war ended.”
That brings me to a dead stop. “It went through the ceiling?” I look up, like I’d magically find a bullet hole. “Did I nearly kill you?”
He points at his ribs, at the same spot stitches hold me together, and lifts a brow. “It was a kill shot, lady. I’m a little offended you tried to kill me after I helped last night.”
“I didn’t try to kill you. I tried to killhim.”
“Why’d you try to kill him?” He laughs. “Last night you were all about saving his life. But Sunday arrives and you figure you’d be happy to help him along the path to church? You on the rag or something?”