John Lutz - Night kills

He looked her up and down and smiled at her with rotten teeth. "If you're gonna stand an' pee, I hope you don't mind if I watch."

She returned the smile. "You know, I wouldn't mind at all."

His flesh-padded blue eyes darted this way and that, confirming that they were alone. He was obviously curious. "What's your play?"

"I'm looking for something to play with."

"You look more like you're somethin' to play with, if a man's got the cash."

"Some men did have the cash. Now I've got it."

"And now you're lookin' to spend it?"

"Isn't that what it's for?"

"Depends on what you wanna buy."

"White powder, not for a baby's ass."

He grinned and breathed out loudly and slowly, signifying that he was thinking. She could smell his foul breath, even from three feet away.

"You a cop?" he asked.

"If I am, I sure as hell got a sore anatomy from raising the cash for a score."

"You must be pretty confident I ain't a cop."

"Yeah, I bet tourists come up and ask you directions all the time."

He laughed. "You sure as shit ain't no workin' girl. You wear that outfit like it's some kinda costume. And maybe it is."

"I don't wanna pass a fashion test. I'm here to buy some coke."

"Thing is, there's a rumor there might be a raid on Billy G's tonight."

"Don't you hear that rumor every night?"

"Just about," he admitted.

"Listen, I sat upstairs and watched you deal to other people. From local jerkoffs to geeks from the burbs who drove their father's car into the city. My money's good, too. And to tell you the truth, I'm kinda desperate."

"Now, that I believe. But desperate to score some coke, or to make an arrest?"

"Oh, get serious." She lifted her T-shirt to expose her bare breasts, then squeezed them together, aiming her nipples at him. "Would a cop do this?"

He kept his eyes trained on her breasts until she lowered the shirt.

His hand went to a pocket in his leather vest and came out with a small tin container that had held breath mints. Maria wondered where he'd got it; he sure hadn't bought it and used all the mints. She inched her right hand into her unzipped purse.

"This has got high-grade stuff in it," he said.

She reached for the tin and he drew it back away from her outstretched left hand. "You don't trust me?"

"I trust no one."

"Well, you gotta place your trust in reliable old me. It's not like you're Donald Trump and you got any kinda bargainin' position. Is the stuff real or is it talcum powder? That's a question it's gonna cost you to answer."

"I don't buy without a taste."

He shrugged massive shoulders beneath the black leather vest. "You say you been watchin' me doin' business. How the hell you think I stay in business if I ain't honest?"

In a perverse way, it was a reasonable question. "Okay. How much?"

"Whatever's on you." His gaze returned to her breasts. "An' then some. You can show me you're really a workin' girl, an' that play outfit you're about to take off ain't a costume."

She fought down her fear and revulsion, letting her anger lend her courage. "Maybe you didn't notice I already showed you. And us working girls get paid."

"Sometimes they just get screwed."

The door opened, and a man in dress slacks and a blue pullover looked in. The expression on his face went blank and he quickly backed out.

The leather guy shrugged his bull shoulders again. "All I'm askin's a bonus." He held up the tiny tin container. "An' by the way, it ain't talcum powder. Like you mentioned, that's for babies' asses. This is for your nose, sweetheart. I got a whole nother somethin' for your ass." He noticed her hand in her purse, and the perfect stillness of very dangerous men about to act came over him. "I really do hope you're reachin' for your money."

She pulled out the flea market mace bomb and aimed it at his face, extending her arm so it was only inches away, and mashed down hard on the plastic button with her thumb.

Work! Please work!

Nothing happened.

"Oh, shit!"

He was just beginning to break into a grin when the mace hissed out into his face. It caught him when he was inhaling, and he gasped and staggered backward, floundering on the slick tiles.

He went down hard, bonking his head on the porcelain urinal.

The tin container flew from his hand and slid beneath the stall door.

Maria tried to pick it up in time but missed, fell down herself, and crawled into the stall.

There it is! Behind the toilet bowl! There!

As her hand closed around the tin container, she felt the leather guy's hand close around her right ankle. He had the grip of a man who'd spent thousands of hours squeezing motorcycle handlebars.

Maria clasped the container with one hand, and the edge of the stall door with the other. She managed to haul herself up to a standing position, but he still had her ankle.

The leather guy was lying on his back and had his mace-burned eyes clenched closed. There were tears streaming down his beefy face. He wasn't about to let go of her. Maria was glad to know he couldn't see her. She had a fighting chance.

Maintaining her grip on the steel door so she wouldn't lose her balance, she raised her left foot high and came down on his hand with the four-inch stiletto heel.

No reaction.

Again! Harder!

He yelped and released his grip on her ankle. The narrow tip of the heel had penetrated the web of flesh between his thumb and forefinger so deep that when he'd yanked his hand back it had almost pulled off her shoe. He was holding his injured hand in tight to his body, as if trying to stanch the bleeding. Still lying on his back, he began kicking out blindly with both feet, hoping one of his heavy boots would find her.

Maria stayed in the stall out of range and chose precisely the right time to dash past him. One of his flailing legs barely missed her. He was screaming now, but probably no one could hear him upstairs over the din of voices and the loud thudding of the amplified heartbeat.

Her attacker was swiveling on the floor like a crazed break-dancer, wasting his time now kicking at the opposite wall. She knew she'd made it. Edging from the restroom, she leaned down and said, "Asshole," between his screams. Making sure it was loud enough for him to hear.

Immediately he zeroed in on her voice and brought his huge body around on the tiles.

So graceful for such a big man.

As she left, he kicked the door shut after her.

She'd been down there too long. It was a worry.

Officer Nancy Weaver, seated at the bar in Billy G's, glanced at her watch. The new Madeline had been downstairs in the restroom for almost fifteen minutes. It wasn't the kind of place where anyone stayed a second longer than was necessary.

Weaver had made a trip to the restrooms herself and knew there was no way out of the building other than to come back upstairs. But no one had done that except for the somewhat alarmed-looking man who'd apparently gone downstairs and then immediately turned around and come back up.

Weaver knew there were a lot of things that could instantly repel someone from a restroom in a place like this. Still, the expression on the man's face stayed with her. Probably it had nothing to do with the new Madeline. Probably.

It was the long time Madeline was spending down there that bothered Weaver. She-

A commotion at the other end of the bar drew her attention. She heard the word police several times. She strained forward over her drink to see into the back bar mirror.

Great! Just what I need.

It looked like undercovers from the narcotics squad were making a collar. They had the guys in black leather lined up braced against the bar while they frisked them. One of the undercovers, a skinny guy with wildly spiked hair-who'd made an earlier buy Weaver had witnessed-had his 9mm stuck in one of the leather creeps' ear.