Richard Hawke - Speak of the Devil

“Shit. What’s that for?”

With my other hand, I pulled some twenties from my pocket and handed them to her. Her talons gathered them in.

“Your boyfriend,” I said. “The one who’d slice my eyes out. We’re talking about Angel, aren’t we?”

Her eyes hadn’t left the gun. “You a pervert or a cop?”

“Neither, last time I checked.” I gestured with the gun. “Angel. I need to know where he is.”

“I don’t know where the hell he is. Put that thing down. I thought you wanted to have some fun.”

I tossed a few more twenties onto her lap. “That’s the nice way of asking,” I said, then I raised the gun barrel a few inches, to the woman’s easiest target. “This is the not-nice way. I’m betting you’re not only pretty but smart. So just tell me where I can find him. I’ll give you the rest of the money, all five hundred, and you can go back to the Flea and buy drinks for everyone. But I need to know, Donna. Angel is in big trouble. Seriously big trouble. If I can talk to him, I can keep it from being even bigger. There’s already a noose around his neck. I’m the one who can keep it from being pulled. But I’ve got to talk to him.”

“I don’t know what you talking about. Put that fucking thing away.”

“I’m talking about Roberto. Your ex-boyfriend. We both know what he did last week and how he ended up. And we’re talking about your current boyfriend. Do you want him to end up dead, too?”

“Angel hasn’t done nothing. What you want with him?”

“When was the last time you saw Angel?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Have you seen him since last Thursday? Since Thanksgiving?” I counted out five twenties and held them up in front of her face. “It doesn’t come any easier than this, honey. Free cash. One word, Donna. Yes? No?”

“No. I ain’t seen him.” She snatched the money.

“Okay. I want an address, Donna. I want a location. I’m going to drive, and you’re going to give me directions.” I hit the button on the driver’s door armrest, locking all the doors. Donna flinched slightly at the thunk . I loaded my voice with ice. “You take me to Angel, you’ll see the rest of the money. You play games? I pull over somewhere dark, and you’re not going to be happy.”

She tilted her chin upward defiantly. “You won’t shoot me.”

I touched her leg with the barrel of the gun and nudged at the hem of her dress. “Let’s put it this way: I won’t kill you.”

“I don’t know where he is,” she said again. A slight tremor had slipped into her voice. “Angel doesn’t live anywhere. He just crashes places.”

“You know the places he crashes. We’ll go on a little tour, you and me.”

I pulled the gun back and turned the ignition. A part of me hated having to be such a creep, but in this business, you don’t let those parts have any say in the matter. I thought of Gabriella Montero and the total lack of concern shown for her by the woman in the seat next to me. That helped. As I put the car in reverse, Donna shifted in her seat, swinging her knees over in the direction of the steering wheel. Her legs were impossible to ignore, as she knew full well. She snapped open her purse.

“Hey. I got an idea.” She looked up from her purse with dark meaningful eyes. “I can call Angel. See where he’s at.”

I swung my gun hand over the back of the seat in order to look out the rear window. “Good idea.” I eased the car backward, turning the wheel. From the corner of my eye, I saw Donna pulling her cell phone from the purse. In the brief instant before she lunged at me, it struck me how remarkably slender the phone was.

Pffffffffffffff!

Pepper spray. I jerked my head as it hissed from the tiny canister. A lot of it went directly into my mouth and I immediately gagged, but enough also misted into my eyes. Within a second they felt like they were on fire. I dropped the pistol onto the back floor as I pawed at my face. Donna cursed at me in Spanish, throwing herself across my lap. I heard the thunk of the doors unlocking. Grabbing wildly, I managed to get ahold of Donna’s hair.

“Fucker! Let go!”

My cheeks took a raking from her dangerous nails and I lost my grip on her hair. But I got my first burning gasp of air. I tried to see through the tears welling up in my eyes, but there was only a yellow blur moving off my lap. I swung at it. My hand hit something hard. Her purse. I grabbed at it. Donna tried to wrest it from my grip, then lowered her head and sank her teeth into the back of my hand. I jerked at the purse and heard its contents spill out. Donna slapped at my face, then the passenger door opened and I lunged, but my hand managed to grab only part of her leg. A second later, I took a sharp hit on the side of the head. I released the leg and the door slammed closed. From the swiftly receding sound-a slowly syncopated click, click, click -I gathered that Donna had hit me in the head with her stiletto heel and hadn’t stopped to put the shoe back on.

I remained sprawled on the front seat, working to find just one complete breath. Tears from my burning eyes were running down my face. How stupid . How utterly stupid of me. I tried to open my eyes again, but the burning sensation overcame me. I touched the spot on my head where I’d been hit. It was wet with blood.

Then I heard voices approaching. Chief among them was Donna’s.

“There! That green one.”

I shoved myself into a sitting position and beat spastically with my hand until I found my armrest, managing to find the door lock just as the voices reached the car.

“That’s it.” Donna again. “Right there. He tried to rape me.”

Someone pulled at the door. “Open the door, motherfucker, or I’ll fucking smash it the fuck in!”

I rubbed at my eyes and squinted through the blazing tears. I couldn’t tell how many of them Donna had summoned, but however many they were, they began rocking the car.

“Get the fuck out of the car, you pussy!”

The engine was still running. When Donna had blasted me with the pepper spray, the car had bumped harmlessly into the one parked behind me. My chest felt as if it had collapsed under a weight of bricks. I straightened in the seat and took hold of the wheel. I couldn’t see past the front of the car.

“He’s trying to get away!” Donna screamed. “Stop him!”

The rocking became more violent, and it was joined by a pounding. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from. I found the transmission and shoved it into drive. The pounding grew louder, then there was a pop , and bits of glass flew against me. The passenger-side window had been smashed. I could make out an arm coming through.

I twisted the wheel as far to the left as it would go and stomped on the gas. My fender grazed the car in front of me, but not enough to stop me. I swung the car out onto the street. Several people were running alongside me, shouting. There was a loud bump and the car shuddered. I might have hit someone, but I wasn’t about to stop and find out.

I leaned forward on the steering wheel just as headlights appeared directly in front of me, accompanied by a loud car horn, which was the only way I knew I had drifted to the wrong side of the street. I jerked the wheel, trying to find my lane. I glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing only a receding yellow blur floating amid several darker ones. Up ahead, I saw a red light approaching. Seeing no other lights, I went through the intersection, then rolled my window down, let off the gas somewhat and stuck my head out into the cold night air. It stung like hell, but it was the only way I could breathe.

Holding the steering wheel with one hand, rubbing my eyes with the back of the other hand, all the while hacking like a retired coal miner, I made my way at a crawling pace out of Fort Petersen. When I reached Flatbush, I pulled over and called Margo. I draped myself halfway out the car window and fought through the crappy connection.