The Hard Bounce - [54]

“Going clam digging?” I asked.

“Bite me.” Junior sniffed disapprovingly at the coffee I was brewing. “Amateur,” he grumbled.

“Sorry. It’s all I got.”

“Chock Full O’Nuts? Why don’t you just drink Folger’s instant, ya faggot.”

Before I could answer, Cassie shuffled out of the bathroom, her wet clothes wadded up in her arms.

“Feel better?” I took the dirty garments from her.

“Thanks. Dryer, at least,” she mumbled. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, instead taking in the majesty of my dirty kitchen tile.

“You two chill in the living room. I’ll be right with you.” The dressing on my bite needed changing. A little disinfecting couldn’t hurt either. I went into the bathroom with a bottle of vodka and long strips of cloth I’d cut from another old shirt. I would need to buy new clothes soon at my current rate of ruin. On the other hand, I would easily be able to replace my entire wardrobe as soon as Big Jack’s check cleared.

The silk lining I’d used to wrap my hand at Snake’s was starting to stick to the wound. Slowly, I peeled away the material clotted to my hand. The bleeding had stopped, but the flesh was badly swollen. I wasn’t sure if it looked worse than it felt. The Dilaudid dulled the pain down from sharp and stabbing to dull and throbbing. Once my hand was unwrapped, I wiggled the fingers again slowly. I didn’t bother checking my own medicine cabinet for disinfectant or bandages. My rusty can of shaving cream, half box of Q-Tips, and Tom & Jerry juice glass wouldn’t do me much good.

Was that a giggle coming from the living room? Go Junior.

To unscrew the bottle of vodka, I had to use my good hand and my teeth. I poured half the bottle over the wound, keeping the cap in my mouth to bite down on. The pain hit hard and fast. I clenched down hard enough to fire the cap out my mouth like a.22 slug, sending it bouncing around the bathtub. Without the cap, my teeth decided to sink into my tongue instead. I cried out in confused pain, not sure which injury to scream about. Taking a few deep breaths, I tied the strips of material together and rewrapped my hand tightly like a boxer’s.

As a final precaution, I rolled a mouthful of vodka over my freshly wounded tongue and spit a gob of pink saliva into the sink. I poured myself a cup of (substandard) coffee and went to see what was so funny.

When I walked into the living room, I saw Cassie sitting on my couch and Junior facing her, squatting on a footstool. I froze in the doorway.

Cassie was playing with the stun gun.

Junior was explaining to her how it worked. “When you press that little button right here, BZZZZT!” Junior shook and convulsed to emphasize the results. Cassie giggled at his pantomime.

I said a silent prayer that Junior had the sense to remove the batteries. No way would he be so stupid.

Junior saw me standing there. “Hey, Boo. What was all the hollering about? You yank your plank too hard?”

I never got to answer him.

I learned two things in that moment.

1. Prayers are worthless against Biblical stupidityAnd

2. Junior is beyond that stupid.

Cassie found her window when Junior turned to me in order to bust my balls. She stuck Rosie against Junior’s neck and pressed the button-just like the shithead had instructed her to. Junior made a noise like, “Ba-GAAACK,” jerked once, and flew backward, tumbling feet over ass over head. His feet stuck straight up in the air for a second before they plopped heavily down to the floor.

“How do you like it, fucker?” Cassie yelled. She was on her feet in a flash, holding the stun gun over Junior in two unsteady hands.

I got to take one step before she turned Rosie’s business end toward me.

“You stay right there,” she said. She jabbed the air with the stun gun, arms shaking. “Give me your phone!”

“Don’t have one. It got shut off,” I lied.

“Then why do you still carry it?” She pointed the stun gun toward my hip.

Shit. The cell phone. Forgot I owned the stupid thing, much less that I wore it.

Plan B. Nice Guy. I put on my best soft rock DJ voice. “Cassie, put it down. Talk to me. We just want to help you.”

“I’ll help myself, thank you very much.” Her arms shook with the effort of holding up the stun gun. “Now give me the phone!” The kid was running on her last reserves of adrenaline, which also seemed to be all that was holding her up.

“No.”

“Give it to me!” She took a step forward and pressed the button again to show me she meant business. The electrodes crackled blue arcs.

I slowly bent over and put my coffee on the floor. If push came to shove, I wanted both hands available to me. Her having lost the element of surprise, I was reasonably sure I could disarm her before she got me. What I wasn’t so sure of was that I could do it without hurting her. “Who are you going to call?”

“I have people. I have friends.”

“Who?”

“I have people I can call.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

“Who?” I said a little more harshly. “The piece of shit you’ve been staying with?”

“Don’t call him that. He loves me.”

“Guy’s got one twisted-ass idea of love. You look at your eye lately?”