I could stitch my shit up just fine most days. But this particular hole went a little deeper than usual, and fishing around the damage on my own was how I’d almost disemboweled myself that one time.
Word of advice? If ya find something that feels like a sausage link sloshing around your stomach, don’t try to yank it out. It ain’t what ya think it is. Or maybe it’s exactly what you think it is and you just paid a lot better attention to anatomy than I ever did.
I made it back to B-wood a half a tank of gas and two pints of blood lighter. One of those could be explained by the knife, the other meant my hose wasn’t the only thingmyshkahad tried to suck dry.
She wanted to leave me bleeding out in that room with no way to make it back. Guess she never heard of Uber or the spare gas can Lambo was so keen to keep in the trunk.
I strolled up to the front doors, grinning into the camera and giving Bugs a little two-finger salute, followed by a one-finger wave before my knees gave out from under me and I hit the concrete steps with a thud.
When I blinked my eyes open, it was her face looking down at me. Blinked again, and she was replaced by one of the angel statues that was slowly decaying against the building. Blink, her. Blink, creepy angel. Blink, blink. And nothing but darkness because I wasn’t really blinking anymore.
“Probably getting tired of us meeting up like this, huh?” I smirked over at the bossman, who was in full doctor mode. Accessories included: white jacket, slutty little glasses (which we both knew he only wore for the missus and her nerd kink), and complimentary blood bag. O positive. The good stuff.
He didn’t answer me, choosing to focus on adjusting the tube in my arm. Glancing up every now and then to check the vitals machine.
I moved to get up and Lambo shoved me back down again. We both knew if I wanted these wires off my body, I was tugging them out and there was nothing he could do about it. We also both knew it wasn’t in my best interests to do that until the bag was empty. Maybe this bag and one more.
“Sit still,” he grunted. “Before Donnie brings the restraints.”
That was the real threat. I could fight bossman off just fine. Like I said, fucker was getting older and grumpier. But Don-Don was a different story. My brother from another pill-crusher could have me twisted up into a pretzel in a few quick flicks of his jerking hand—and that wasn’t nearly as fun as I made it sound.
I held up my palms in surrender, offering the doc another grin as I peeked under the blanket to check out his handiwork. Franks was always complaining about Lambo’s technique. But Iwas pretty sure that was Monster-Face’s ego talking. And it liked to talk a lot. About everyone.
“Do I even want to know?” Bossman jutted his chin towards the raised caterpillar he’d created on my stomach.
“How am I supposed to know what you want to know?” I shrugged. “I mean, I’d wanna know most things. But you and me don’t think the same, Doc.”
“No, we don’t,” he muttered to himself. It was meant to be an insult. It wasn’t. He stepped over to the door, pulling it open and pausing. “Seven days.”
“Before what? Some little orphan girl crawls out of your television screen and murders me?” I laughed. Bossman didn’t.
“Bedrest.”
I didn’t get a chance to argue. Not that it woulda mattered because Donnie was already walking in with a set of leather restraints tossed over a shoulder.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BELLATRIX
Do you know what they do when people can’t afford a headstone?
Nothing. You got nothing. Just vague directions to a sliver of grass. You had no choice but to take their word that your mother, uncle, sister, whatever was buried underneath it somewhere. Unless you wanted to spend an arm and a leg paying to dig 'em back up—and let’s go out on a limb and assume you didn’t have money for that either.
At fourteen, I didn’t. And when I finally did, my funds were better spent elsewhere. Weapons, medication, tac gear would do what an expensive piece of granite couldn’t. Put more bodies in unmarked graves. Sometimes right here. In this same cemetery. Most of the time down the street in city-sanctioned potter’s fields. That was the thing about shitty men… no one cared about them once they were dead. Sure, a handful of them got extravagant funerals, mistresses and bastard children throwing themselves on caskets for the attention of it. But shortly after that, they were forgotten. Life moved on.
We’d moved on after my sister had killed herself too. For a completely different reason. Common folks didn’t have the luxury of mourning. Not when there was work that had to be done. Bills that had to be paid. Other children who needed to be fed. Like me.
It should have bothered me that my sister was as forgotten as those shitty men. That I was the only one who visited her. But if I were being honest, I kinda like the fact nobody knew where she was buried but me. I didn’t have to share her anymore.
“Got another one, Alls.” I lifted my bottle of water towards the sky before pouring a few drops for her and downing the rest myself.
My sister would have preferred something a little more fancy, like the stuff she used to sneak out of Mr. Prescott’s liquor cabinet when Mama wasn’t looking. But you didn’t get to be picky when you were dead. Or poor. Or dead and poor.
Water was better for the grass anyway. I glanced around at the old cemetery behind St. Mary’s Church. Spotting the various brown and yellowing plots. At least Allie’s was green with little dandelions popping out the top.
I dropped to my knees and plucked up as many of them as I could find. Allie hated dandelions. Said they made your lawn lookcheap. I should have kept them there just to spite her.
But my sister wasn’t cheap. The diamond necklace that had cost her, her life was worth upwards of twenty grand. Much less when you pawned it at an unreputable cash-for-gold shop that didn’t want to ask questions any more than you wanted to answer them. And twenty grand was a lot for a couple of girls who had nothing.
