Page 111 of Reno

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You haven’t shot a cop for real, have you?”

“Just one.” I nodded toward Watson. “Him.”

She chuckled. “Whatever. With what? A Nerf gun?”

“No. I shot him with Alacrán’s gun,” I said. “Twice. He was wearing a ballistic vest, so he lived through it.”

“Oh my gosh. Why would you do that?”

“It was part of the plan. I had to convince him of a few things.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

“He was going to arrest Alacrán. I didn’t want that to happen. Didn’t feel I could take the chance that he’d stay locked up forever. So, I shot Watson, then shot Alacrán. I let him take the credit for it, though.”

“They never named him as the killer,” she said. “Probably a good thing.”

“So, you’re not mad that I told him about us coming to the station?”

“No,” she said. “But I believe in payback.”

I rolled my eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure.” She sat down and kissed me. “I’ll wait until the time’s right, and then I’ll decide. You’ll know when it happens.”

“What if I don’t?”

“I suppose you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering if every trick I play on you is payback.”

“Payback’s a bitch,” a gruff voice said from behind us. “Or so I’ve heard, anyway.”

“Hi, Bama,” Carma said without turning around.

“How’s it going, Kid?”

“Pretty good. My dance partner’s worn out.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Is, too,” she insisted.

Bama cleared his throat. “I beg to differ.”

She laughed. “Are you asking me to dance?”

“I’d like to dance when the next good song comes up,” he replied. “As long as it’s okay with the Mister.”

“The Mister’s fine with it,” I said. “He’s too tired to dance.”

Bama walked in front of the bench and shoved his hands inside his overalls. “I’ll have you know, back in the day, I used to cut a fine rug.”

“What does that mean?” Carma asked.

“It means I could dance.”

“It’s not something you forget,” Carma argued. “Once a dancer, always a dancer. You’ve either got rhythm, or you don’t.”

While they were talking, Lady Marmalade, by LaBelle began to play.