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Candy strokes the tiger’s ears.
Rose’s breathing and heart spike like someone rigged his scrotum to a 220 line.
“Please don’t touch that,” he says, and crosses the room in a few strides to where Candy is standing. She backs off and goes back to Brigitte while Rose combs the tiger’s fur back the way it was.
“Do you ever make anything besides animals?” says Candy.
She’s setting him up for me to knock down. Rose isn’t relaxed enough to attack, but he’s plenty distracted. I take off my glove and put it in my pocket.
“Like what?” says Rose.
I walk into his workspace balancing the 8 Ball on my Kissi hand.
“Something like this.”
I toss the ball at Rose. He catches it. Clutches it to his chest like a life preserver.
“How did you get in here? Get out before I call hotel security.”
I look at the girls.
“You know, people used to have pride. They’d keep a baseball bat by the door and hit you themselves. Now everyone has hired goons. What happened to the American can-do spirit?”
Candy and Brigitte snigger. Rose doesn’t move. He’s looking at my funny hand. I go to the hotel phone on the wall. Pull it out of the wall and crush it like a soda can in my trash-compactor fingers.
“Sweet Jesus,” whispers Rose.
I can read Rose like the Sunday funnies. He’s on the edge of panic. There are way too many people in here, but he’s conflicted. Who does he ask to go? The pretty ladies or the crazy man with the mechanical meat hook? He’s afraid of me but he’ll weep bitter tears every night if he passes up the chance to get a better look at my Kissi arm.
I use it to take back the 8 Ball. Wave it in front of him.
“Focus. Where did you see the real 8 Ball? Who did you make the fake one for?”
Candy and Brigitte stroll around the room playing with Rose’s tools. Running their hands over his animals’ fur and feathers.
“The sooner you answer, the sooner we’ll be gone,” I say.
He glances at the 8 Ball and shakes his head.
“I’ve never seen that thing before in my life.”
“It has your mark on it.”
“Then it’s a damn fake.”
Candy tosses Brigitte a wriggling koi. She catches it, laughing as it tries to squirm out of her hands.
“If you think we’re being unreasonable, think about it from my point of view. Not only did I lose the real 8 Ball, but your goddamn fake almost got me killed. Right now we’re going to play volleyball with every kitty cat and titmouse in here until you fess up and tell me who has the real ball.”
“I don’t know.”
“Who wanted the fake one?”
“It’s all lies.”
I stop for a minute. Is there a chance I’m torturing the wrong guy? I’m good at reading people, but Rose’s heart rate and breathing are off the chart. His pupils are the size of baked hams. But I’m still not convinced he’s all that innocent.
“Please. You people have to leave.”
