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“Fuck you!”
“Some other time,” he whispered, and I heard his boots running over the hard-packed dirt.
Shit – shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT –
There was a knock at the door.
“Ma’am? It’s the night manager.”
The voice was very country, and very male.
I’d seen the night manager a couple of times. A chubby Hispanic woman.
Whoever was outside that door, it wasn’t the night manager.
SHIT.
Pull myself out the window, or get behind the bed?
If I started pulling myself out of the bathroom window and he broke in, I was entirely exposed.
Did I trust Eddie to do what he said he would?
FUCK –
I ran out of the bathroom, ran around the bed, and hunkered down on the floor on the other side.
“MA’AM,” the country voice shouted. “Open the door.”
“Go away, I have a gun!” I shouted back, cowering in the darkness.
WHAM!
He was breaking in.
I cocked the gun.
WHAM-CRACK!
The cheap lock splintered open and someone burst into the room.
“Who the fuck was in here?!” the voice shouted.
“Get out of here or I start shooting!” I yelled back.
There was a pause. “You’re lyin’.”
“Try me, asshole.”
“You stupid biiiIIIAAAAAGGHH – ”
There was an electrical tzzzzzzt sound, then the sound of 200 pounds of dead weight hitting the floor.
“It’s okay, you can come out,” Eddie said.
I peeked over the top of the bed. Eddie was standing over a face-down shape on the floor.
The guy, whoever he was, had long, scraggly hair. In the dim streetlight from the doorway, I could see the outline of the Midnight Riders logo on the back of his leather jacket.
