“She’salive,” I admit, watching the woman in question stir in her sleep.
“Good,” Domi says, a yawn in her voice. They must have kept her in a holding cell overnight. Though, ironically, even a cot in a precinct was a step up for her. “Then get her down here. Make her flash her badge and get me the hell out of here before they find me first.”
There is no use in telling her that her “cop” turned out to be merely an informant right now. Instead, I glance at the clock above the stove and sigh. “Give me an hour.”
I get an earful of Russian in return.
“I’ll assume that all means ‘please and thank you,’” I tell her. “Sit tight. I’m on my way.”
She hangs up, and I use the resulting silence to inhale the rest of my second-to-last cig.
The damn thing’s barely gone cold when I sense Yellow watching me. I can’t tell how much of the phone call she heard, if any of it. She scans the wall behind my head while she attempts to regain control of her body.
She doesn’t look so green, at least. The sleep did her some good on that front. Not so much for her suspicion though.
“I see that you did more of your…artwhile I was out,” she says warily.
I find her gazing at her bandaged hand.
She inspects the sloppy job, flexing her fingers. “Thank you—”
“Don’t,” I say. “At least not until you see the nasty scar you’re gonna have.” A result that couldn’t have been helped given the state of my kit. I need new thread. New needles. Details I’ll just have to worry about later. I shake my head to clear it and run my free hand through my hair. “How do you feel?”
She takes her time before answering. The tilt to her mouth could almost be described as thoughtful. Or maybe it’s a grimace. “Like shit.”
“Good,” I say, flicking a wad of ash onto a blank page in my sketchbook. It doesn’t catch fire. The paper just smokes, and the ivory is swallowed up by ebony. “Last night, you could barely say the wordshit.”
“I’m sorry.” She doesn’t even seem to know why she’s apologizing. Her mouth curls into a frown, her brow furrowing. “I didn’t mean…”
“Don’t worry about it.” I can’t resist the urge to physically shrug her guilt off. “Think of it this way—You were just part of a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
She cocks an eyebrow. It’s several shades darker than her hair.Either she fills them in, or she’s not a natural blonde, a suspicion I file away for later.
“A what?” she asks.
I shake my head, turning my attention back to her face. She may know English well enough to suppress her accent, but she doesn’t seem to have picked up many phrases. I take it she doesn’t socialize much.
“Nothing. Just a friend of mine told me to have fun last night. What’s morefunthan stitching up a pretty girl?”
It’s only when she flinches that I infer that “pretty” isn’t a compliment where she’s from.
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
“It’s fine,” she says, but she draws her knees defensively to her chest. One of her hands feels down along her hip. She still isn’t wearing much, other than my shirt paired with that bloodstained pair of white shorts, and she bites her lip at the realization.
“Change of subject.” I clear the middle of the table with a sweep of my hand, as if the lack of clutter can reduce the tension. “Last night, you said something about money.”
“I don’t remember.” Her gaze hardens up.
“Look, I’ll give you every bit of what dear old Vlad left behind.” I mean it, despite the fact that I could certainly use every dime. “But, first, I need you to do something for me.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. So much for putting her at ease.
“Like what?” she asks.
I pinch my lower lip beneath my teeth and bite down hard. I don’t like revealing the cards in my deck so soon. But a good rat needs his birdy friends, and this one won’t keep singing if she’s locked up.
“Remember that little flying friend I told you about?”
