Pugli watches him leave and then sits on the edge of the bed, his posture stiff and perfect as he stares at me, slightly shaking his head. "Your sense of self-preservation is massively atrophied, Miss Harris," Pugli says to me. "Push that man any further and his reaction will be beyond my ability to curtail."
"Thanks for the warning, Señor Thesaurus."
Another shake of his head. "You weren't beaten enough as a child and it shows."
“You weren't hugged enough as a child and it shows," I retort.
Renihno tugs on my hand again. I look down at him and he gestures at the bathroom. I walk him that way, but I'm stopped by Pugli's voice.
"I am aware of the window in that bathroom, Miss Harris. You won't get far with a child in tow, and if you attempt to escape, I'll let Anatoly have his way with you while the child watches."
"Yes, I'm aware of your obsession with making people watch horrible things." I flip him off. "Fuck you."
His growl is nearing irate. "Miss Harris, this is your last warning. Your utility is limited."
"And you have no utility, so I'm ahead of you." I flip him off.
God, I really am an idiot. Pissing off these awful, evil, violent, horrible men is a terribly moronic idea. Yet I just can't seem to stop my mouth from running away from my brain.
I take Renihno to the bathroom and turn away to give the boy privacy. He pees for longer than I'd have thought possible for a body as small as his.
He washes his hands, dries them, and then looks up at me with large, tearful brown eyes. "Mamá esta muerta?"
I'm familiar enough with classroom Spanish to know what he's asking. I crouch in front of him and take his hands. Hold his eyes. "Yes, your mama is dead."
"Por qué la mató?” he asks.
"Why…?" I shake my head. "You're at the limit of my Spanish, kid."
He stares at me. Looks at the door, points. "El hombre malo…"
"The bad man?"=
"Sí. The bad man." He makes a finger gun and points at the ground, and makes a soft explosion sound with his mouth. "Por qué? Mi Mama es buena."
My eyes burn. "Oh. Why did he kill her?" =
"Sí. No se por qué. Mi Mama es buena. Fui malo?” His voice cracks at the end.
I gather him against my chest in a hug. “No, Ren. It's not your fault. Esta no…tu…um…problema?"
He manages a tiny quirk of his lips at my godawful Spanish. "No es tu culpa. No es mi culpa."
"Sí,” I whisper. "No es tu culpa, Ren. El es malo. That’s the only reason. El es muy, muy malo.”
A fist pounds on the door. "That's enough. Come out."
"Come on, then." I stand up and take his hand.
We enter the room, and Ren goes immediately to the empty bed nearest the bathroom, curls up on the edge of it, and closes his eyes.
I lounge on the bed next to him, considering my options for getting out of this mess. Number one, I need to learn how to bite my tongue. Between Pugli and Anatoly, I'm going to piss one of them off and get myself shot. The problem here is that controlling my sass has proven, thus far in my life, to be impossible.
Second, I need a plan for what to do once Ren and I are away from these fuckers—killing Anatoly and Pugli will be the easy part. It's the “what then” that's the sticking point—this Mercado guy has Pugli nervous, at very least. Wary, perhaps, is a better word. I'm not sure Pugli is necessarily scared of him, exactly, but he's definitely got a healthy respect for him.
Which means I should be terrified. Pugli is the Devil incarnate. In which case, there's a level of evil beyond the devil, and that's where Mercado lives.
Which means, assuming I can kill Anatoly and Pugli, I still have to keep us out of Mercado's clutches. With a terrified, traumatized child in tow, with whom there’s a bit of a language barrier going on.
