“Knock it off, Baldy,” Zig said. He stood up and stomped at the guy’s head, not too hard. Still, it made a noise against the tub. “We’re not going to do anything to you, if you co-operate.”
“Jesus Christ, I told you, I don’t know anything.”
“Don’t answer yet. I want you to think long and hard about how you can help me with my problem.”
“What fucking problem?” Pookie closed one eye against the water dripping into his face.
“My problem is that Max Maxwell was behind the San Francisco job, and I need to know where he put the take.”
Pookie shook water out of his eyes, blinking. “You’re asking the wrong guy. Max pays me cash. I don’t know anything about the take. I don’t even know how much it is.”
“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to revise your answers.” Zig opened and closed the bolt cutters right in front of Pookie’s face. “Just think about these and This Little Piggy.”
The guy opened his mouth and sat up a bit. He looked like he was going to say something, but then he winced as if he had really bad gas pains and turned his head to one side. He slid back down the tub and lay still.
“That’s fucked up,” Clem said.
“Turn the tap on again.”
Clem turned on the cold so it splashed all over Pookie’s face, but he still didn’t move. “Man, guy’s really out.”
Zig leaned over the tub and pressed the point of the bolt cutters against Pookie’s throat. “Hey, Baldy. Pay attention.”
Zig pressed harder. The guy didn’t move.
Clem looked up at him. “You think he’s dead?”
Zig took Pookie by the lapels and pulled him up to a sitting position, then shook him hard, but his head just lolled against his chest.
“Wake up, you bastard.” Zig shook him again. He held him out at arm’s length, a look of disgust creasing his features. “Fuck.”
He let him drop, and Pookie’s head connected with the tap in a way that looked extremely dead.
“Jesus,” Clem said. “How can you plan for something like this?”
Zig looked at him. “I don’t suppose you would happen to know CPR?”
Owen woke up, drifted off, and woke again to Sabrina pressing a cold compress to his forehead. He could hear Max talking to someone-the television, of course. Sabrina didn’t say much. When she saw he was awake, she placed a face cloth full of ice into his hand and pressed it up against his ear.
She had the Rocket’s first aid kit open on her lap and must have been using up the entire supply of disinfectant, because it hurt like hell.
“Gah,” Owen said. “If I look anything like I feel …”
“You don’t look bad,” she said. “But he did kind of mash up your ear a little. I’m sure it’ll shrink again.”
“I really need to rinse my mouth out.”
“Can you get up?”
She stood aside as he pushed himself to a sitting position. Nausea swirled around him, but he managed to totter to the bathroom. He rinsed his mouth, spitting streaks of red into the tiny sink.
By the time he emerged, he was feeling a little better. His stomach hurt, his head was throbbing, but at least the nausea was ebbing. Sabrina was sitting on the edge of the dining banquette, the first aid kit now closed on her lap and her hands folded neatly on top of it.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Owen said. It just came out.
“Oh, boy. Someone’s head is still out of order.”
Owen lowered himself to the bunk again. It was just a foam mattress over a wooden platform, which he could now feel attacking his bruises.
“Galahad awakes,” Max called. “How is thy head?”
“Hurts. Everything hurts.”
“Well, you have an angel of mercy tending you. It can hardly be hellish.”
Sabrina leaned forward. “Is he always like that?”
“Like what?”
“So theatrical.”
“Always. Oh, my head hurts.”
He lay back on the bed. Sabrina sat on the edge and took his shoes off. It felt strange but far from unpleasant. Even in his pain he was thrilled by her proximity.
“Thanks for cleaning up my face,” he said.
“No, no. I should be thanking you. You were so relentless! You just wouldn’t quit.”
“I just wanted him to stop slapping you. Are you okay?”
She smiled, and Owen felt something open up inside him, as if a lock had turned. “You’re the one who got hurt,” she said. “And Bill, of course.”
“Max hit him with something, didn’t he.”
“A parking meter. There was a pile of them at the corner of the lot. Talk about theatrical.”
“Who was that guy, anyway?” Owen said. “He sounded like some kind of preacher.”
Sabrina shook her head. “He works for a hotel security outfit. He got born again a few years ago and he takes his Bible pretty seriously.”
“I’ll say. Is he your husband?”
She laughed, and it was a sound he wanted to hear again as soon as possible. “Husband? God, no.” Sabrina helped him rearrange his pillow. “Bill is, um, obsessive, I guess you’d say. He helped me out when I was in a-a very bad way, and ever since then he’s been convinced we were made for each other. He’s not always like you saw him.”
“But he hits you.”
“That was just the second time. I told him the first time, if he did it again, I’d leave and he’d never see me again. He can actually be very sweet sometimes, very thoughtful. He kind of made himself indispensable. At least it seemed that way. Bill has lots of good qualities-he’s generous, kind-hearted.”
“He’s also bat-shit crazy.”
“Well, if I’d known what I was getting into …”
“How’d you meet a guy like that in the first place?”
“I was working in this bar near the Strip, making hardly any money. My landlord was booting me out of my basement apartment because he sold his house. Bill was a regular in this bar-he’d come in twice a week for a beer and a shot of Canadian Club, and he was always very friendly but, you know, nothing more than that.
“Then one day he asked me how I was doing, and I just totally lost it. And he was great. A real rock, you know? He offered to help me find a place to live, and when he saw how tiny and grubby the places were-the ones I could afford-he said, ‘No way. I’ve got room at my house. You come and stay with me.’ No, don’t look like that. I knew I could trust him. So I moved in with him-it was just supposed to be for a few days, but before I knew it, three months had gone by-nearly four now. He’s never made the slightest move on me, not seriously anyway. I guess he tried to hold my hand a couple of times. But when things started looking up for me, ho boy.”
“He got possessive?”
“He always wants to walk me to work, or go with me when I go anywhere. When I get off shift, he’s outside the restaurant. Every time I pick up my cellphone, there’s a message from him, even though I’m staying at his place. ‘Sabrina, I miss you.’ ‘Just want you to know I’m thinking of you.’ Stuff like that. It might be romantic under other circumstances, but, I mean, he’s twice my age and we have exactly zero in common.”
“So, why’d you stay?”
“I was broke. The new job at Luigi’s pays really well, but I was totally in debt. And besides, he wasn’t a serious pain until just the last couple of weeks. Now, if he sees me talking to any man-any man at all-he gets crazy jealous. I’ve never so much as kissed him, and he’s insane with jealousy. Like tonight. He was waiting for me at the bar in the restaurant and, I don’t know, he didn’t like the way I smiled at you or something. And when I got off work, he was waiting outside and I knew it was gonna be trouble, and that’s pretty much when you came along.”
“You going to stay in Las Vegas?”
She shook her head. He loved the way she did it, pursing her lips, closing her eyes, and then that little side-to-side movement that made her hair, now that it was untied, swirl against her shoulders.