that showed when he grinned. He slipped his free hand inside Jenn's blouse and cupped one breast. 'And wouldn't that be a shame. She has nice ones. A real handful,' he said and squeezed her breast hard. She grimaced and bit her lips rather than let him see her in pain.
'Where we going?' I asked.
'Does it matter?' the gunman said. He stepped back and levelled the gun at my chest. 'Don't even think about it.'
'No thinking,' I said. 'Not me.'
He opened the door and backed out into the anteroom. His partner took his hand out of Jenn's blouse and stood her up roughly.
'Walk,' the gunman said to me. He backed his way to the front door and felt for the handle. 'Just remember what happens if you fuck around.'
He kept the gun on me as he opened the door. I tried to keep the surprise out of my eyes.
Eddie Solomon was standing there with a tray in his hands. It held a steaming carafe and three coffee cups.
'Ahem,' Eddie said.
When the gunman wheeled, Eddie threw the tray in his face. The gunman screamed as the hot coffee splashed over him. The heels of both hands went up to his eyes and it was easy for me to grab his gun hand, turn the arm toward the floor, pivot and drive my opposite knee down into it. It broke with a lovely snap, better than I could have hoped for. The arm wouldn't move again till spring. The gun fell to the floor. I grabbed it before it could bounce and turned to point it at his buddy.
No need.
While he gaped at his partner going down, Jenn pinned his knife arm against her chest with both hands, leaned back into him, lifted her heels and brought them down hard on the thigh of his front leg. He howled, charleyhorsed but good, and fell to the floor on his back. The knife clattered away and as he writhed on his side, she rolled onto her knees and socked him hard where his jaw met his chin, all her weight behind it. His eyes closed and his mouth formed an oval. When he tried to stand up she put her boot on his shoulder and sent him sprawling into the chair she'd been in.
'Who's the bitch now?' she asked him. 'Who's the bitch now?'
'Jonah!' Eddie cried.
I turned to see the gunman barge past him and run for the stairs, cradling his broken arm. I could have shot him, I suppose. But the carpet was already stained from Eddie's spilled coffee.
'Lock the door,' I said to Eddie. 'And get behind the desk.'
'You know how much that coffee cost a pound?' he moaned. 'That was the Javanese monkey shit.'
I picked the knife up off the floor and placed it on the desk in front of Eddie. I checked the load in the gun and handed it to Jenn. 'If he tries anything,' I said, 'shoot him in the balls.'
'One at a time?' she asked. 'Or both in one shot?'
'Depends how little they are.'
'One should do it.'
'Give me your wallet,' I told the guy. He fumbled it quickly out of his back pocket. I shoved him back into Jenn's chair and looked at his driver's licence. His name was Sonny Tallarico. 'Okay, Sonny,' I said. 'Who sent you?'
'Man, I can't tell you that.'
I said, 'Let's try that again,' and drove the palm of my hand into the bridge of his nose. Not quite hard enough to break it, but it drew both blood and tears. When he brought his left hand up over his nose, I grabbed his wrist and cranked his ring finger back and counter-clockwise.
'Jesus fucking Christ!' he screamed. 'You broke my fucking finger! You broke my fucking finger, you motherfucking prick!'
'I did not,' I said. 'I dislocated it. And as soon as someone pops it back in, the pain will go away.'
'Do it,' he panted.
'Do what?'
'Pop it!'
'Me?'
'Come on!'
'Who sent you?'
'Christ, man, they'll fucking kill me.'
'You think we won't?'
'You touched my tits,' Jenn said. 'Without asking.'
'Jesus Christ,' he moaned.
I grabbed the ring finger on his other hand. 'You want the two-for-one special?'
'No!' he screamed. 'Don't! Don't, please.'
'We're listening.'
'Just a guy we know.'
'What guy?
'I can't.'
'Last chance, Sonny,' I said. 'I do both hands, you'll need someone else to hold your dick when you piss.'
'Lenny! Lenny's his name.'
'Lenny what?'
'Corazzo.'
'And who is Lenny Corazzo?'
'Just a guy we do stuff for.'
'Yeah? What else did he ask you to do this week?'
'This week? Nothing, man.'
'He didn't tell you to beat up a guy?'
'What guy?'
'A blond guy. Martin Glenn.'
'No,' he panted. 'No blond guys.'
I started to bend his finger back but he just closed his eyes in anticipation of the pain. I had to believe he was telling the truth. I let go of it. Jenn looked disappointed.
'Please,' he said. 'Put my finger back.' His injured hand was trembling like a morning drinker's; he had to clutch it in his good hand to make it stop.
'One more thing.'
'Come on, man. You promised.'
'This isn't Boy Scouts, Sonny. What's your partner's name?'
'My partner-'
'The guy with the gun. The one whose arm I broke.'
'Oliviero,' he groaned. 'Sal Oliviero. Sally O he goes by.'
He'd volunteered something. It told me he wasn't holding back.
'What do they call you?' I asked.
He looked down.
'I'll find out anyway. Don't prolong this.'
'Sonny the Gun,' he said.
Jenn hooted. The best revenge.
'All right,' I said. 'Stay still.' I took hold of his shaking hand and told him to look away.
'Away where?'
'Anywhere but your finger, Einstein.'
He looked down at the ground, then closed his eyes and sucked in his breath. I grasped the injured finger. Fixing a dislocated finger is not as easy as it looks in televised sports, where they yank it, tape it and send the guy back in. You have to bend the finger backwards, like you did in hurting it, grip it from behind and push the base forward. In lay terms, it hurts like fucking hell. I told Sonny to count to three and at two and a half I put his finger
