Hell To Pay

topping the fire escape on the third.

“That’s it, right?”

Stella managed to get her head close to Tracy’s window and look up. “I guess it is.”

Tracy took a wad of cash from her briefcase and stuffed it into the pocket of her slacks. “Wait here.”

“You’re not gonna leave me, are you?”

“I’ll be right back,” said Tracy.

“Don’t leave me here in the dark,” said Stella.

“You jet, you don’t get your money. Just remember that.”

Tracy stepped out of the van and carefully pushed on the driver’s-side door. It closed with a soft click.

WILSON reached behind him, not turning his head, and closed the bedroom door. It barely made it to the frame. The man on the bed averted his eyes. He struggled from the sitting position to put on his pants. Some change slipped from the trouser pockets and dropped to the sheets. Quinn kept his posture straight and his eyes on Wilson’s.

“I didn’t do nothin’, World,” said Jennifer.

Wilson took a few steps into the room, one hand in his leather, stopping several feet shy of Quinn. He looked down on Quinn and he looked him over and smiled.

“So what you doin’ in here, man?”

Quinn didn’t answer.

“You ain’t datin’,” said Wilson, his voice smooth and baritone.

Quinn said nothing.

“What’sa matter, white boy? Ain’t you got no tongue?”

“I came for the girl,” said Quinn.

“You must be . . .” Wilson snapped the fingers of his free hand. “Terry Quinn. Am I right?”

Quinn nodded slowly.

The room was suddenly small. There was no window, and Quinn knew he’d never make it to the door. Wilson was a big man, but his fluid movement suggested he would be unencumbered by his size. The only way to bring him down, Quinn reasoned, was to hit him low and wrap him up. It was what he always told the kids. Quinn edged one foot forward and put some weight on that leg’s knee.

“Now you gettin’ ready to rush me, little man? That’s what you fixin’ to do?”

Wilson produced a switchblade knife from his coat pocket. Four inches of stainless blade flicked open, the pearl handle resting loosely in Wilson’s hand.

“Picked this up over in Italy,” said Wilson. “They make the prettiest sticks.”

The man on the bed clumsily drew on his shirt. Jennifer began to step into her skirt.

Wilson’s eyes flared. “You scared, Terry?”

Again, Quinn did not reply.

“Terry. That’s a girl’s name, ain’t it?” Wilson laughed and stepped forward. “Don’t matter much to me, Terry. I need to, I cut a bitch up just as good as a man.”

The door was kicked open. Sue Tracy kicked it again on the backswing as she walked into the room. One arm was extended and holding a snub-nosed .38 Special. The other hand held her license case, flapped open.

“Fuck is that toy shit?” said Wilson.

“I’m an investigator,” said Tracy.

“Aw,” said Wilson, “now y’all are gonna play like you police, huh?”

“Shut up,” said Tracy, the muzzle of the revolver pointed at Wilson’s face. “Drop that knife.”

Even as the words were coming from her mouth, Wilson was tossing the knife to the floor. He was still smiling, though, his eyes lit with amusement, going from Tracy back to Quinn.

“Get outta here,” said Tracy to the fat man. She had a surge of adrenaline then, and she shouted, “Get the fuck back to your wife and kids!”

The man picked what was left of his clothing up off the floor and quickly left the room.

Wilson chuckled. “Damn, baby. You are like . . . you are like a man, you know it?” He head-motioned in the direction of Quinn. “You got a lot more man to you than this itty-bitty motherfucker right here, I can tell you that.”

Tracy saw Quinn’s face flush. “Terry, get her out of here. I’m right behind you, hear?”

Quinn stood frozen for a moment, his eyes dry and hot.

“Take her!” said Tracy, still holding the gun on Wilson.

“Cavalry gonna hold the Indians back while the women and children leave the fort,” said Wilson.

Jennifer Marshall finished fastening her skirt. Quinn reached over and took her firmly by the elbow. She was shaking beneath his touch.

“I didn’t do nothin’, World.”