'Girlfrien'?' The maid frowned.
'Yes. I know about his girlfriend. Do you have her number?'
'I don't, I have to go now. My daughter, she pick me up.' The maid drew her sweater closer around her bony shoulders.
'What is his girlfriend's name? I have to reach her.'
The maid shook her head, jittery. She glanced behind her and edged into a marble hallway. 'I go now.' She turned and hurried away, and Marta went down the hallway after her.
'Wait! Stop!' Marta hustled past a small elevator and a powder room. 'Don't you want to help Mr. Steere? He'll be angry if you don't.'
Marta found herself at the hall's end in a cavernous, book-lined library with cherrywood bookshelves extending to the ceiling. Rolling wooden ladders leaned against the shelves and leather wing chairs sat in front of a cold hearth. The library was empty. The maid had vanished. Across the room, double mahogany doors opened onto a spacious formal dining room with white marble floors. A set of modern, high-backed chairs sat around a long glass table dominated by a spiky crystal centerpiece, like a snowflake sculpted of glass. A frosted crystal chandelier cast shards of light around the room.
Where was the maid? Marta was spooked. She sensed the attack the split second before a pair of powerful hands seized her by the throat, choking the air out of her and lifting her bodily off the ground.
11
Bobby Bogosian squeezed the bitch's throat from behind and lifted her up by the neck. He held her there while she thrashed and grunted, running in the air like a fucking Road Runner cartoon. It wasn't like Bobby enjoyed the sight, because he didn't. He knew guys who got off on this shit all right, but to him it was a job. He was a professional. So when he thought the lawyer was gonna suffocate he threw her across the floor and she crashed into the dining room table.
'No!' she screamed, and Bobby thought it was funny how people always said 'no.' Like that would do anything. Like he could be persuaded. Just say no. He went after her.
Bobby covered the room in three bounds and shoved the bitch forward onto the table. Her head hit the glass thing in the middle and sent it crashing to the marble floor in a million pieces. Fuck! Now Bobby was mad. Professionals didn't make a mess. The fucking thing probably cost a thousand bucks. Fucking bitch.
She was howling and trying to kick and wiggle away, so he grabbed her hair and turned her around. He yanked her by the front of her blouse and slammed her head back onto the table. One shot, then another. Her eyes rolled around but she wasn't out yet. Stubborn bitch. Fine. He'd play it that way. Play it as it lays.
'What the fuck's the matter with you?' Bobby shouted in her face. 'You broke that, you bitch!'
Marta tried to scream but couldn't. She gasped for air. Her throat closed. Her head exploded in pain. Tears of fright sprang to her eyes.
'What do you think you're doin'? Breakin' things! Trespassin'! You're a fucking bitch, you know that! You're a fuckin' cunt!'
Marta tried to catch her breath. Who was this man? What was going on? He was tearing the hair right out of her head.
'What the fuck do you think you're doin'?' Bobby slammed her head against the table again and shoved himself between her legs. He'd pin her to the table with his dick. Let the bitch feel it. See how she liked that.
Marta felt her legs wrenched open. Her skirt at her waist. No. Not that. She thrashed in his grip. Tried to push him away. Kick him, kill him. He banged her head harder against the table. Marta cried out in agony and terror. She fought with her hands. Clawed the air with her nails.
'You want to get in my good graces?' Bobby was screaming.
Marta was groggy from the blows. Her scalp was on fire. Warmth gushed from the back of her head. Blood. Hers. Her fear grew so intense it became remote. It was happening to someone else. She watched the violence as if from above and struggled to get her bearings. Think. Save herself. The man had been waiting in Steere's house. The man must know Steere. The maid had set her up.
'You want to get in my good graces? Answer me!' Bobby raged, spitting.
Above Marta the man's face was red with fury and hate. Her mind reeled. The man worked for Steere. Steere had sent him to stop her. Then he couldn't kill her and he couldn't rape her. She'd have to go on TV when the jury came back. Marta told herself she had the upper hand even though she was getting the shit beat out of her. Power was a state of mind.
'You want to get in my good graces? Answer me, you cunt!'
'You have graces?' Marta managed to say.
Bobby couldn't believe this whore! When it came time to do her, he might start enjoying his work. He pulled her head forward by her hair and rammed it back against the glass table again and again until she finally went out. It took two more shots than he thought it would.
* * *
Marta gasped as she bent over the sink in her hotel bathroom. Even the slightest movement sent pain arcing though her body. She must have bruised her ribs, and her back was killing her. Her head throbbed and her hands shook as she splashed warm water on her face and let it course down her cheeks. Marta was alive, but she was a prisoner. The thug was sitting in the living room of her hotel suite. He wasn't leaving until the jury came back.
Marta splashed more water on her face and tried to collect her thoughts. She'd regained consciousness in the man's Corvette, and he'd taken her to her hotel and walked her up to her room, pressing a Magnum between her battered ribs. How would she get free of him?
Marta twisted off the faucet and patted her face dry. Wincing, she reached around the back of her head, where a dozen goose eggs had hatched, and fingered the lumps to see if the bleeding had stopped. She came away with blood on her fingertips, her scalp swollen and tender. All her bruises were in back, hidden; a very professional goon. She opened the medicine cabinet stiffly and gulped three more Advil. Then she caught sight of herself in the bathroom's large, spotless mirror.
