“She’s lying.”
To prove it, he punched her in the face.
She raised her hand, staggered back and dropped to the ground. The dress fell to the side. She wore no panties. Between her legs there was blood.
She didn’t move, not a muscle.
The hands came off River.
He staggered to his feet.
“Fair fight,” someone shouted. “One at a time.” A hand shook River’s shoulder. “Is that good with you, mister? A fair fight, one at a time.”
River said nothing.
Instead he picked January up and got her to a booth.
Her eyes opened.
She was hurt but she wouldn’t die.
“Stay here,” he said.
Then he walked back.
On the pool table he spotted a bottle of beer, half-empty. He drank what was left in one long swallow. Then he held the bottle by the neck and busted the bottom off. Jagged glass was left.
He set it down on the edge of the table and shook the blood out of his left ear.
He squared off to the two men.
“Now, cut your dicks off, both of you. Use that to do it. Cut ’em off or I’ll do it for you. If I have to do it, I’m going to cut your eyes out too. First your dicks, then your eyes. Do you understand?”
One of the men tried to bust out.
The crowd closed in and pushed him back.
37
From his position at the drums, Wilde watched helplessly as Alabama slipped off her barstool and made her way to the left. When she got to Robert Mitchum, she leaned into the bar, ostensibly to order a drink. Her ass was so close to his hand it might have been touching.
Wilde knew what she was doing.
She was being stupid-the exact thing he told her not to be.
Sure enough, now they were talking.
She was instantly fascinated with this stranger in a white shirt and letting her chest brush up against him to prove it.
She smiled her smile.
She tossed her hair.
It wasn’t clear if Mitchum was responding, but if he wasn’t yet he would be soon.
Alabama was hard to resist.
Even with all his strength, Wilde could hardly do it half the time.
Damn it, Alabama.
When the song was over, Secret got mobbed, she got mobbed so badly that Wilde didn’t even try to squeeze in. One of the mob turned out to be Rex Sailwood, the owner of a local record label called Sky Records. He bought her a drink and chewed on her ear for fifteen minutes before she was able to break free.
“Don’t tell me,” Wilde said. “Sailwood’s going to make you a star.”
Secret was surprised.
“You know him?”
Wilde nodded.
He did.
“Is he legit?”
“Actually he is,” Wilde said. “He’s not as big as what you’ll find in Chicago or New York, but he can get a record made and played.”
She ran a finger down his nose.
“I’m going to take your advice and sleep with the drummer.”
Wilde frowned.
“Do you see that guy over there at the bar in the white suit? The one molesting Alabama-”
She did.
“Is that the guy you saw on the roof?”
“I told you, I couldn’t make him out.”
“Could it be him?”
“It could be but so could you. Why, is that him?”
“That’s our friend Robert Mitchum,” he said. “Alabama’s making a move against my direct orders. Short term, if we stumble into them, pretend you don’t know her. We can’t blow her cover.”
“What’s long term?”
He lit a cigarette.
“Long term, we need to be sure she stays safe tonight, which is going to put a crimp in those plans you have for the drummer.” He blew smoke. “To be more accurate,
Secret kissed him.
“You had it right the first time-
“That’s a dead issue,” Wilde said. “At this point he obviously will and we’ll never know if it’s from the other night or from the stage or from both.”
“We’ll know if he hunts me down,” Secret said.
Wilde nodded.
“Yeah that would answer the question.”
Secret punched him.
“Don’t be so laid back about it.”
“Trust me, I’m not.”
38
Waverly twisted and jerked and did everything she could to get away from the grip that had her ankle. That did nothing but send her over the edge headfirst into the cold black waves.
Water filled her eyes and ears and nose.
