Page 61 of Joker's Ghost
I give her a quick kiss on the lips, fearing any closer contact will break me like shattered, damaged glass.
Later that night, I saunter into The Gold Mine and head straight for the bar. I haven’t had a drop of booze since the baby was born, but right now I need it bad.
“Well, look who’s here,” Rattler calls out. “The new daddy.”
“Mmmm.” I tap the bar with my index finger. “Set me up.”
Two seconds later, I’m staring at a shot of Jack. I gulp it down and savor the burn in my throat, then wait till the warmth spreads through my veins. Oh yeah, I needed that and many more.
“We missed you around here.” He leans over the bar. “Ready to take care of your business?”
I tap my shot glass, he fills it, and I throw that one back too. “Where’s Cobra?”
“In his office with Python. All ready to get this shit done.”
I push away from the bar and head to Cobra’s office with purpose. Take care of the Nomad and get the fuck on with my life.
I knock on Cobra’s door, then push through. Python turns from the chair in front of Cobra’s desk. “You ready to do this?”
“Abso-fuckin-lutely.”
Cobra nods. “Take care of your business.”
Python pushes out of his chair, and we both head to the basement stairs. I’m aware of my steps as I descend, but I’m way too wired to let my nerves take over. We head to the panic room, Python enters the code, and the door clicks open. We enter, he pulls the cord on the overhead light, and the Nomad blinks at the sudden brightness. We’ve got the whole room wired with electricity but there’s something unnerving about a lightbulb dangling from the ceiling.
Python rips the duct tape off his mouth, and the Nomad licks his cracked lips, then stares at us. His dark, defiant eyes are shadowed with bruises, his lips puffy and swollen. Along with a huge bump on the side of his head from my badass wife and her frying pan.
I step forward and glare down at him. “So, what made you think it was a good idea to come to my home and terrorize my pregnant wife?”
“Fuck you, I don’t have to tell you anything.”
Python makes a show of lifting the metal bat off the table against the wall. “You don’t have to, but you’re gonna want to after I smash your kneecaps a few times.”
The Nomad flinches, but his eyes never leave mine.
“Or how you survived a gunshot wound out in the desert and made it back to Vegas.”
“Maybe my powers allowed me to rise from the depths of death. Maybe you’re talking to my spirit right now.”
My fists clench at the same fuckin’ thought that’s been plaguing me for days. That I’m fighting with a goddamn ghost.
Python winds up and swings the bat, coming within inches of the Nomad. “Quit talking bullshit, or the next time I won’t miss.”
“I have higher powers that ward off physical pain.”
“No shit.” Python slams the bat against the Nomad’s shin.
He grinds his jaw and swallows the scream. Gotta give him credit, ‘cause it had to hurt like hell.
Python huffs out a rough laugh. “Maybe that higher power ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
I move closer, hunch down and get in his face. “In case your situation isn’t clear—you’ve been strapped to a metal chair in a soundproof room for the last three days. You smell like piss, and you haven’t eaten, so maybe you oughta stop fucking around and tell us what we want to hear.”
“I have fasted for seven days when on native retreats, so this is nothing to me.”
“These boys from up north may not know how we do things down here,” Python sneers. “We’ve got acres and acres of hot desert crawling with rattlers just looking to swallow you whole.”
“Doesn’t scare me.”
