Sick City by Tony O'Neill

Author:Tony O'Neill
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: HarperCollins

Chapter Twenty-Five

Trina was silent as she and Pat grimly walked back outside. They had barely gotten in the car when Trina said, “Why did you have to do that, Pat?” She was breathing funny, sounded like she was on the verge of some kind of panic attack. “Seriously—why did you do that? You didn’t say you were going to do that!”

“You wanna do time?” Pat said, glaring at her. “ ’Cos I don’t think you wanna do time.”

“Pat—you fuckin’ killed him! You shouldn’t have done that, man! He already told you where the shit was and you killed him! I mean, Tyler was an asshole, but—FUCK, Pat—”

Without another word, Pat backhanded Trina across the face. The sudden blow silenced her. She cowered away from him, holding her hand to her burning cheek and shaking in terror. Pat was staring at her with eyes like black holes.

“I’m gonna write that one up to you bein’ in shock or some shit. You ever talk back to me like that again, bitch, and you ain’t gonna like what you’ll get.”

“Pat, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Daddy!”

“Don’t be getting overfamiliar with me, girl. Nobody talks to me like that. Not you, not nobody!”

“Pat . . . I . . .”

Trina’s mouth hung open for a moment. She was staring right past Pat now. Pat turned to follow her gaze. A car was pulling up in front of Tyler’s apartment. “Shit!” Pat hissed. “Get down!” Trina hunched down, and Pat slid his ass to the very edge of the driver’s seat so that only his eyes were peering over the steering wheel. He watched as Jeffrey got out of the car and slammed the door behind him.

“Can you see that motherfucker?” Pat hissed. “Who is he?”

“Oh, shit,” Trina said, “that’s Jeffrey. He’s one of Tyler’s friends. Fuck!”

“He’s a junkie?”

“Yeah. He just got out of rehab. I guess he came back for his bag. . . .”

“What bag?”

“He left his shit with Tyler when he checked in. Tyler said he left a bag of dope, valuables, all of his shit there.”

Trina sensed Pat’s body coiling tighter, a cobra about to strike.

“He was supposed to pick it up last night. That’s why I didn’t say anything, Daddy!”

They watched as Jeffrey rang the bell. Getting no answer, he pushed the door softly. Then he walked inside, leaving the door ajar.

· · ·

Trina watched from the corner of her eye as Pat put his hand to his motorcycle boot, feeling for the handle of the blade. She kept her goddamned mouth shut this time.

“One Mississippi . . . ,” Pat was breathing, “two Mississippi . . .”

As soon as the door had opened, Jeffrey knew that something was wrong. He stepped into the living room and almost slipped in the not-yet-congealed pool of blood that had spread out over the hardwood floor. He saw the body, lying there, duct-taped to the chair. He didn’t even check if Tyler was still alive. There was so much blood. He was covered, fucking drenched in blood.

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