Free Wake Up Dead by Roger Smith Page B

kill your fucken husband and tell the cops it’s us.”
    She stared him down. “What do you want?”
    He shrugged. “Call it … compensation .” He liked the taste of the word enough to repeat it. “ Compensation .” Then he laughed again. The beautiful one laughed too.
    The troll stood. “Watch her. I gonna go check the place out.”
    As soon as they were alone, Mr. Handsome came over to Roxy, took her chin in his tattooed hand, and forced her to look up into his face. It was a terrifying face. All the elements that determined beauty were there: almond eyes, a finely shaped nose, full lips, high cheekbones. His hair was only slightly wavy and fell across his forehead. But it was a face that lacked humanity. The eyes were empty and fogged. The face of a fallen angel. She could smell the chemicals on his body.
    He smiled at her. The perfect smile ruined by a missing tooth. He squatted down beside her and traced a finger along the bare skin of her arm. She felt the faint blonde down stand in revulsion and fear as his hand moved along her shoulder and followed the
outline of her breast through the damp top. She could feel his stale breath on her face.
    His hand dropped, caressing her inner thigh, smiling at her. Seductive. Believing she was attracted to him. He moved himself forward so she could feel his hard-on against her knee.
    “You and me, we can make beautiful babies.”
    She twisted away from him, tried to kick out with her bound ankles and only succeeded in toppling to the side. She lay with her face against the carpet and saw the short man walk back in.
    “Leave her be. Plenty time for that.” He came over to her and grabbed her arm, pulling her upright. He tapped her chin with the gun barrel. “Where’s the safe?”
    Roxy shook her head. “There is no safe.” She was telling the truth. If there had been, she would’ve emptied it by now.
    “I said, where’s the fucken safe?” Holding the barrel against her cheek.
    Again she shook her head.
    He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her forward so she knelt, her chin almost touching the carpet. He pushed the gun up against the base of her skull.
    “Tell me, or I shoot you.”
    “There’s no safe.”
    Roxy heard him cock the gun. She stared down at the carpet, wondering if this knotted woolen pile was the last thing she would see. When she closed her eyes, she knew that it wasn’t. Because she saw Joe, his face warping from the impact of the bullet. She could go either way on the whole afterlife deal, but she had this premonition that Joe was out there somewhere. Waiting for her. A trigger pull away.
    Then she felt the pressure from the barrel ease. She realized she was holding her breath and released it. Relaxed her locked neck muscles. The troll shoved a shoe beneath her chin, a torn
Adidas that stank of years of sweat and foot rot. Pushed her until she toppled over onto her back, staring up at him. He pointed the gun at her, held it unwavering for an eternity, then let it droop to his side.
    “Okay, this is how it gonna be. You gonna get us a hunnerd thou. Cash. By tomorrow. Hear me?” She nodded, playing along. “You gonna give us your cell number, and we call you and tell you where to take the money. Okay?” She nodded again. “You not gonna go to the cops ’cause you gonna get your ass thrown in chookie . Big-time. I tell you something, Miss America, those bitches in the cells are gonna have fun with you. You get what I’m saying here?”
    “I understand. I’ll do it.”
    “If you don’t, we come here and kill you. But first I leave him alone with you for a nice time. Get me?” she nodded, aware of the beautiful man’s corrupt eyes on her, still feeling the memory of his hands. “Okay. Meanwhile we gonna take some down payments. If that’s okay with you?” He laughed.
    She watched as they looted the bedroom. Jewelry. Joe’s camera. Designer jeans. For brown girls out on the Flats, she supposed. Roxy could hear them busy in the