stronger than she was.
When it was all over, when Latty lay nearly naked and sobbing on the desk, the indifferent caption on the screen said 12:01. The entire incident, from beginning to end, had taken less than fifteen minutes.
It seemed much longer.
Five
M y collar was too tight. There wasnât enough air to breathe in Bill Whittenâs darkened office. âDamn!â I said. âWhat a good-for-nothing shit!â
âPretty rough, isnât it,â Whitten said.
I had seen worse, but stillâ¦âIs that it?â I asked.
Whitten shook his head. âNo, wait.â
âYou mean thereâs more?â
Back on the screen, Latty was sobbing and struggling to sit up. âIâm going to leave now,â she gasped. Her lower lip was bleeding and starting to swell.
âOh, my God, Latty,â Don Wolf said, as though waking from a stupor at the sight of the blood. âWhat have I done?â
He reached out one hand as if to help her. Shecringed away from him. âDonât touch me,â she screeched. âGet away.â
âBut, baby,â he whined. âPlease. I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I just got carried away andââ
âShut up!â she hissed furiously. âIâm going to walk out of here and youâre not going to stop me.â
âLatty, I canât believe I did this to you. Iâm sorry, so sorry. Please donât go. Please say youâll forgive me.â
âIâm going to walk out,â Latty continued, as if he hadnât said a word. She stumbled to her feet. When she did so, her torn dress fell away from her body. She grabbed the frayed edges of material and tried to hold them together. Swaying unsteadily on her feet, she finally located her shoes and slipped them on. Then she reached out, snagged Don Wolfâs jacket off the desk, and wrapped it around her shoulders. I could see the reflexive chattering of her teeth, but somehow, she wasnât crying any longer. In fact, considering what had just happened, she seemed astoundingly calm. And cold sober.
By then, Don Wolf had moved across the room so he was standing between her and the door; between her and the lens of the camera as well. He was tucking in his shirt, zipping his pants.
âDonât go, Latty. Not like this.â
âCall me a cab,â she returned doggedly.
âIâll take you home, Latty. I promise I wonât touch you again. Honest.â
He moved toward her, but she recoiled, stopping only when the desk was safely interposed between them.
âI told you, donât touch me! Donât you ever come near me again!â she commanded. âCall a cab.â
Shrugging, he picked up the phone and punched out a number from memory. âMy nameâs Don Wolf,â he said. âI need a cab at thirty-three hundred Western.â He waited for a moment, listening. âThatâs right,â he said. âItâs an office building, not an apartment. Just pull up by the front door. Weâll be waiting in the lobby.â
He put down the phone. âThe cab should be here within fifteen minutes.â
â Iâll be waiting in the lobby,â Latty corrected, struggling to keep her voice under control. âYou stay right here until after Iâve gone.â
âBut Latty,â he objected, âIââ
âJust shut up!â she seethed. âDonât you say another word. I never want to hear your voice again, not ever!â
âBut I have to ride downstairs with you,â Don wheedled, sounding both apologetic and conciliatory. âThe elevator is locked. You need me to run the keypad.â
Sometimes, in situations like that, in the minutes after something awful happens, anger is the only force capable of holding hysterics at bay. Or maybe anger is just another form of hystericsâone that allows people to function for a time before they fall apart. I wondered