Free Bitter Medicine by Sara Paretsky Page A

Sergio, who had badly beaten an old man and whined when I wanted to talk to him about it instead of flirting with him.
    I was mentally off-balance and saw Tattoo coming only a second before he hit me. I rolled low off the chair onto his legs, upending him in a crash against the desk. I kept rolling and bounced to my feet. Pink Shirt was on me, trying to pin my arms. I kicked hard againsthis shin. He grunted, dropped back, and tried to slug me this time. I took the blow on my forearm, came in close, and kneed him in the abdomen.
    Tattoo was behind me, grabbing my shoulders. I relaxed in his hands, turned sideways, and slammed my elbow into his rib cage. He loosened his hold enough that I could wriggle free, but Sergio had joined the fight. He yelled orders to Pink Shirt, who seized my left wrist. Sergio tackled me around the waist and I fell ungracefully, with him landing on top of me.
    Fabiano, who had done nothing during the brief struggle, kicked me in the head. It was merely a gesture; he couldn’t kick too hard without landing his foot on Sergio. Sergio tied my hands behind me and stood up.
    “Turn her over.”
    I got a close-up of the tattoos, then looked up into Sergio’s dazzling smile.
    “You thought you did me such a good deed, back in that courtroom, getting me off a ten-year stretch to two? Well, you were never inside, Warshawski. If you’d been inside, you would have worked a little harder for me. Now you can see what it’s like—what it feels like to be in pain, to have someone you hate telling you what to do.”
    My heart was beating so fast I thought I might suffocate. I shut my eyes for a count of ten and tried to speak calmly, keeping my voice steady with an effort. “You remember Bobby Mallory, Sergio? I left a letter for him with this address, and your name. So if my body showsup in the city dump tomorrow, not even your expensive mouthpiece will be able to buy you out of trouble.”
    “I don’t want to kill you, Warshawski. I got no reason to kill you. I just want you to mind your own business, and leave mine to me…. Sit on her legs, Eddie.”
    Tattoo obliged.
    “I don’t want to ruin you in case you ever get a man, Warshawski, so I’m just going to leave a little reminder.”
    He took out a knife. Smiling angelically, he knelt down and held it close to my eyes. My mouth felt like paper and my body was shaking with cold. Shock, I thought clinically, it’s shock. I willed myself to breathe carefully, deep breath in, hold for five, breathe out. And I forced myself to keep my eyes open, to stare at Sergio.
    Through the haze of fear I saw he was looking petulant: I didn’t seem scared enough. The thought cheered me and helped keep my breathing steady. His hand moved away from my eyes, jerked below my line of vision. Then he stood again.
    I could feel a stinging on my left jaw and neck, but the pain in my arms, tied underneath me, was such that it overrode any other feeling.
    “Now, Warshawski.
You
stay out of
my
face.” Sergio was breathing heavily, sweating.
    Tattoo jerked me to my feet. We went through the elaborate ritual of getting the inner door unlocked. My hands still tied, I was led through the outer room and out the front door onto Washtenaw.

8

Needle Work
    It was well after midnight when I unlocked the lobby door in my building. The blood had clotted on my face and neck, which seemed reassuring. I knew I should get to a doctor, get the wounds treated properly so as not to scar, but a vast lethargy enveloped me. All I wanted to do was go to bed and never get up again. Never try again to—to do anything.
    As I headed up the stairs, the ground-floor apartment door opened. Mr. Contreras came out.
    “Oh, it’s you, cookie. I been thinking twenty times I should call the cops.”
    “Yeah, well, I don’t think they could have done much for me.” I started climbing again.
    “You got hurt! I didn’t see at first—what did they do?”
    He hurried up the stairs behind me. I stopped