Free Anubis Nights by Gary Jonas Page A

took her drink, and moved into the crowd, looking for a place to sit. A few older men entered the club, but she ignored them.
    A middle-aged man with a knife scar on his cheek placed himself in front of her as she tried to move toward the back.
    “Excuse me,” she said.
    “Hey, doll,” he said. “You lost?”
    “I’m looking for someone.”
    “You found someone.” He grabbed her and tried to pull her close, but she’d dealt with so many men like him, she reacted without even thinking about it.
    She grabbed his crotch, dug her fingernails into the soft flesh beneath the material. “Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape,” she said.
    He winced in pain and released her.
    “Touch me again, and I’ll tear them off and feed them to you,” she said.
    She let go of him and moved past in search of a seat. The man watched her go. He gently rubbed his crotch. “Crazy dame,” he said, and returned to his table.
    Rayna couldn’t find a seat, so she leaned against the wall, sipped her whiskey, and listened to the band play. She looked around at the people dancing, talking, drinking, smoking, and having a good time. Each time she saw a smiling couple, she thought of Jonathan and how much she missed him already. In the middle of a crowded bar, she felt more lonely than ever. She faced an impossible task. She didn’t know anyone. She didn’t know the city. She wasn’t cut out for this. After all, back home, if she wanted to find someone, she’d have simply hired a private investigator like Jonathan.
    “Well, duh,” she said.
    She finished her drink, moved back through the crowd, set her empty glass on the bar, and headed for the exit. She felt like laughing at herself, but at least she had a plan.
    Her admirer moved to follow her, but an old man stepped into his way.
    “Move it, old timer.”
    “Oh, I’m so sorry, Uncle Albert,” the old man said.
    “I ain’t your uncle.”
    The old man grinned. “And I’m not Paul McCartney,” he said and shambled off.
    By the time Rayna’s damn dirty ape reached the door and burst onto the sidewalk, she was gone.
     
    BRAND EASTON
     
    The guards made their rounds in the morning, and as soon as the guard peeked into the room, Brand gave him a wave.
    “How’s it hanging?” Brand asked from where he sat on the cot.
    Joseph was passed out on the floor, his breathing irregular and bubbly through the tightly rolled bloody dollar bill. The guard looked from Brand to Joseph then back up to Brand.
    “Who in the name of Sam Hill are you?”
    “You don’t need to know my name, but you do need to get Joseph here to a doctor, and you need to let me out of here because I was just visiting.”
    “How did you get in here?”
    “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
    “Try me.”
    “Okay, I jumped through a time vortex from the twenty-first century and landed in this cell with a dumb-ass psycho killer who mistakenly thought he was higher up on the food chain than me.”
    “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”
    “That’s all right,” Brand said. “I can convince you with ten greenbacks. They all have pictures of Alexander Hamilton on them. You do take United States notes, right?”
    The guard watched as Brand reached into his pack and pulled out ten slightly crumpled twenty-dollar notes with a profile of Hamilton and a red scalloped seal.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Let me put it another way. If you take the two hundred dollars, I disappear, and you don’t have to explain how I managed to get into a locked prison cell without anyone noticing me.”
    “What about Joseph?”
    “He cut himself shaving.”
    “I’ll come up with something better. Maybe he tried to kill himself.”
    “And there you have it. Do we have an agreement?”
    The guard nodded.
    Brand rose from the cot, walked over, and held up the cash.
    “Pass it through,” the guard said.
    “Open the door. Then I’ll hand it to you.”
    “Don’t try anything funny.”
    Brand laughed.