The Time Stoppe(12)

“The fact that it was me who f*cked up his face, as I was trying to explain earlier,” I say. “And that’s just for starters.”

“That’s a lie.” Shkillet’s knuckles whiten around the hilt of his knife. “It was the cops.”

“Also, he’s hiding the fact that he’s disrespected you.” I ignore Shkillet’s denial. “He’s said things behind your back.”

“Before you go further, my dear Ilona—” Victor holds up his hand, “—you should know that I won’t treat a baseless accusation like that lightly.”

“Baseless accusation, like calling me a cop?” I narrow my eyes at Victor. “How’s this? He said he f*cked your mistress. Though I think he actually raped her, because what woman in her right—”

“What the f*ck are you talking about?” Shkillet growls, but shuts up when he looks at Victor.

I see why. Victor’s face darkens, and it’s scary to see, especially since it’s most likely me, not Shkillet that he’s angry at.

Without a word, Victor reaches into his desk, pulls out a gun, and places it on the desk with a loud clink of metal on glass. “I think you didn’t understand me when I said I wouldn’t take to this sort of shit lightly.”

I nod. “I understood. But did he?” I point to Shkillet.

“You’re a cop,” Shkillet shouts. “And I sure as hell didn’t go near Victor’s lady.”

“Oh really?” I say. “Then how would I know her name is Vera, if not from you?”

“You’re a cop.” Shkillet moves the knife from one hand to another, nervously.

“And how about the fact that she has a tattoo on her back of the Madonna holding the baby Jesus? The tattoo with a face you wanted to come all over?” I say. “Do I know that also because I’m a cop? Because you told my ‘colleagues’ that when they beat you up? How about the claim you made that she has a muscular back with dimples and a mole on her right shoulder? You’re trying to say that it was some other f*cking rapist who told people that?”

Victor’s face is the most frightening thing I’ve seen in a long time. Shkillet sees it, he sees Victor reach for the gun, and he completely flips out, lunging at me with the knife.

Now I Split—no point in having leftover Depth if I’m dead.

In the Mind Dimension, I walk over to Shkillet so I can Read him to verify his intent. As I suspected, he knows he’s a dead man and wants to make sure he takes me down with him.

Fuck. I overdid it with him. I didn’t think he’d go for the kamikaze thing. At least he made me look honest, which means Victor will probably not only kill him, but do it slowly. Still, if Shkillet kills me first, his destiny will be only a small consolation for me.

I look at Victor. He’s still angry, but confused, too. He didn’t expect Shkillet to do what he did either. Like me, he probably didn’t think the man had the balls for it.

I look at the path of Shkillet’s body and the knife. I try my best to project it another foot, to where my frozen self is. I now know what I have to do.

Somewhat encouraged, I get out of the Mind Dimension.

As soon as my consciousness is back in my body, I begin to twist myself just the right way and step aside, hoping I didn’t miscalculate.

Shkillet’s knife swooshes through the air an inch from my neck.

I didn’t miscalculate, thank God.

Shkillet comes to a dead stop, his beady eyes wide with shock. He can’t believe I escaped his attack.

I see a blur of movement so I Split again.

Shit. He recovered too quickly. He’s frozen in the process of making a wide swing at me. Unless I do something, he’s going to disembowel me with that knife.

I look at Victor. In the few moments that have passed, he’s grabbed the gun from his desk. But even if it’s my opponent rather than me that Victor intends to shoot, it’ll take too long for him to complete that movement, let alone aim the gun and fire it at Shkillet.

Besides, if he did that, there’s no telling whether he’d shoot the wrong person—namely, me—given how close I’m standing to Shkillet. I decide against Reading Victor to see who he’s going to aim that gun at. I have no Depth to waste on questions where the answer won’t help the situation at hand. Instead, I Split back.

Even before my mind is back in my body, I begin mentally playing out a maneuver that I can best describe as a hula-hoop move. I try to do it over and over, to make sure it’s the first and only thing that my body does when it gets the mind back. My body moves in the desired motion, but not fast enough, and I feel a burning pain in my side.

A pain that makes me involuntarily Split again.

Please, God, don’t let me see myself dying. I turn to look at my frozen body in the Mind Dimension.

I’m in luck. Even though the hula-hoop move wasn’t entirely successful, it did get me far enough out of the knife’s path. Shkillet only grazed my side. And now he’s off-balance.

I Split and get back to real time with a whirling kick to Shkillet’s balls, a move I’ve done many times since starting my investigation. Nothing stops a man as quickly as a hit in that vulnerable place, and no man has ever deserved it more than Shkillet.

As my foot connects, Shkillet squeals loudly and grabs his damaged family jewels. Remembering Victor’s unfinished vodka bottle, I grab it, determined to bring it down on Shkillet’s head. But before I can, a shot rings out.