Killer Instinct (Instinct #2)(47)

“What are you reading there, Muslim lady? The Koran? Do you want to see what I read?” He stood and reached into his back pocket, pulling out the copy of the Constitution and all but shoving it in Sadira’s face. “See? This is what real Americans read.”

“Then why don’t you sit back down and read it,” I said, “and leave the woman alone. In fact, leave us all alone.”

“I wasn’t talking to you!” barked my father.

“I’m pretty sure I speak for everyone—you shouldn’t be talking at all.”

“This thing here says I have the right to speak my mind,” he said, pointing. Elizabeth had wrinkled, rolled, and dog-eared his pocket copy of the Constitution so much there was no doubting he’d been carrying it around with him for years, if not decades.

“You have the right to speak, and I have the right to tell you to shut the hell up,” I said.

“Oh, yeah? Just try and make me, you commie-loving bastard.”

Damn, my father was good. Almost too good. Commie-loving bastard? I was ready to spring out of my chair and pop him one.

But no. I couldn’t be the guy who threw the first punch. Everyone loves a hero, only this wasn’t the movies. This was manipulation. Human psychology. Pavlov’s dog. We needed a precise reaction from Sadira, which meant there could be no doubt about what she was witnessing. It had to seem real.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” said my father, smirking as he watched me now try to ignore him. Most anywhere else in the country I would’ve been chickening out. But in Manhattan it was called living to fight another day. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it worked.

Hello, one percent.

My father neatly placed his flask and pocket Constitution on his chair. By the time he turned back around, he was already lunging for me. I had just enough time to stand up so he could knock me down.

The secret to a fake fight? Real punches. As I rose to my feet, my father landed the first one as required, a haymaker that would’ve caught my chin were it not for a quick turn of my shoulder. Everyone began to scramble, scream, or gasp. Not Sadira, though. She’d barely budged in her chair. From the corner of my eye, I saw her simply staring at the spectacle, taking it all in.

Duly noted: the woman has seen her fair share of violence.

From the corner of my other eye, I could see the guards rushing toward us. Elizabeth had released them like hounds. I had only a few seconds before they would break up the fight, just enough time to seal the deal.

Sympathy is a powerful emotion, but it makes a lousy aphrodisiac. I couldn’t merely be the victim in Sadira’s eyes. Nor was it enough to be the guy who came to her defense. I had to be able to take a punch and, more importantly, be able to land one. A really good one at that.

Brace yourself, Pops …

It was no haymaker or roundhouse. In the trade, it’s called a stunner: a quick, sharp jab to the xiphoid process, otherwise known as the small extension of the sternum.

Suddenly, the drunk old man with a lot to say was rendered silent as he bent forward, the wind knocked clean out of him. It was the last thing Sadira saw before the guards swooped in and grabbed us. Before anyone even had a chance to say the old man started it, they were dragging the two of us out of the room.

All the while, I didn’t risk sneaking a peek at Sadira. I didn’t have to. I could feel her gaze. Would it be enough, though? Had she bought in?





CHAPTER 66


APPROXIMATELY A half hour later, a court clerk read off a list of twenty names in the jury-pool waiting room. The pool was being pared down for the day, the clerk explained, the twenty names having been chosen randomly. Of course, Sadira was one of them.

I was pacing outside the courthouse, pretending to be looking at my phone. I had my back to the doors, waiting for the signal from Elizabeth, who was watching from the side about twenty yards away. She was pretending to eat a hot dog. It would’ve been more convincing if she’d actually taken a bite of the thing.

Never mind. She gave me the nod.

I turned around, my eyes still glued to my phone. The rest of me, however, was clearly visible to Sadira. I continued pacing, a human lure.

She took the bait. I could hear the clicking of her heels heading my way. “Excuse me,” she said. I looked up. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did in there earlier. Coming to my defense the way you did.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “It was nothing.”

“It certainly wasn’t nothing to that old man. He didn’t like you very much.”

“He wasn’t a big fan of yours either.”

She smiled. “Please tell me they arrested him.”

I smiled back. A sheepish grin. “And it’s not even Christmas,” I said.

She rolled her eyes while running a hand through her long brown hair. Sadira Yavari was truly even more stunning up close. “You didn’t press charges, did you?” she asked.

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for drunk old bigots. The only thing I insisted on was that he drink some coffee.” I motioned inside the courthouse. “He’s doing that right now in their holding area.”

“That’s good,” she said. “Although I’ve read that’s a myth.”

“What is?”

“Coffee doesn’t sober you up any faster.”