Save Me from Dangerous Men (Nikki Griffin #1)(33)

Choices. We all had them.

They exchanged a look. Glanced down at their friend. Still on the ground, bills scattered around him. Still clutching his arm. Groaning and cursing as the initial shock wore off and the full magnitude of the pain set in.

They turned on their heels and ran.

I looked down again. He was no longer a threat. Not even close. I saw the knife, gleaming against asphalt. The needle point. The razor edge. Serrations for sawing through flesh or bone. I watched the knife. But I was seeing something else.

She takes a step into the room. Seeing the dark stain, larger, now. Sticky-looking. Bright afternoon sunshine streaming through the window. A pot bubbling on the stove. A strange smell. She’s never smelled this smell before. Not a pleasant smell. A sour, iron smell. Not a kitchen smell. The stain spreading outward. She squints in the sunlight. Looking at the floor.

I took a breath. Looking down at the knife. Thinking of Ethan being pushed backward. Thinking of Luis, that afternoon. Remembering all kinds of things. Seeing the knife.

The knife.

The knife.

“I told you I didn’t like knives,” I exclaimed. And swung the baton a second time.

A hard, backhanded arc directly into the man’s upper lip.

There was a crunching sound and suddenly half his front teeth appeared all over his sweatshirt. I assumed the other half had gone down his throat.

He put his hands over his face and started moaning softly. Blood dripped through his hands. He lay there, making that moaning sound. The blow had knocked his hat off. The white A still visible above the brim. I was conscious of Ethan grabbing me. “Nikki, no more. Enough.”

Lawrence was holding Katherine. The two of them staring at me. A strange look. The same look from both of them.

Like I was an animal.

I retracted the baton. Pulled a Clorox wipe from a travel packet in my purse and wiped blood off the tip. Knelt down and took back everything that had been taken from us, ignoring the guy on the ground. He had rolled to a seated position and leaned against a fire hydrant, holding his good hand against his head and mumbling small noises.

I handed Katherine her purse. She accepted it without a word.

Maybe two minutes had gone by. The same amount of time it took to brush one’s teeth or soft-boil an egg. I looked at the three of them. “We can probably still make the show.”

Lawrence had his arm around Katherine. Breathing hard. Watching me. “Are you insane? You could have killed him.”

“Or he could have killed you,” I said. “Or your wife.”

“He only wanted money! He wasn’t going to hurt us.”

“It wasn’t his money. And you don’t know what he would have done.”

“You could be going to jail for manslaughter,” Lawrence said. “Why did you hit him a second time? Are you some kind of sociopath? Are you sick?”

Ethan stepped forward. “Leave her alone, Lawrence. She saved us.”

Lawrence glared at him and whispered something to his wife. They turned and started walking away from us. Fast, without a backward look.

“We should go,” I suggested.

Ethan nodded at the figure on the ground. “Are you going to leave him?”

“Why not,” I said sullenly. “He can walk. His legs are fine.”

“I’d feel better if I called nine-one-one.”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Ethan took out his phone and dialed. “I’d like to report an injury,” he said. He gave the cross street and then said, “No, thank you!” and hung up hurriedly. “They asked for my name. Will I get in trouble if they trace it?”

“It doesn’t matter. He won’t say anything.”

“How do you know?”

I looked at Ethan patiently. “Because he was robbing us.”

“Oh.”

We soon reached downtown. A regular Friday night. Neon, people, cars, shouting, laughter. Normal. Ethan was shaking a little. Shock.

I put my hand in his. “We should talk.”





18


We sat in a little all-night donut shop. The smell of pastry was sweet and aromatic. I got us coffee and a few donuts and we sat across from each other in a bright red booth. I didn’t like the fluorescent lights. I would have been happier in a dim, comfortable bar. But something was telling me that coffee was the way to go. “Take one,” I said, pushing the donuts to him.

He sipped his coffee, wincing at the hot liquid. “I don’t think I’m hungry, to be honest.”

“Eat one if you can. The sugar will help.”

He took a piece of a maple glazed donut. Took a bite. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I—I’ve never been mugged before. I think the last time I saw someone throw a punch was in high school.”

“And it bothers you? What happened?”

“It was scary.”

“Sure.”

He was watching me. “You run a bookstore.”

“Yes.”

“But—but you did that.”

“Yes.”

“Were you lying? About the bookstore?”

“Ethan. Let me tell you three things about myself. And then you can ask questions. Is that okay?”

He nodded.

“First of all. I don’t lie. Ever. Not to you. Not to anyone. It’s just a thing.”