Elvis falls back against the door, big and mushy. She lies there stunned, her head propped up by the metal door. A trickle of blood starts to drool out of the corner of her mouth. She looks up half-dazed, half-startled, and starts to reach in her pocket again. I kick her arm away and kneel on top of her.
She tries to smile. "I like your style."
"What?" I ask.
"I didn't see it coming."
"You tried to knee me in the balls," I explain.
"I would have crushed them."
I fish a switchblade out of her pocket and flick it open.
"What are you going to do now, cowboy?" she asks me.
"I'm gonna carve a big, ugly C in your cheek."
She looks scared for the first time. "Why do you want to do that?"
"I don't know." I move the blade closer to her face. "I saw a guy once, a tall, good-looking blond guy, who had one. And I thought it looked cool."
"Yeah, I saw him, too." Her mouth is shaking.
"With Eve?" I ask.
"How did you know?"
"A little birdie told me."
"Did that little birdie tell you this guy was, like, sick? Really sick?" "What do you mean?"
At the last split-second I hear the crunch behind me. I turn enough so the blow glances off the side of my nose. I feel a boot in my ribs. Another glancing blow finds my right eye. I see stars. I stagger back, feeling my way. I hear one of the women say, "He's got a knife!"
)
