House of the Rising Sun (Hackberry Holland 4)

“She’s a thinker,” his friend said. “Right, Miss Maggie? That’s what Mr. Beckman says. You’re always thinking.”

That’s right, imbecile. That’s why getting even is so much fun. A little planning, a little application of superior intelligence, and people like me turn people like you into weapons and do damage that gets worse by the day. I hope you enjoy the ride, you stupid shit.

“Would you like wine or bourbon?” she said.

“How about both?” the man in work boots said. “That’s what winos call ‘wine spodiotti.’”

“Maybe I can freshen up and join you,” she said.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m Jim,” the first man said. “This here is Jack. You got to watch Jack. He’s bit randy. Just kidding.”

“I think I can handle you fellows.”

“Ma’am?” Jim said. He had removed his hat when he entered the house, revealing a pointy bald pate combed over with hair that resembled mop string.

“You think I’ll be up to it?” she said. “Come on, tell me. I’m not shy.”

The two men were looking across the table at each other. “Who are we to comment on a lady such as yourself?” Jim said.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

“You can count on it,” said Jack, wiping his nose on his wrist.

She went into her bedroom and closed and locked the door, easing the bolt into place as softly as possible. She undressed and shook out her hair and put on a pair of eggplant-colored high heels, decorated with a steel-cut bronze-bead design, and turned sideways in the mirror, running her fingers along the flatness of her stomach, letting them trail off her appendix scar.

Want to play, boys? Want to see what it’s like to stick your pathetic penises in the light socket?

She took a nickel-plated .32-caliber revolver from her dresser, then walked naked to the door and unlocked it, snapping the bolt loudly. She raised her left arm against the jamb and leaned on it, her right hand holding the revolver behind her hip. “See anything you like?”

They stared, openmouthed, obviously unable to assimilate what they were seeing.

“You’re not bothered by the scar on my tummy, are you?” she said.

“No, ma’am,” Jim said.

“Are you boys hungry?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jim said.

“How about you, Jack?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” she said.

“Long as it’s me first,” Jack said.

Jim looked at him. “Where you get off with that?”

“I got my standards,” Jack said.

“Will y’all tell Arnold?”

Jim made a cross over his heart. “You got our word.”

“I thought you might say that.”

She placed her left hand behind her neck and rotated her head. “I get such a crick back there. Can you take it out for me?”