“Do you know who it was?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Was he a regular john? Someone you’d seen before? Can you describe him? Or…um…them?”
Again, she said nothing.
I watched her carefully as the edge of her eye constricted a little, and her lips pressed together tighter. She knew who it was – she definitely knew. Why wouldn’t she tell me?
There was really only one possible answer.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” I asked. “That pimp of yours.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly.
I brushed a bit of hair off her forehead and was pissed off at her reflexive flinch from my touch.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” I pressed. “Who else?”
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I never saw them before.”
I shoved myself off the bed, found a pair of jeans, and hauled them up over my hips.
“Evan, what are you doing?”
I didn’t answer. I grabbed a T-shirt out of the drawer and pulled it on over my head. My boots went on my feet without socks, and I didn’t even bother with my watch or anything like that. This was going to be a short trip.
“Evan!” Bridgett called out.
I glanced back to see her sitting up in the bed, her bruised face making her nearly unrecognizable from the girl I was used to seeing there. Before she could say anything else, I walked out of the bedroom and out the door.
I could hear her calling my name and telling me to stop, but I ignored her.
The pimp was easy enough to find – right there on the street corner with his bitches all around him. He reached into a car window, pulled out some cash, and then shoved one of the girls in the backseat. There were at least three guys in the car, and they drove off with a screech of tires.
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and my teeth ground together. There wasn’t any actual parking on the street, and I wasn’t about to go find a garage, so I pulled right up over the curb and onto the sidewalk. I got out of the car, leaving it running, and headed right for him.
“Mister Arden!”
Ignoring his words, I walked up to him quickly, grabbed him by the collection of gold chains around his neck, and shoved him backwards into the alley. Two of the girls started screaming, and a blonde one grabbed my arm. I flung my fist backwards, and she hit the sidewalk with a grunt and her heels in the air.
Melvin the pimp clawed at my hand, drawing blood. It didn’t even register in my head that I was bleeding – I was far too focused on getting him off the street where we could have a little private moment. The most convenient place was the alley right next to his usual hangout, so that was where I dragged him.
I stepped around a foul-smelling puddle next to a dumpster and shoved Melvin up against the brick wall on the other side. He gasped and grabbed at his throat.
“Mister Arden,” he croaked.
“Do you think being polite is going to help you right now?” I asked calmly.
Moving forward, I pushed my forearm across his neck, pinning him to the bricks and partially cutting off his air supply. Again he clawed at my skin, but I just leaned forward and stared him in the eye until he stopped struggling.
“You scratched my car,” I said quietly as I stared into his widened eyes. “Maybe it was a rental car, but you still scratched it. Now when I drive it, it just won’t quite be the same.”
I used my free hand to punch him in the face.
“I-I-I…” he stammered. “I didn’t touch your car!”
I shook my head slowly at the asshole’s ignorance and then punched him in the gut twice. He struggled to breathe as I shoved him up against the wall again. His skull knocked against it, and his eyes rolled for a moment before he could focus again.