Blood
> > Angela couldn't think about it anymore. Dwelling on things didn't fix them. Solutions were both simple and impossible. If she thought about it, it would only make her cry.
Cooped up inside that small eggshell-and-oatmeal prison that was her apartment, Angela's failures ran grooves in her mind, ever faster and louder and more crowded, making her want only to be someone else.
But laying here, staring up at shapeless sky, buoyed on a cloud of Perfectua, Angela was a blank.
No past worth keeping. No future worth looking forward to. No family to speak of. No friends to speak to.
In two days Angela would have to find a new place to live.
She should probably be looking for another place now, or at least looking for another job.
But first she had to sit by the pool.
She'd been living at The Willows for three weeks, and she'd never used the pool. She never really did anything but sleep or just stare at the walls. She might as well have stayed at that other place with the sticky carpeting and greasy hallways.
The sun wasn't even shining -- the sky nothing but bright gray clouds, a luminous dirty sheet draped over the world. The temperature was barely warm enough to keep her from shivering *without* getting wet.
But she wasn't going to let that spoil it.
Tap tap. Tap.
Just a little bit of the fine sparkling powder streaked the back of her hand.
Not too much.
Hand to face. Inhale sharply.
A moment of buzzing like novacaine came before a moment of overwhelming bliss, and then a smooth gushing joy.
No, not too much. Just right.
She looked at the back of her hand; there was just a light dusting of the stuff left. Even in the diffuse gray light of the overcast sky, it caught and threw back pinpoints of brilliance. It made Angela think of sand -- not the coarse, dirty stuff from her kindergarten playground, but the magical white stuff in pictures of far-off places.
Angela licked the back of her hand, and her tongue tingled.
If she closed her eyes and thought hard enough, she could almost imagine sitting on an exclusive beach somewhere in the tropics, beneath blue sky and warm sun, the ocean lapping gently at her toes...
She could almost imagine being there with Dino. No, with Ricky. No, with some new guy who was better than both of them put together.
She could almost imagine the mayor -- no, the governor -- stopping by to thank her for her heroic crimefighting.
She could almost imagine her life not being a complete wreck.
Until the governor started blocking her sun. She was about to ask him to move when he spoke.
"Kind of a cool day for working on a tan."
She reluctantly opened her eyes. The governor was a big guy. And he looked exactly like Bruno.
Sounded like Bruno too.
Angela let out a sigh, feeling the last wisps of fragile bliss flutter away. "What do *you* want?"
"Can we go inside?" It sounded like a genuine question -- like he was unsure if she still had a place here.
"I like it out here." As if to punish her, a cool breeze blew through. She tried not to shiver.
"Fine. I'll make this short." Despite saying that, he looked around for something to sit on.
Angela gave her first thought to why Bruno would be here, and felt a chill from within. Was Dino hurt? The last she'd seen of him he was speeding through a hail of bullets. Was he hit? Had the bikers caught up to him after she'd... fallen?
"Is Dino all right?" she asked.
"Why wouldn't he be?"
"I heard the message on the machine."
"Oh, right. It was nothing."
"You call a car getting shot to swiss cheese nothing?" Angela snapped, only realizing after she said it that it might be hard to explain how she'd know about that.
Bruno raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.
Angela shifted the subject. "Who would want to hurt him?"
"Who *wouldn't* is a question with a shorter answer." He'd pulled up a plastic chaise lounge and now sat down sideways on it, facing her. "His sudden success has a lot of people in the business pissed off. And people outside think because maybe he doesn't deserve his position that they can use him to get to Kostya."
It took Angela a moment to realize that Bruno was actually *sharing* with her. Like she was involved. Like he hadn't warned her to disappear and never enter Dino's world again. Why the change?
But then Bruno sidetracked her.
"Tuesday night was just a warning from Tony Bernard -- he's running the Italian mafia."
Tony who? "I thought that was Gerald Bates."
"I didn't think you followed politics."
Politics -- that was an interesting way to put it. Wait, would it be suspicious for a girl like her to know anything about local organized crime? "After my mom got killed, the police asked a lot of questions," she lied.
"Yeah, well, Bates almost got killed a few weeks ago; Bernard is running things while Bates recuperates. Bernard is more old-school mafia -- he'll break your thumb *before* a debt comes due to make sure you pay on time. I guess he heard something about our deal, and he expects us to pay him off to get our shipment through port. The Italians control the docks."
Bruno paused, just a heartbeat, but enough for Angela to recognize that he too thought this conversation was an unexpected development. Then he pressed on. "Anyway, Bernard made a deal with... a biker gang to remind us of our 'obligation' and they went a little nuts -- so nuts they took out their own people and Dino got out of it unharmed."
"Oh." Angela was disappointed that Sapphire hadn't gotten any credit, even though she knew that was a good thing.
"So." Bruno cleared his throat. This was it, then -- why he'd come. "Dino needs your help."
"Fuck Dino."
It was a reflex reaction. Angela was stunned at her own choice of words. Had she *ever* said the F-word like that before? But as she thought about what else she might have said, nothing better expressed how she felt.
Even Bruno was taken aback; it took him a long moment to get back on track -- but he did. What he said next was obviously what he'd been running through on the way here, and for who-knows-how-long before that. "You owe him. For everything he's done for you, and for all the grief you've caused him."
"I *owe* him?" It was ridiculous... wasn't it?
"He helped you out. He gave you a job. He let you dance."
He *let* me dance?!
"And he stood up for you. More than once."
Angela wasn't exactly buying it, but it still took the edge off her indignation. Her voice cooled. "I didn't know who he was until he'd already sucked me into your twisted little world. It's not my fault the psychos he works with had it out for me." Dino didn't get to take credit for defending her -- after all, by getting involved with her it was his fault she needed defending in the first place.
"When you found out what he did, it didn't stop you. Matter of fact, he tried to keep you out of trouble, but you just kept pushing. Or did he *ask* you to be a stripper?"
Bruno was right. Angela could only glower in silence, clinging to the fact that despite everything, Dino had still hurt her.
Bruno softened. "Angela... there's this deal that Dino is doing for Kostya, and... something happened. Complications. The buyer is using that as an excuse to ask for... a concession. If he doesn't get it, the deal's off."
Angela huffed. "So what?"
Bruno's voice got softer still. "The way things have been going lately, with Kostya, with others... Dino's under a lot of pressure to perform. And now that Kostya's got this idea that Dino's broken his rules," Bruno was obviously referring to Angela, but he seemed afraid to say it any more directly, "he's getting really paranoid. If this deal doesn't go smooth, I don't know what's gonna happen to Dino. Or to you."
Angela felt a chill. But it didn't sound like a threat. She turned and looked Bruno in the eye. He hadn't meant it as a threat. He actually looked... afraid.
"I don't understand. What can I do?"
Bruno swallowed hard. "You're the concession."
*What*?
"Filip -- that's the guy -- he wants an evening with you as compensation for... us coming up short."
"And by 'an evening' you mean..."
"A whole evening."
She knew what it meant. It meant she would be a whore.
Other people might say she already was. But the things she'd done had been for a purpose, and anyway she'd had feelings for Dino, not that she'd done it without an ulterior motive, but still... all that was complicated, and except for Miguel who really didn't count, nobody had asked her to do any of it specifically...
This was different. This was a favor. A *transaction*.
"Dino sent you here to ask me that?" She wanted to be furious, but it just *hurt*.
"No. He wouldn't even consider it. It's Crisco's fuckup, so he told Crisco to make it right, or else."
"But you're here asking me anyway. Which means..."
"Which means I don't think it really matters whether Crisco comes through or not. This guy Filip heard about you from Howard Jones -- dumb son-of-a-bitch has been gossiping all over town like a fucking schoolgirl, stirring up all kinds of shit -- and I guess Filip thinks he can use you to turn the screws on Dino. It's personal."
"And you want to help this Filip hurt Dino."
"No, that's not... Look, Angela, I don't like you. You're trouble. I can feel it, like this dark cloud following you wherever you go. Dino needs that right now like he needs a hole in the head." Angela thought the expression particularly inappropriate in this context. "But he's got this... blindness about him, and you're right in the middle of it. If it was up to me I'd have taken you for a drive out to the quarry. Nothing personal."
Angela thought she should be terrified. Maybe it was just the Perfectua, but she wasn't scared.
"So why are you asking me to do this?"
"Because there are times when the right thing has to be done irrespective of a person's feelings." The way Bruno said it, Angela thought he was talking about her as much as himself. Or Dino. "And because I thought you might want to do it. For him."
Angela felt her mind tugging against the Perfectua's shackling focus, trying to dart from hurt to anger to fear to pity to shame to pride to purpose. Instead she just felt a confused indifference, wanting to care and act and win but not knowing what to choose to get there.
And then Bruno said something that catalyzed her.
"I know this sounds crazy, but you know it's not -- Dino Sinclair is a good man. Don't give up on him."
Don't give up.
You can't ever give up.
Maybe she could salvage the case against the chop shop. Maybe she could find out about this deal, and use it to bust both Kostya and this Phillip guy. Or maybe she could just help make the deal happen and keep the peace in the Russian Mafiya and avoid a lot of bloodshed.
Maybe she could help Dino be a good man.
She had to try.
"I'll do it."
"All right. Be here at eight." He handed her a card. "Here's money for a cab -- don't bring your car. Dress up."
Slender stockinged legs swung out of the cab; sharp metallic heels adorned with impossibly-large impossibly-bright blue sapphires found purchase on the pavement. "Keep the change," the girl said, trying to be sophistocated by mimicking what she'd seen in so many movies.
Long straight black hair cascaded down her bare back as she stood; black silk shifted and settled over her subtle curves like liquid lust, teasing the tops of her thighs before falling just far enough to hide the bare skin above sheer black stayups. The cab rushed off, the vacuum of its wake rippling the silk against her skin and fanning her hair across her back.
Lips coated an icy pink pearl pursed in disappointment; there was no one here to appreciate the grandeur of her arrival. A quick look up and down the street found it deserted, and petulance gave way to disquiet. A nervous hand clutched a small purse more tightly.
Angela smelled rain.
With nightfall the sky had taken on a yellow-orange hue, the cloud cover reflecting the city's light still more of a smooth blanket than anything resembling dark rainclouds, but the air had that crispness to it that meant moisture was on its way.
It occurred to her that she didn't have a raincoat or an umbrella. Not just with her, but at all. In all her shopping she'd never given a thought to the coming winter.
Startling movement became a man in a black suit, pulling the door open for the new arrival. The girl stepped forward with overcompensating composure.
A severely-beautiful thirtysomething woman in a charcoal skirt suit oozed welcome at Angela's arrival. "Are you meeting Filip?" she charmed with a slight accent Angela couldn't place.
"Yes."
"This way."
The dining room was bigger than she'd expected, at least a dozen sprawling booths, separated by tall fabric screens and lots of greenery.
"Hello, gorgeous!" The boisterous greeting came with an almost comical Russian accent. Angela suppressed a giggle but couldn't help but give a huge smile. The man who'd spoken didn't seem to fit the voice: sharp-featured but narrow-shouldered and no taller than Angela in her heels. Then again, the perfectly-disheveled hair and scraggly-but-not-scary lapsed-shave look and light-gray slim suit with black shirt and white tie said "Power Casual!" more convincingly than any fashion spread. If anyone could get away with a "Hello, gorgeous!" this man could.
"I am Filip Vassiliev Chapayev." He took her hand and gave it a quick kiss. "And you are Heaven." He said it like it wasn't just a name. "Come. Sit."
A waiter appeared with menus. Filip dismissed him with a wave before he could introduce himself.
"I was not sure you would come," he tested.
"Well, here I am." She wasn't sure what else to say.
It was weird. All evening she tried convincing herself this was just a date. But there was no getting around the fact that this man expected to sleep with her later.
No, *all* men *expected* to sleep with their dates. This man *knew* he was going to sleep with her, no matter how the "date" went.
They'd just ordered -- actually, he'd just ordered for the both of them, since every menu item had at least one thing in it she didn't recognize -- when the hostess came to the table. "Excuse me, but Miss, you have an urgent telephone call."
Angela looked at Filip and shrugged. He waved her on. After all, he knew what he'd be getting later; why should he worry?
"Hello?"
"What the hell are you doing?" Dino.
"Saving your ass."
"By peddling yours?"
"Shut up. Anyway, he's kinda cute." He *was* kind of cute. Not that under normal circumstances she would go out with a man like him, much less sleep with him. But spite was a powerful aphrodesiac. Especially since by spiting Dino she was also helping him.
Dino sounded almost sad. (Good.) "You don't have to do this. Crisco is working on fixing it right now."
"And when he gets busted trying to steal this rare 'seagull' *again*, what then?"
"He won't. Anyway, I'd rather see Crisco in jail than you in that man's bed."
"It's not your choice. I don't belong to you. You dumped me, remember?"
Click.
As Angela stormed back to Filip's table she noticed the lamps on the walls seemed to flicker. Maybe they were using those fake-flame lightbulbs? The light seemed to bounce and slide off the leaves of the many green plants sprouting from boxes along the walls. Their leaves seemed super shiny, like they'd been polished. The notice of such mundane beauty took some of the fire out of her disposition; by the time she'd made it back to the table, she'd calmed down considerably. Why was she so mad? She was in control here. She could make or break Dino's big deal. And judging from the way Filip kept shooting glances her way, aimed distinctly lower than her eyes, she could probably get Filip to spill all the details with just a little encouragement.
"So who was it?" Filip asked.
Angela didn't have an answer ready. "Wrong number," she finally shrugged.
"I see." He seemed to glance toward the entrance for a moment, then focused intently on Angela's eyes. She felt him take her hand. It was an awkward move, overenthusiastic. Angela would have thought a guy like Filip would have been smoother.
"So, tell me," Filip asked, barely able to contain himself, "do you like flying?"
Angela nearly had a heart attack. How did he know? How *could* he know? She'd never met him before. He didn't even know her. How did he know her? Who told him? How did *they* know? She'd been so careful... was it the shoes? Now that he knew, what did that mean? What was he going to do?
Woah, Angela, calm down. Focus. It's okay. He can't hurt you. Just play along and figure out his angle and go from there.
Still, her free hand felt for her purse, sitting on the booth seat right next to her. Inside was stuffed her tiara and bracelets, and just as important, her vial of Glitter, er, Perfectua powder. If it wasn't for that she'd have lost it already.
"What do you mean?" she said as coolly as she could.
He smiled disarmingly. "I didn't know it was such a difficult question. Have you ever been on a plane before?"
Whew! Calm down, Angela, he's just asking an innocent question. He doesn't know anything, silly. "Only once, when I was really young," she answered with nervous release. "I flew with my mom back east to visit my uncle. It was okay, I guess."
"Just okay? I've flown hundreds of times, and I still get a thrill out of it. Did you know there's a big airshow this weekend?"
"Oh, right." Angela tried to sound bored. Apparently she hadn't tried hard enough, because Filip starting telling her all about it . . .
Angela just picked at her food. It looked good, but the sauce was too bitter and the fish was salty and had tons of little bones in it. Here she was hungry and couldn't really eat. So she emptied the bread basket. And waited for Filip to stop talking.
"Well, you should still think about coming. The Antonov 124 is a sight to behold."
"I'm really not interested in airplanes." Though maybe she should be.
"The AN-124 is the world's largest production airplane. Its cargo bay is over one thousand cubic metres."
Right. Like he was going to impress her with *metric* measurements...
"It's not the size of the pen, it's how you sign your name," she chided.
"Yes, well, you would not be so blase if you were standing next to it."
Angela changed the subject. "So when do you get your new 'collection?'" She wasn't really trying to fish for information -- mostly she was sick of hearing about Russian airplanes.
Filip stiffened. His eyes darted about momentarily, as if he feared he was being monitored. Angela cursed her abruptness.
She thought of a clever way to fix it, though. "I didn't know it was such a difficult question."
"Cute." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure you need to know."
His eyes were a dark brown -- so dark they almost looked black. But the whites around them were so white it almost hurt to look. His teeth too. Actually, the candle on the table seemed to get brighter too.
Shoot, Angela, it's just the Perfectua.
"I don't *need* to know, but Dino sometimes forgets to tell me about his meetings, and then I'm stuck home with nothing to do." Her foot was pushing its way under his thigh, squirming toward his...
"Excuse me, Miss?" It was the hostess. What lousy timing! "I found this at the front desk. Is it yours?"
It was a white card about three inches square. "I don't think so," she said, turning back to gaze seductively into Filip's eyes.
"Are you sure?" Angela felt the card tap the back of her hand. What was this woman's problem? Angela didn't leave anything at the...
Oh. Right. This was some kind of message. "You're right; sorry, I forgot. Thank you."
She looked at it again. It wasn't a card, it was a Polaroid of an old white car. Below it written in neat black marker:
YOU CAN'T HAVE BOTH
From Dino, no doubt. Was he here? She straightened up to look around, withdrawing her foot from Filip's lap.
"What is it?"
Filip reached for the photograph; Angela saw his move out of the corner of her eye and casually held it at arm's length. "Don't be so grabby," she said, still searching through screens and foliage.
"He's at the table at the opposite corner of the restaurant," Filip explained, still reaching for the picture.
"How do you know?"
"Because I can see his reflection in the mirror next to the hostess." He pointed. "He was the one who called you. Now, can I see the picture?"
Angela slumped in frustration. Dino was trying to cut her out, again.
She thrust the photo at Filip without looking at him.
Through her pout, she thought she saw something moving in the far corner, just a shimmer. She blinked and shook her head, and the shimmer was gone. Was she seeing things?
Yeah, she was. The "glowstick" effect that Perfectua had on her vision was usually too subtle to notice, but tonight for some reason it was really bad. Angela regretted shaking her head; she felt a little dizzy. The room would slowly drift to the left for a second, then snap back to their original position, only to drift again. She felt like she was leaning...
"Wow! Beautiful." Filip's voice grabbed her attention -- it was like he was talking right in her ear, but he hadn't moved from his side of the booth. He was staring at the Polaroid. "Just like my other one. He came through after all."
"Huh?" Angela said, her voice echoing like she was in a fogbank. The brightness of certain objects seemed to fuzz out and converge on each other, like she was looking through a steamed-up window.
Filip leaned forward, lowering his voice to a soft boom. He looked around before he spoke. "It's a Gullwing."
Huh? "It's a car," she corrected. Even through her Perfectua's visual overboost she could tell it wasn't a bird.
"It's a Mercedes 300SL coupe. Called the Gullwing because its doors open upward and look like a seagull's wings."
Of course. The Seagull.
Filip tucked the picture into his jacket -- and pulled out something else. An envelope. He slid it across the table until it lodged under Angela's fingers. "Well, it's been fun, but I think it's past your bedtime."
"Wait, I thought we were gonna-"
Filip cut her off. "Not anymore. You saw the picture. I can't have both."
This guy would rather have some funny-looking old car?
Filip seemed to sense her hurt feelings. "Look, sugar, you look amazing, and I'm sure you're a fantastic fuck, but this is a Gullwing. Besides, I'm beginning to think I don't want to be in the middle of whatever's going on between you two." He tapped her hand, prompting her to pick up the envelope. "That's for your boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend."
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Not my concern. I got what I came for. Come on, I'll walk you up to the front." He scooted out, casually dropping a couple of hundreds on the table, and offered his hand to help her out.
"Do you need to use the restroom?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah." She wasn't *quite* as dizzy, but everything seemed kind of blue, like she was wearing tinted sunglasses, only too bright for that. Angela wasn't sure whether another dab of Glitter would make things better or worse -- until she felt the sudden cold disconnect. She'd almost forgotten she was even wearing her sapphire heels until she felt them leave her. It was just for a second, but it was enough. She steadied herself against the hostess' kiosk, trying not to panic. It was just a little episode; there was still time. Still, memory of her last night out as Sapphire rushed down upon her.
"You okay?" Filip asked.
"Yeah, it's just... the heels," she answered, smiling weakly.
"Okay. I'll wait in the car," he said, flatly unconvincing -- not that there was anyone close enough to hear his lame performance.
Angela was at the door of the ladies' room when she felt a sharp tug on her elbow; it spun her around, making her lose her balance and stumble back against the wall. "Hey!"
"You're welcome," Dino growled. What was he mad for? "I told you I didn't need you." Actually, he'd said she didn't have to do this. 'I don't need you' said something else entirely.
"Dino, why do you have to be such a... bastard?"
He ignored the question. "Let's go. Out the back." He pointed past her.
"Just give me a sec." Angela really wanted to peek in that envelope. And she really needed another dab of Glitter.
"Pee later. It isn't safe here. Bruno's already bringing the car around back."
"Why wouldn't it be safe?" It was a dumb question, but mostly she was stalling.
"Come on." His firm hand on the small of her back guided her around the corner and down a hall, past the kitchen. When they reached a wide metal door, they stopped. "Give it," he said gruffly, motioning with his hand.
Angela handed it over, fearing she'd just lost her best chance at finding out where and when the deal would be done. Or was "the exchange" a Hollywood fabrication? Did illicit business transactions really involve opposing criminals eyeing each other distrustfully as they exchanged briefcases?
Dino slipped the envelope in his jacket's breast pocket, then patted it reassuringly. "This tells me where and when I get paid."
That answered *that* question.
A blast of cold wet air smacked into Angela when Dino opened the door.
"Shit, it's sprinkling." He shrugged off his jacket. "Here."
Okay, so maybe Dino wasn't a *total* bastard.
Across the alley is a long high brick wall, slick with the rain and lit in high relief by a lone car headlight as far down the alley as she can see. By contrast, the sickly greenish light spilling from a pair of flourescent bulbs just above the restaurant's back door stops at the nearby dumpster; between dumpster and opposite wall is a gaping blackness. Angela stops, blinking rapidly, trying in vain to clear the streaks and smears connecting the few shiny highlights in her field of view: chrome car door handle, tag-obliterated metal sign, dumpster lip. And something moving out of the blackness...
The alley goes dark with a magnetic zzpop! overhead. Angela hears the restaurant door slam shut behind her; she feels Dino's presence at her right shoulder. Her eyes go wide, aching to pick up some hint of the movement but catching nothing. Ears distress at the symphony of white noise all around, moisture too fine to be rain caressing every surface with a different effect: the tremble of the dumpster lid, the shimmer of the car roof, the clapping of broken cardboard. The silence of damp fabric...
Dino is still beside her, also waiting for vision. But something is not still. Angela stands suspended, every sense reaching and every muscle tense with the need to cringe.
Then the flourescent flickers, just an instant.
And there is a figure before her.
Angela shrinks back. Her arm is yanked roughly forward. She is falling, spinning, slamming, slipping, the grid of wet lit bricks jittering and smearing across the darkness, sounds of gasping breath and scratching heels and thumping bodies only disorienting her further.
"Don't move." The voice scrapes like a dull blade through the wet night.
The fourescent buzzes and pops back to life, bringing flickering form to the attacker before bathing the scene in grim green tones.
Angela has been knocked on her ass. The cold smooth wetness behind her is the side of the dumpster; the light above her the restaurant's; the two-headed shadow-streaked figure in front of her is half Dino, half attacker. Dino is against the wall. The other man has a forearm on Dino's neck, and a pistol in Dino's gut.
And the alley is swaying gently leftward. Angela feels a jolt of emptiness interrupt the jangling of post-impact nerves. Vision fades and flickers and spikes and smears, the momentary stillness of the two men before her only known from the way the walls and black-orange void overhead sway with them. Her shoes are intact, but her purse is lost in the alley detritus; she would search for it but her eyes cannot be trusted and she is dually afraid to move.
Angela feels the world slowly stretch itself around her as she gets smaller and smaller. She wants to move, but time has not yet passed. When cold and wet and pain reassert themselves, terror comes with them. But a voice treks through the green moisture surrounding her to soothe her.
"Angela, are you all right?"
"Shut up!" the attacker hissed.
"Angela," Dino repeated.
"I-I'm okay."
The attacker sneered at Dino. "That's right. Be brave in your final moment."
Dino's voice sounded of recognition, but not alarm. "Stas."
"Fuck you, only my friends call me that."
"Okay, Stan. Or is it Stanislav?"
"It should be Boss, you backstabbing ass-kissing prick. You got me busted, you took my club, you took my deal..."
"I didn't take anything. You lost it."
"Well, I just found it." He stepped back as if spring-loaded, one-two, his arm snapping straight.
Pop! Pop! ...Pop!
Angela had heard gunshots before, but these were louder, sharper, uglier.
Hearing them meant Dino was dying.
The muzzle flashes amplified each other until she could see nothing else, staring blankly into a white void. She waited, frozen in silence, as white faded to gray and then to red. Ears recovered first.
Pop!
This one from her left -- not as loud, or muffled by the shock of the ones before it?
Through the fog of recovering vision, Dino had Stan's wrist locked in his grip. They struggled over it. Dino's blank expression hardened to grim determination.
Pop!
The weapon wasn't pointed at her, but she still felt something smack her side; it made her twitch.
Pop!
Again from the left. Now the attacker's gun fell, throwing off dazzling luminescent sparks in all directions. Angela thought of fireworks.
"Bruno!" Dino barked, the second syllable but a shadow of the first. "Don't shoot." The request shuddered out of him.
Dino's face contorted in pain, but he seemed unafraid. The man Dino called Stan snatched his now-empty gun-hand away from Dino's slackened grip. Angela saw a messy dark splotch at the wrist, the cuff of his raincoat tattered.
Angela's eyes drifted toward Dino's glowing-white shirt. She expected something gruesome, but it looked frighteningly neat, just three little dollops of chocolate sauce. Dino's chest twitched outward and then froze, his whole body stiffening, breath cut short. Then his expression slackened; he began to pitch forward, his arms jerking up to trap the stunned shooter in a loose hug. The pair crashed to the pavement as one.
Reality snapped taut -- wet clothes, heavy air, spent gunpowder, thick blood. Angela scrambled to kneel beside the pair, Dino's body slumped over Stan's. Stan looked angry, like he couldn't understand what Dino was doing on top of him, why it wasn't easier to extricate himself.
Angela hesitated -- what to do? Stop the bleeding.
Get him rolled over.
What if he's already dead?
As if to answer, Dino stiffened and groaned.
"Dino!"
"Don't... touch me," he gasped.
Stan was quite agitated. He gave up trying to push Dino off him, instead twisting beneath him, trying to get traction with hands or feet and getting nowhere. "Let go, you dead asshole." His voice sounded less angry than desperate.
"Fuck you, Stan." Dino's voice was clearer now, his breathing less labored. He propped himself up; Stan's struggles took on increased urgency, legs kicking and pushing against the pavement, arms freed.
Dino rose to hands and knees; Stan started to slip away. But halfway free, Dino's hand flashed to his belt, stopping the escape.
"Leggo!" Stan squealed. He got a lucky kick to Dino's wound; Dino grunted and slipped off one knee but refused to yield, instead yanking down hard on the belt, pulling Stan back down beneath/next to him. Then Dino's hand flew up to the other man's throat, clamping down hard, thumb and finger pressing in. Suddenly Stan fell still.
Angela heard herself speak. "Dino, let him go. You're bleeding. We have to get you to a hospital." The calm was an illusion -- she would panic if only she could figure out how to reconnect her mind to her body...
Dino ignored her. He seemed more concerned with subduing Stan than surviving. And yet she saw no anger in his eyes. He seemed to be... *measuring* his opponent in some way.
And Stan seemed to be shrinking by the second. Eyes went wide. Jaw slackened. Breathing shallowed. Skin paled. Focus lost.
And then he fell still.
Dino rolled off -- or more accurately, collapsed in a heap and settled onto his back. The entire lower half of his shirt was dark and wet and matted.
Angela moved to his side. "God, Dino, you're bleeding all over the place."
"Shh. Not your fault."
"Where's Bruno?"
"Check the car."
The walls were still pitching to and fro; her limbs seemed to stab in the general direction she wanted but weren't happy about it. "Bruno!" She fell against the car door just as it started to open, making her stagger back.
Bruno stepped out, holding his chest and moving far too slow.
"Dino's been shot!" Angela shouted.
"I know," Bruno wheezed. "So have I." Angela looked at him; his jacket and shirt had burn-holes, but no blood. "Kevlar," he explained.
The revelation only made Angela more upset -- why wasn't Dino wearing one?
And why was Bruno just standing around? "Come on!" She grabbed his hand and started pulling him toward where Dino lay.
All around, the air erupted in white noise.
It was raining.
"Help him up!" she ordered. She reached for Dino's hand...
...and felt like she'd grabbed a power line.
Angela jumped back, startled more than hurt.
What the hell was that?
Were her sapphires messed up? Was it the Glitter? The rain?
Dino spoke. "Angela. Don't touch me; I'll be all right."
All right? Didn't he understand the situation? Was he that out of it already?
"Dino, you've been shot! You're bleeding all over the place!" She'd said that already, but apparently it wasn't sinking in.
"I know. It'll be okay."
"Okay? *Okay*?!? You macho asshole!" She straddled his thighs, adrenaline letting her ignore the strong painful tingling where her skin touches him; maybe the jolt will get his attention. "You've been *shot*! Does *this* look all right?" White-knuckled fists clenched around both halves of his white-and-blood dress shirt and ripped it open. The bullet-riddled right side peeled away from his wounds like velcro.
There is blood everywhere, puddles of dark chocolate and streaks of dirty red. The rain pummels it, running much of it off in tiny red rivers.
The buzzing in her legs feels like a hit to the funny-bone, and it's spreading -- down her legs, up her back. She flexes her feet against the pavement, kicking off her sapphire shoes -- and suddenly feels *very* wrong. No more buzzing, just a cold chill as her body becomes mired in invisible mud.
Dino starts to lift her off him. How can he do that?
Angela begins to go limp. She looks down at his abdomen, where she first saw the three dark spots. *He* is the one who was shot, *he* is the one who lost blood, so why is *she* so woozy?
Angela's vision begins to fuzz around the edges.
The blood continues its rain-soaked runoff, retreating to reveal three tiny dark scabs.
The lens of consciousness begins to constrict.
The scabs slide off, leaving three smooth scars.
The sound of the rain fades.
The scars shrivel to nothing.
She can't be seeing this. It's a hallucination.
Dino Sinclair is unscathed.
Vision fades to black.
His gently-scolding voice reaches her through a long tunnel. "Dammit, Angela, I told you not to touch me."