The interview

"The girl. What did she tell you."

"What girl?"

Not the answer he wanted I guess, as Muscles reached into the desk and pulled out a monkey wrench. Skinny was wrong, this wasn't much different than my divorce proceedings after all.

"The girl in the trench. She came to your office three hours ago. Stayed for ten minutes, then took a cab down East Sherman. What did you two talk about."

"Human rights abuses in Sierra Leone."

Yeah, that was definitely the wrong answer. Muscles walked around the front of the desk and took a homerun swing that would've cleared center in the Bronx. That familiar taste of liquid copper brought back memories, the kind you don't quite suppress but try not to think about too often. I shook away the stars and spat on the floor. Dammit. Got some on my shoes.

"Did she tell you her name?"

"No, but I got her number without a name. Pretty good eh?"

"What other information about herself did she share with you?"

"Hey, I got her number didn't I? Broad like her, that's more than I should expect."

"Tell me, how much longer would you like this line of questioning to continue? For a girl you don't even know?"

"Got no appointments until Tuesday."

Skinny tilted his head to one side slightly, like a dog does when they don't understand something. I didn't care too much about the broad, fake phone numbers are one of my turnoffs, but I wasn't going to give her up to this chump. Not in a suit like that. Muscles looked at Skinny for direction and got none.

"What number did she give you."

"Never got to find out."

"Was it local or not?"

"This'll take a lot longer if you ask each question twice."

Skinny didn't move but his eyes flicked towards Muscles. That was direction enough, one straight shot to the moneymaker and I was flat on my back. Bigger stars this time, stayed around long enough to form a constellation or two.

"How long this takes is up to you."

Sure was. The backrest of the chair had broken away from the seat. Muscles was walking over and I started to slide the backrest further up my spine, slowly getting my hands loose. He looked down at me, holding the wrench in his right hand. He smiled. Good thing my feet were still tied to the chair. Otherwise it might've been harder.