London Boulevard (20 page)

He nodded.

“Christ Almighty . . .
all
of them?”

“Obstacles.”

“What!”

“To Lillian.”

“You’re a fuckin’ psycho.”

“How trite, how utterly predictable.”

I gut-shot him.

They say it’s the most intense pain in the world. Slumped in the doorway, he wasn’t arguing it. I stepped over him, and he grabbed at my ankle, said,

“Finish it.”

“Get fucked—” and I kicked him in the balls. Double his bet.

LILLIAN WAS
sitting up in bed, a pink shawl on her shoulders.

She gave me a smile, asked,

“What was that commotion, darling?”

“The butler did it.”

I lazily raised the gun at her, and she asked in a petulant voice,

“Oh silly, really, how am I supposed to react?”

My turn to smile. I said,

“You’re an actress. Try acting scared.”