behind a bright red handprint. He landed hard on the marble floor.
Toby checked Fran. She was on her knees, sobbing, her bulgy red eyes jumping from Quen to Toby to Brenda to Quen to Toby.
He checked Brenda. Spattered with blood and dripping with sweat, she was stretched out on her back, her eyes toward the ceiling, her chest rising and falling as she took quick breaths, her arms down by her sides, her legs slightly apart.
“Guess you took care of him,” Toby said.
She ignored the comment.
Quen was twitching a little.
Leaking a lot, Toby thought, and chuckled.
“Why’d you do that?” Fran shouted at Brenda, her voice shrill. “You didn’t have to do that! My God, that was Quentin! You killed him!”
Brenda kept staring upward.
“You goddamn bitch! You always were a goddamn bitch! He was a good guy and you killed him!”
“I know what I did,” Brenda muttered, her gaze still fixed on the ceiling. “Just let it go.”
“Let it go?”
“Let it go,” Brenda said, sounding very calm. “He was worthless.”
“Worthless! How can you say that! He was a human being!”
“Worthless garbage. The world’s now a better place.”
“No!”
Brenda turned her head and calmly met Toby’s eyes. “Just like it’ll be a better place when you’re dead.”
A grin spread across Toby’s face. “You’re fabulous! You’re a gem! You and Sherry…Wow! You two are so much alike. Course, she has bigger tits. I’m not saying they’re better tits, just bigger.”
“Whatever you’re gonna do, why don’t you just shut up and do it.”
“Good idea.”
With his free hand, he undid the lower buttons of his shirt. Then he slipped the shirt off each of his shoulders. It fell down his back, slid down his arms and floated to the floor.
He took a step toward Brenda.
“What about me?” Fran asked.
“Oh yeah. You.” He aimed the pistol at her face.
“No! Wait!” She put out a hand as if she thought it might stop the bullets. “The knife!” she blurted. “Brenda’s still got the knife!”
His guts went cold.
He whirled toward Brenda.
She still lay stretched on her back just like before. No sign of the Buck knife she’d used on Quen.
“Okay,” he said. “Where is it?”
Her blood-flecked eyebrows lifted. “Where’s what?”
“You know damn well what. The knife.”
“Thanks for opening your yap, Fran.”
“Fuck you, Brenda.”
“He’d forgotten about it till you opened your mouth.”
“So what?”
Brenda frowned up at Toby. “Friends like this, who needs enemies?”
Toby chuckled. “You’ve got me.”
“Guess I’ll be getting you whether I want you or not. Which I don’t, by the way.”
“Now let’s have the knife.”
“I haven’t got it.”
“I thought you were gonna cooperate.”
“I am cooperating. I don’t know where it is. It flew out of my hand after I cut Quentin.”
Toby looked over at Fran. “Did it?”
She shook her head. “No. I was watching. She still has it. I think it’s under her.”
“Thanks,” Brenda muttered.
“Wanta do me a favor, Fran? Go over and get it for me.”
“Yeah, Fran. Come and get it.”
She shook her head. “Huh-uh. No way. You’ll nail me like you nailed Quentin.”
“Why would I do that?” Brenda asked.
“ ’Cause you’re a bitch.”
Brenda stared at her, then said, “God, Fran, I thought we were friends.”
“Yeah, well.”
“I thought we were good friends.”
“Yeah, well. So maybe you were wrong. You’re not always right. I know you think you’re always right, but you’re not. You think you’re so perfect and everybody else is some sort of worthless loser.”
“Most people are,” Brenda said. “But I didn’t think you were.”
“Oh girls, girls, girls,” said Toby, grinning and shaking his head.
“Baxter wasn’t a loser,” Brenda muttered. Then she said very softly, “Good old Baxter.” And Toby saw her start to weep.
He turned to Fran and pointed the pistol at her forehead. “Go over and get the knife.”
“But…”
“Or do you want me to put a slug through your ugly face?”
She pushed out her lower lip as her chin began to tremble.
“Who knows?” said Toby. “Maybe Brenda won’t slash your throat.”
As Fran struggled to her feet, she said, “You won’t let her, will you?”
“Why not?”
“Because. Because I warned you. I told you she had it. If I’d kept my mouth shut, she might’ve killed you. I saved your life.”
“Yeah, maybe so. Thanks.”
“So you like owe me. Right?”
“Sure. I tell you what, Fran. You go over and take the knife away, and I’ll let you leave.”
“Really?”
“Sure he will,” said Brenda.
“You shut up,” she snapped. “You don’t know everything.”
“I promise to let you go,” Toby told her.
“Reality check,” said Brenda. “You’re an eyewitness, Fran. You aren’t going anywhere. Not alive, anyway. Not if he has any