Or bad boys.
They didn't like a woman telling them what to do. Myself, I was getting a kick out of it. When they were all seated and staring at me sullenly, I hopped up on a stool and held the gun casually in front of me. I couldn't help but notice my feet not only didn't reach the floor, they didn't even reach the first rung of the stool. Still, I swung them happily and looked at my four new friends.
"Well," I said, "here we all are."
The oldest of the four, a Hispanic guy with a tattoo on his neck, leaned forward on his elbows. "Fuck you, bi - " But he stopped himself.
"Nice catch," I said. "You just saved yourself a big toe. Merry Christmas from me."
It was all the guy could do to stay seated. I sensed he wanted to rush me. In fact, I was sure of it. Every now and then, he caught the eye of the black guy across from him. Something passed between them. I didn't care what passed between them.
For now, though, he needed more information, like who the hell I was, and so he stayed seated. For now.
"You ain't no cop," he said.
"Nope."
"You with the feds?"
"Used to be."
"Then what the hell are you?"
"That's the million-dollar question."
They all looked at each other. Two of them shrugged. From the living room, I heard the Jeopardy theme song. I was willing to bet that drug dealers the world over had Jeopardy playing in the background. Nothing so innocent as four hoodlums watching Jeopardy together.
The Caucasian kid who had greeted me at the door had yet to look me in the eye. He stared down at the table. His wrist was raw and red where I had subdued him. He knew the potential of my strength, and kept his eyes off me and his mouth shut. The fourth guy was another black youth, maybe twenty. He had yet to speak, although he found all of this highly amusing. I sensed he was high as a kite. If I was high as a kite, I would find all this amusing, too. I focused on the Hispanic leader and the talkative black guy.
I said, "Somebody stole something that belonged to me, and I want it back." Technically, that was true, since half of whatever was in the safe was now mine.
"We lovers," said the talkative black guy. "Not thieves."
The high-as-a-kite black guy laughed. The Hispanic guy frowned. The sullen white guy kept being sullen.
"Cut the shit," I said. "I know there's drugs here." I pointed to a Pillsbury Doughboy cookie jar with a crack running up along its doughy body. "I know there're drugs in that cookie jar over there. I know there're drugs in the toilet bowl, and I know there're drugs down all your pants."
The high-as-a-kite black guy giggled nearly uncontrollably. The Hispanic leader sat forward. The energy around him crackled and spat. He said, "What the fuck do you want, lady?"
"I want the safe," I said.
"What safe?"
As I said those words, I watched the others in the room. The talkative black guy blinked. The high black guy continued grinning from ear to ear. The sullen white guy sank a little deeper in his chair. Just a little. Perhaps only a fraction. Not to mention his darkish aura grew darker still.
I had my man.
It was at that moment that I saw the old man in the far corner of the living room. Correction, two old men, as another just materialized. And they weren't exactly men.
They were ghosts.
Chapter Thirteen
I jumped off the stool.
As I did so, the Hispanic guy made a move to stand. He didn't move very far. A casual backhand across his face sent him spinning sideways to the floor. The others stayed seated, which wasn't a bad idea. I told them not to move and they mostly didn't, although the high-as-a-kite guy continued to fight through a case of the giggles.
I moved past them, slipping the gun inside my waistband. The backhand smack to their leader would keep the trio quiet for a few minutes.