Hannah waited for the nerves to kick in but none did. When she responded, her voice sounded unperturbed.
“I know. That’s why I’m here. I’m looking to score some Molly. I knew you guys had a connection in the park so I decided to hang out here until I saw who you were meeting up with.”
“Why didn’t you just ask us at school?” the girl, dark-haired and frail-boned, with ghostly white skin, asked.
“It’s summer. School’s out, darlin’,” she replied without hesitation. “I didn’t think it would be cool to knock on the door of your house and ask your folks if I could talk to their kid about coordinating a drug purchase outing.”
“Look, sweetheart,” the dealer said, taking an uncomfortably close step toward her, “I don’t know you and I don’t trust you. So why don’t you find someone else to do business with? I’m just talking to my friends here.”
Hannah smiled back, noting the slightest tingle of adrenaline firing through her system.
“I’d like to be friends,” she told him, extending her hand. “Like I said, my name’s Hallie. What’s yours, friend?”
The dealer looked at her hand, then without warning, swatted it away.
“My name’s mind your goddamn business. You better get the hell out of here, Ha-Hallie or I’m gonna get a lot less friendly, you hear?”
Despite her smarting palm, Hannah’s smile only broadened. Seeing the guy so agitated tickled her to no end. Intellectually, she knew she should be terrified of him but she just wasn’t feeling it.
“This is you being friendly?” she asked with mild amusement. “You must be a real hit at the local tent and bush parties. What do your pals call you, DJ Patchy Face?”
That seemed to be the final straw. The dealer whipped a switchblade from his back pocket and held it out, only inches from Hannah’s neck. She didn’t flinch, but she did notice that welcome tingling extend to her fingertips. She was about to respond when someone beat her to it.
“Whoa,” came a familiar voice from behind her. “I thought I asked you to wait in the car, sweetie, not bother the nice people enjoying the park.”
Everyone but Hannah turned to look at Kat, who came to a stop beside her. She was carrying the requested coffee.
“Who’s this bitch?” the dealer hissed.
“Language, young man,” Kat said scoldingly. “There’s no need to be disrespectful.”
“Your sweetie here is the disrespectful one and I’m about to teach her some manners. Maybe you’d like a lesson too. It looks like somebody’s already taught you a couple things.”
He was referencing the long scar running down the left side of Kat’s face. She didn’t visibly react to the insult. Instead, she removed the top off the coffee and took a small sip.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, young man,” she replied slowly and without emotion. “You’re going to drop that knife on the ground, turn, and walk away. If you do that, this encounter can end painlessly. If you don’t, well, other stuff will happen. You have five seconds to comply starting now. Five…”
“No scarfaced bitch tells me what to do,” he spat.
“Four,” Kat interrupted.
“You just made this real bad,” the dealer warned.
“Three.”
The dealer leapt forward, extending the knife toward them. In one fluid movement which Hannah barely had time to process, Kat used her right arm to push her back out of the way of the blade as she flung the coffee at the guy with her left hand. He was just starting to scream in pain as the hot beverage splashed his face when Kat did something blurringly fast with her hands that removed the knife from the dealer’s hand and seemed to leave his wrist broken.
A moment later he was flat on his stomach with her knee in his lower back. As his screams turned to moans, Errol and the other two kids tore off down the path away from them. In the distance, Hannah saw the foot patrol officer running toward them with a vigor she suspected he rarely used.
“We’re going to have to have a little chat later,” Kat said to her, not even breathing heavily as she removed a pair of handcuffs and slapped them on the guy’s wrists, one of which was quickly swelling up.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said unconvincingly.
“Not only did you put you, me, and those kids at risk, you’ve cost me a lot of money. You didn’t text me. Tell me—did you even think to take photos of them together?”