“I am,” I returned.
“You aren’t, Tyra,” Roscoe put in. “Take Tabby home. Get her cleaned up.”
“I am,” I repeated to Roscoe this time.
“That’s whacked,” Tug interjected.
“It isn’t,” I snapped, my eyes going to him. “You boys need to keep your noses clean. Two of you are about to get your cuts and a stay in lockup for assault and battery might delay that.”
“Babe, that doesn’t make your plan any less whacked. The motherfucker hit a sixteen year old,” Shy reminded me. “He’s not gonna hit you. You’re Tack’s woman. We stood back and allowed that, he’d lose his f**kin’ mind.”
I wasn’t so sure about that at that present juncture but I didn’t share.
Shy wasn’t done.
“Not to mention, you’re just a woman. This is man’s work.”
Wrong, wrong, wrong thing to say.
I therefore leaned into him but jerked my arm straight back behind me, pointing to my car. “Yes,” I hissed, “and that’s my girl. So, lesson, boys, he hit my girl and he took advantage of her when she was too young to get it. So this is woman’s work and I’m f**king lead. This goes south, you step in. But it won’t go south, trust me.”
“You got a black belt or somethin’?” Tug asked curiously.
“No,” I answered then yanked the pepper spray out of my pocket and showed it to him, “I’ve got a surprise.”
Tug grinned. Roscoe’s eyebrows shot up but he still looked unimpressed. Shy looked to the ceiling created by the upper walkway.
I decided we’d delayed enough and pushed through them in order to stomp to apartment number five. I felt them close in behind me as I lifted my hand and knocked, loud.
“Fuck off!” came a shout from inside.
Rude.
Not a surprise but also f**king with my plan.
“Open this door!” I shouted back.
“Go f**k yourself,” was returned.
“Open this door!” I repeated. “I’m not going to ask again.”
“Kiss my ass!”
“Right, then!” I yelled then stepped back and swung my arm toward the door while ordering, “Bust it in.”
“Babe, a charge of breaking and entering will also get us a stay in lockup,” Shy rationally pointed out.
I’d had a bad evening, a worse night and not much sleep. Tabby was pissed at me, bleeding and she’d just found out her boyfriend was a jerk. It was the wee hours of morning.
I was in no mood for rational.
I was in the mood to kick some ass.
So I shrieked, “Bust it in!”
“Jesus, f**kin’ hell, all right, all right,” Roscoe muttered, positioned, lifted a motorcycle-boot clad foot and slammed it into the door.
It popped right open.