I removed my boot from Troy’s neck and leaned down so he could see that my gray eyes were even colder and harder than the pavement around us. “My name is Gin,” I growled. “Like the liquor. I’m sure you can figure out the rest. You think you’re such a tough guy? Well, come look me up, and we’ll find out.”
He snarled and grabbed at my ankle, so I kicked him again, even harder than before. After that, the only thing Troy was capable of was wheezing, kissing the asphalt, and desperately trying not to throw up.
I grinned, knowing that my work here was done.
2
I saw a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye, reminding me that I wasn’t alone with my attackers.
I cautiously approached Catalina, who had stepped away from the chain-link fence and was staring down at Troy. Emotions flashed in her hazel eyes, and her lips were pinched tight in what almost looked like regret, although I had no idea why she would feel that way about Troy.
“You okay?” I asked.
Instead of answering, Catalina edged past me and scurried over to where her backpack lay on the cracked asphalt. She scooped the wayward pens, books, and other items back into her bag as fast as she could. Couldn’t blame her for that. I’d want to get away from me too, if I was in her position. Her sharp, hurried motions made the Pork Pit pig pin on the side of her backpack sparkle, like a cartoon character that was laughing maniacally at me.
She was so busy grabbing her stuff that she didn’t realize that her wallet had also fallen out of the bag. I crouched down, plucked the leather off the pavement, and flipped it open.
Catalina Vasquez. Twenty-one. Five foot four. Lived in an apartment at 1369 Lighting Bug Lane.
I let out a low whistle. “Lightning Bug Lane? That’s a nice part of town. Especially for a college student.”
Catalina snatched her wallet out of my hand and shoved it into her backpack. “Just forget it, okay? Forget you saw me, forget about Troy, and I will forget all about this.”
She gestured at the three guys, all of whom were still groaning on the pavement.
Catalina slung her backpack onto her shoulder, and surged to her feet. I did the same and stuck my hands into my jacket pockets, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible for someone who had just taken out three bigger, stronger guys without breaking a sweat.
“I didn’t need your help, Gin. I was handling things fine on my own.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “For someone about to get the stuffing beat out of her by some lowlife drug dealer and his friends.”
Anger flared in her hazel eyes. “I could have handled Troy. I always have before.”
“So you know him, then.”
She gave a sharp jerk of her head.
“Look, if you’re in some sort of trouble—”
“Forget it,” Catalina snapped. “I’m not in trouble, I’m not one of your charity cases, and I don’t need your help, Gin.”
I arched an eyebrow at her vehement tone. At the Pork Pit, Catalina was always positive, calm, cheerful, and upbeat. In all the months she’d worked for me, I’d never heard her so much as raise her voice before, not even when a customer complained, a kid spilled a drink all over the floor, or someone left her a lousy tip. But now she was glaring at me like I was the one who’d threatened her, instead of Troy and his friends.
Catalina must have seen the questions in my face, because she pinched the bridge of her nose before dropping her hand. “Look, I’m sorry I yelled at you. Thanks for helping me out. I appreciate it. Really, I do. But this is nothing. Okay? I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
Catalina tried to smile at me, but it was a miserable attempt. She tightened her grip on her backpack, spun around, and marched across the lot. At first, I thought she was getting into a rusted, rattletrap truck that had seen better days, but Catalina moved past the truck and popped open the door on a very nice late-model Mercedes-Benz, a car that was a little too nice for someone who worked as a waitress.
I paid my folks good wages but not that good. And that street where she lived was in one of the city’s nicest suburbs, close to Northtown, the part of Ashland where the rich, social, powerful, and magical elite lived. So what was she doing being harassed by some drug dealer? Especially one who knew her? Because there had been nothing casual or random about the way Troy had spoken to Catalina. From what he had said, they used to be friends—and more.
I’d never paid much attention to Catalina before. I’d had too many other things to think about these past few months, too many folks trying to kill me, and too many new enemies to face down to give her much thought. She was just a girl who worked for me, although she was an excellent employee and had lasted longer than most of my other waitresses. But I was very interested in her now. Because if Troy wanted her to push drugs, then she was already in way over her head. And if he or whoever he worked for thought that I was letting anyone deal anything in my restaurant, well, I’d be happy to show them how wrong they were—and how I handled threats to my gin joint.
Catalina threw her car into reverse, backed out of the space, and peeled out of the parking lot as fast as she could without blowing out her tires on the cracks and potholes. I made note of her license-plate number so I could pass it on to Finn later.
I didn’t know what was going on with Catalina Vasquez, but I was going to find out.
•
I got into my own car, cranked the engine, and left Troy and his two still-whimpering friends behind. I steered out of the lot and cruised the streets around the college, making random turns and keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. Just because I hadn’t seen anyone else with Troy didn’t mean that more of his friends hadn’t been hidden in the shadows, and I didn’t want anyone following me to my destination.
But no one was tailing me, so I made a final turn out of the downtown loop and headed for the much nicer, though no less dangerous, confines of Northtown. My Aston Martin might have been a snazzy set of wheels at the college, but up here, my ride was downright shabby compared with some of the Audis, BMWs, and Bentleys that whizzed by. And the estates that the cars turned into were even more impressive, with massive mansions, pristine pools, and landscaped lawns stretching as far as the eye could see.
I drove through an open iron gate and parked in front of one of the smaller, more modest and tasteful mansions in this particular neighborhood. A scan of the yard satisfied me that no one was skulking around, so I got out of my car and used my key to let myself into the mansion.