The friend sends a murderous glare at our sergeant-at-arms. “She doesn’t do drugs, asshole.”
The city girl sending up an insult makes everyone laugh.
I kneel next to them. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. We went into the revamped bathroom.” She waves toward the outhouse. “Then we came out here. She saw your vest.”
“His cut,” Chain corrects. “It’s called a cut.”
“Your vest. Your cut. Whatever. She realized you were in a club. And she passed clean out.”
Damn. Marietta’s a fragile thing if something as simple as me joining the Wild Hair set her off. I look up to find a woman from the club to help and spot Low Joe’s ol’ lady Betz. “Have Jake bring some water,” I tell her.
Betz takes off.
“Did she hurt herself falling?” I slide a hand under her head, feeling for lumps or blood.
“No, I caught her, more or less, and eased her down. Shouldn’t she come right back around?”
“It might take a splash of water.” There’s nothing wrong with her head at least.
Her dark hair fans out on the floor. Her face is pale, the pink of her makeup standing out starkly. Long lashes rest on her cheeks.
Betz returns with a glass. “You gonna pour it on her?” she asks.
I take the glass. “No.” I lift Marietta’s head and slide the glass against her mouth. The edge goes red from her lipstick. I pour a little. It dribbles out, but something about the action makes her stir.
Yup. Water on the lips works on swooning women as well as alcoholic deadbeats.
Her eyes flutter open. “Ohhhh.” It’s more of a groan than anything.
“Drink some water,” I say.
Her lips part. I tip the glass, and more goes in.
She nods and pulls away. “I’m all right.”
I rock back on my heels to give her space.
She pushes her hair off her forehead. She seems steady enough.
“Okay, show’s over.” I stand and pass the glass to Betz. “Come on, Marietta. Let’s get you in a chair.”
I grasp her hand and pull, using my arm to lift her by the back. She stands easily, unfolding like a jackknife.
“This is embarrassing,” she says, walking along as I lead her to an empty table.
I kick the chair out. “It doesn’t matter as long as you’re all right. Can I get you anything?”
She shakes her head. “I guess I won’t be drinking tonight.”
“Maybe not.”
Symphony and Diesel approach. “What’s going on?”
The friend who was with Marietta turns to face them. “Marietta saw Merrick in that vest—that cut—and passed clean out.”
Diesel rubs the back of his head. “I thought I told you all he’d patched in as a prospect.”
