Despite the “ow,” she’s doing better with the pain than he expected. Maybe it’s the numbing cream. “Second stitch. You’re doing great.”
“Thanks, Mom.” With her head immobile, Nomi’s eyes dart away as if she’s embarrassed. Then she looks back, blinking. “You’re good at this.”
“I did a lot of assistant work for Flores in the village.” Her skin is pouched and tender. It’s a little harder with this straight needle, but he’s getting the hang of it. “I told you I lived with a doctor.”
“And you work in a slaughterhouse.” Her gaze is still on him.
Simon pierces her skin again with the needle, has an uncomfortable vision of himself tying up a carcass for spit roasting: trussing the marbled meat with neat stitched lines of twine. But he’s not at work now. And he’s strangely discomfited by Nomi’s flushed, sweaty face, her gasping breaths, her body held at exquisite tension.
“I’ve sutured injuries plenty of times.” He wets his lips. Better to go back to their previous topic. “Okay, so Galetti’s at the top, Lamonte’s below him, and Ricki Cevolatti was the guy at the bottom who spoke out of turn.”
“Yes.” She closes her eyes as he ties off the second stitch, her respiration high and unsettled, humming through her closed lips. “Mmm ...”
“Keep breathing.” He snips. The numbing cream really is doing a fine job.
She exhales as the needle goes in for the third stitch, her breath coming out choppy. “So I don’t know for sure, but I think Ricki blabbed about Solange Jackson. Lamonte runs contractors, small-time pimps who send hookers through the clubs. Guys, girls, whatever. Solange’s pimp, Malcolm Forest—”
“The loud guy outside your door.”
“Malcolm works for Lamonte.” Nomi braces as Simon pulls the thread through the other side. Her fisted hand butts against his knee, and he tries not to flinch at the contact. “Fuckfuckfuck. Okay, when Solange first hired me, she told me that about ten days ago, Lamonte arranged for Malcolm to send her to party with an exclusive clientoutside the club. All hush-hush, real shut-your-trap stuff. But Ricki knew about it somehow.”
“And Ricki didn’t keep his trap shut.”
“So that’s three questions now—what did Ricki know, who did he talk to, and what did he say?” She chews her bottom lip. “I’m trying to think of anyoneIknow who would’ve been in Ricki’s orbit.”
Simon ties the final knot carefully. “You said Ricki was a gofer? Lamonte must have had him doing something to help Solange’s assignment—driving her to the client, delivering food ...”
“Delivering drugs.” Her expression is thoughtful. At least the conversation is keeping her distracted.
One last snip, and Simon leans back. He’s gotten over his odd discomfort of a moment ago; now he can assess the work. For emergency surgery with improvised equipment, it’s not a bad job, and he managed to avoid sticking himself with the needle. He rinses his hands in the bowl of water, dries them on a clean towel. “All done.”
“All done?”
“Sit up nice and slow.” Once she’s sitting, he gives her a hand mirror.
“Holy shit, I look like an extra from a Freddy Krueger film.” Nomi grimaces at herself in the glass. “I need to go back to my apartment, clean up, change clothes—”
“I still have to put a dressing on that.” Simon sets the suture equipment away to one side, reaches for the Neosporin.
“Wait.” Nomi straightens, touches his hand. Her cheeks are still pink, and she seems weirdly energized, but he’s seen people affected by postinjury adrenaline react this way. “Wait one second. I’m a mess, but we can use this.”
“What do you mean?”
She gives back the mirror. “Let me up. I think I know someone we can talk to about Ricki—”
She stands abruptly, wobbles.
“Hold on.” Forced to stand as well, he grabs her by the waist. “You have a head injury. I don’t think you should be going anywhere.”
Her face is animated, and her hands grip his forearm. “He’s one block away. Comeon, Noone. We’ve got a real chance here.” Now her eyes get stubborn. “I’m going, even if I have to go slow. So you can either come along, or—”
“Are you seriously trying to either-or me?” His tone is disapproving, but it’s theater. She’s asked him to go with her. A tiny part of him is sparking, victorious. “Forget it, I’m coming along so you don’t collapse in the street.”
“Ohmigod, I won’t collapse in the street—”
“Or get beaten up again.”
“I got caught by surprise!”
