Except Perry is muttering under his breath on the other side of the bathroom door, and he’s about as patient as a starving raccoon.
Madness inspires madness.
That’s my mother’s voice in my head. She used to say that when I was a little girl and worried about something I shouldn’t worry about. I wasn’t sure what it meant back then, but two weeks ago, I learned how quickly sanity can slip away.
Perry and I had swindled a wealthy widow in Bronzeville. We got so caught up in the thrill of the con that we lost ourselves. Or rather, Perry lost himself, and I just followed along.
Without a fuss, the old gal handed over her pearl-handled switchblade, which I slipped into my clutch purse along with her wedding ring. So why did she refuse to unpin the diamond brooch on her lapel? Perry beat that old woman half to death and scared me silly. We’d roughed up marks before, I told myself, but those folks were younger and swung back.
That widow woman wasn’t gonna hurt nobody. But as horrified as I was, I just watched.
That night, I made up my mind. I had to get outta this racket. I stashed some cash and trinkets and packed a suitcase while Perry was out drinking with his brother. Then I hid everything in the back of the closet, where he never looked.
Now, the only thing left is to get out of the apartment in one piece.
The bathroom door suddenly swings open, and there stands Perry, fully dressed, swinging my bag of cash in my face. “What the hell you doing hiding this shit from me?”
My vision blurs, and I might faint, but what good will that do? I have to think fast. Lord knows, I can’t tell him the truth, but I can change the subject. Maybe make him feel guilty.
“What you so mad about?” I demand. “I just set aside a few dollars for a rainy day. You spend nearly every penny we make on clothes, liquor, and automobiles. What if you get hurt or, even worse, get caught by some coppers and thrown in jail? Where would I be then?” I snort. “Holding a bag of nothing—that’s where.”
“That’s a bucket of bull, Othella.”
I shove him aside. “It ain’t no bull.”
“I smell a rat,” Perry hollers. “I found your goddamn suitcase packed, too.” His fist slams into the wall. “You’re begging for a beatin’ if you think you’re leaving me.”
My heart pounds in my chest so hard that my whole body aches. “Stop flapping your gums at me. If I were gonna leave you, I woulda been gone.”
“You’re a liar.” He grabs me from behind and spins me around. I see his huge paw coming for my face, but I can’t get outta its way. He hits me in the jaw so hard that tears spring to my eyes. “If you stopped lying, you wouldn’t get hit.”
Rage and pain burn through my veins. I feel my face swell, tasting blood as Perry pulls back, getting ready to pop me in the jaw again.
Christ. He is pissed as hell, but damn it, so am I.
“You’re right!” I snap, and his fist halts in mid-air. “I’m a liar ’cause I am leaving you. And don’t even think about hitting me again. I swear, I’ll fight back.”
“Oh you will?” Perry laughs harshly. “Then tell me, how far will you get with a broken leg or two?”
He has me, and I am half-dragged, half-carried toward the living room, my legs sweeping the floor like a broom. His long fingers wrap around my throat. I claw at his wrists, trying to break free, but suddenly my feet leave the ground and I’m flying through the air.
I scream, bracing for a hard landing, but the sofa softens my fall. Then, quick as a cat, Perry is on top of me, holding me down.
“You want to leave me?” he shouts, blowing his stinking morning breath in my face. “No bitch leaves me!”
“Get off me,” I rasp, “before I hurt you.”
A harsh laugh bursts from his wide mouth. He is gagging on laughter as if my words are a punchline he pretends to find funny. He loosens his grip in that instant, and I see my opening. I pull my knee in and, shifting my weight into theblow, drive my leg forward, striking him squarely in his private parts.
Screaming, he tumbles off me and crashes onto the coffee table, smashing it into pieces. He lies on his back, cradling his groin and cursing.
Rising as quickly as I can, I grab the handle of the Smokador, the carbon steel standing ashtray. Like me, it has some weight, and I slam it into his skull with all my might and rage.
Perry hollers, but I keep swinging, landing shot after shot until he stops moving and blood spurts from the gash in his head. His eyes flutter shut.
I drop the Smokador, dash to the bedroom closet, and grab the first outfit I can reach—one of my favorites: a blue-and-white, polka-dot, slim-waisted frock with butterfly sleeves. I dress quickly, glancing into the living room to see if Perry has stirred. I pin my long, coarse curls into a bun, then snatch up my suitcase and bag of trinkets. But it’s the other bag—the most important bag—the one with my money—that I need to find.
Where did Perry toss it? I race through the apartment. It has to be here.
