Bill paced back and forth, waiting for Dial and his men to show up. It had been a half hour since he called. That Russian gal’s kick to the head had worn off, and Tom Dalton was awake lying in a pile of sawdust, tied up with a thick rope. Blood trickling from his split lip was forming a red exclamation point in the sawdust next to his mouth.
“What happened?” Tom asked in a hoarse voice. “Who was that badass chick?”
“I don’t know,” Bill said. He was standing next to Tom’s head, gazing down at what used to be such a nice kid. Poor schmuck. “She’s some sss friend of Jesse’s from back East.”
Poor schmuck. “Ama-what? She sure done got the best of me.”
“She sure did.” Bill looked at his watch, pacing again. He stepped outside to call Dial again. “Where the hell are you?” he shouted into his
