Chapter 17
TEN MINUTES LATER I’M down on my knees in a filthy bathroom
stall, Walls’s bear-like claw gripping the collar on my leather coat. My head
is ringing from a quick pistol-whipping, my face and scalp soaking wet now that
the literary genius has decided to use my head as a human toilet brush.
He yanks me up and onto my feet.
“Holy crap, Moonlight,” he barks. “You passed out on me.”
“Pistol-whipping someone in the head will tend to do that.
Especially someone who’s got my head.”
“Sorry about that,” he says, making a weak attempt to
straighten up the collar on my jacket. “I only meant to scare you, not harm
you. I don’t know who to believe these days. Who to trust. How do I know you’re
really working for Suzanne?”
“Trust,” I mumble. “It’s like faith. Believing in somethin
