Pinky waited in his office, watching the seconds rolling away on the clock. His brother watched him in every photograph. Pinky rapped his fingers on the desk. There was still no news. Something in his gut didn"t feel right. He couldn"t put his finger on what it was. Charlie wasn"t late yet. It could still be all right.
Riva sat on the couch beneath the photographs. She toyed with her mobile, passing it from one hand to the other. The purple bruise on her face was well covered. Pinky stared at it, trying to remember where she had got it.
“You look tense,” he said.
She jumped with the sound of his voice. She glanced up at him, wide-eyed. “Tense?”
“Yeah, you look worried.”
“I am. Aren"t you?”
“What"s there to worry about?”
Riva frowned. “What"s there to worry about? I don"t know, maybe
