Ronnie's girlfriend asks a split second before some dude in a trench coat is getting up close and personal with my face.“Miss Charell?” he asks, very polite. He's got a nice accent too, but his breath stinks like bullshit. I'm used to pushy guys like this from the club. What I'm not used to is a 9mm pressed into my stomach while Mr. Freaky Reek-y there casts his glance down the line and smiles. “I'm going to be needing your assistance here shortly.” I figure if the man's crazy enough to bring a gun into a hospital, he's crazy enough to use it, so I don't give lip. Even though I want to. Even though I really, really want to.Turner takes care of that for me.“The fuck are you?” he snarls, fists curling tight at his sides. I hope he doesn't explode on tall, dark, and screwed the eff up. I don't want to die here, not surrounded by linoleum and white, white walls. I want to die in a waterfall, curled up in a barrel and laughing while I go over the edge. Niagara. It'd be nice if I died in Niagara.
