Yellow light flooded the room. Raffy Ortiz smiled down at Carver. The lamp was reflected as tiny oblong slashes of brilliance in his narrowed eyes, lending him the look of a feral cat about to relish a kill. Raffy was straddling his chest. Must have slipped the lock on the door, or forced it without Carver hearing. Carver writhed desperately, twisted his neck, and saw that the tie he’d draped over the chair had been knotted around his wrists to bind them to the old iron headboard. He tested all his strength against the knots. The silk tie drew tighter around his wrists, cutting off circulation in his hands. Panic welled cold and black in his bowels. He wriggled his fingers and could barely feel them. Raffy said, “No use you struggling, compadre.” Still grinning, he used his thumb and middle finger and nimbly flicked the tip of Carver’s nose. Hard. It stung, causing Carver to toss his head from side to side in a futile attempt to protect himself. He threw back his good leg and tried to hook it around Raffy’s neck.
