the man said. “I don’t really want to do this.” He took away the knife. He let the woman go. And Troy’s Glock went off and killed him. Troy jerked awake, confused. He was in a strange place. No, not so strange now. He smelled perfume. The sheets were better than his, the room larger. He jumped up and made it to the bathroom’s toilet closet just in time. He vomited only once this time and drank some tap water before leaving the bathroom. He had spent late Saturday afternoon shopping and then shown up at Lee Bell’s door carrying one bottle of Champagne, one of a Merlot, neither of which he would drink, some sparkling water for himself, a corny greeting card he had seen on the rack in the Publix, and several three-packs of condoms because he was an optimistic guy. He felt eighteen years old and a little scared. It was a rare sensation for him and he tried to make it last. Lee had drunk most of the Merlot, saved the Champagne for another time, cooked them both some steaks on an outdoor grill, and then served up some decaf coffee that Troy detested but drank happily.
