I turn around. Hatchett. Great start to the fucking morning.
“Whaddya want, Hatch?”
“Lola wants her money, fuck-knuckle!”
“Then Lola shouldn’t try to kill me, should she?”
“Lola’s an impatient girl.”
I roll my eyes. Fuck, mafia movie with a drug-fucked psycho chick playing Godfather.
“Hatch, why the fuck are you doing a chick’s bidding? You tied to her apron strings? She promised to tie you up and whip you when you get out, if you’re a good boy?”
He sneers at me.
“Just get Lola’s money, fuck-knuckle – you got lucky this time. Next time, that accident might just hit you right in the chest!”
He pokes me in the chest to make his point, and I slap it away. Hard.
“She’ll get her money faster if she gets me the hell outta here, Hatch. Tell her that – and she might use the special studded whip, ya?”
His jaw tightens, and I know I’ve crossed the line. He hauls off and smacks me right in the jaw. Down I go, and all I remember is my head hitting the concrete and a sky full of stars.
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