Page 134 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

“Promise. But... I did have sex with somebody I met there, and if I could do a chef’s kiss right now, I would. And that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

“Wait, what?” She blinks. “You had sex with somebody from the mafia?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“You? And a mafia guy?”

I shrug.

Her eyes go wide.

“What? Don’t be so shocked.”

“Edie, you hate criminals.”

“Not all criminals. Apparently.”

“Ohmigod. He told me you had to blow ten men at once?—”

“Excuse me? Absolutely not true. And gross!”

Mary gusts out a breath of relief. “I wanted to kill myself!”

“Well, now I want to kill him.”

“Get in line,” she says.

I hoist myself up to standing and kick at the bars, finding the spot where the bar meets a crumbly-looking wall.

“Don’t bother. I’ve tried. Every which way.”

“Fuck.” I awkwardly slide back down to the floor. “Seriously, these cute cowboy boots? But you believed my new fashion is sad clown 1980s? This is what you believed?”

“No, the boots are good.” She lowers her voice. “Do you have any paperclips in your pockets or an underwire bra on?”

“No, why?”

She looks around. “Check out what I’ve been making.” She pushes away some crumpled papers and pulls out a long, skinny, gnarled stick with a bend at the end like a shepherd’s crook.

It’s maybe four feet long and rigid but sort of fragile.

“I made it out of dried celery and chicken bone and gum. It’s wrapped with threads from my socks and some of my hair.”

“Ummm... I guess it’s nice? Maybe just not my style.”

“Fuck off.” She hides it again. “Sometimes he leaves his keys on the bench over there, and if I get it long enough, I feel like I could hook them and let myself out.”

“Wow. That’s actually kind of amazing.”

I can’t feel my fingers on my right hand. The wrist he injured is probably swollen up like a balloon, cutting off the blood supply to my hand. It hurts, and I’m getting worried. Could that do permanent damage? Could I literally lose my right hand?

“Seriously want to kill him,” I say.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. You have no idea,” Mary says.

“Well, I don’t have a gross pole made of dried celery and my own hair, but other than that...”

“That gross pole is gonna get us out of here.”