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you are now,” Larry said, turning to Connor. “You’re some douchebag hockey player. I saw you on television after you left the last time.”
    Connor said nothing, wondering how the junkie saw him on television when there wasn’t a single TV in the house that he’d been able to see thanks to the endless piles of trash that lined every room.
    “Yeah. You’re a badass motherfucker when Frankenstein is with you, aren’t you? I bet you ain’t shit without him, or without the boss protecting you.”
    “Are you done?” Connor asked, tired of listening to his empty, whining threats, more than ready to get back out into fresh air and away from the stench of garbage, rank sweat, and some kind of sour chemical smell that he assumed was the result of meth being smoked.
    “Get the fuck out of here,” Larry sneered.
    “Tell Jera I said hello,” Connor said before opening the front door and walking out.
    “Fuck you, you fucking faggot!” Larry screamed, making Connor smile as he went down the steps and back to the Lincoln.
     
    *****
     
    “I think he likes you even more than before,” Petre said to him as the car accelerated down the entrance ramp to the freeway. “You two are to be best friends now, yes?”
    “Eat shit,” Connor laughed.
    “Why does a man make his woman fuck other men?” Petre asked, catching Connor by surprise.
    “I don’t know. Maybe it’s for money.”
    “Larry, he makes more than enough working for Mr. Ojacarcu. I don’t think he needs money.”
    “I don’t know,” Connor said again, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe he’s an asshole and she needs money to buy dope from him. Maybe he’s just an asshole and feels powerful pimping his girl out to other men. Maybe she owes him a lot of money and he’s making her work it off.”
    Petre scratched his cheek. “You think he beats her?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe the guys she fucks do it. Maybe Larry just adds to it. I don’t know, man. Why are you so curious about her?”
    “There is something about her…” Petre trailed off, turning his blinker on before passing a truck.
    Connor thought about the girl. Jera. He hadn’t thought about her for the last week, hadn’t thought about Larry either until two hours ago. He’d been too busy thinking about punishing any players from the Seattle Earthquake who needed an attitude adjustment.
    He remembered her dark skin, full of grime and bruises to the point where he couldn’t tell where the bruises ended and the dirt began. Connor wondered if she was from somewhere in the Middle East. He decided it was more likely she was from Mexico or somewhere else south of there. He thought of the leather collar around her neck with the ring at the front for a leash or a chain.
    A fleeting sexual thought made him ashamed. Some part of him wanted to feel sorry for her, while another part wanted to slap her again and scream in her face to leave Larry, run as far and as fast as she could before she ended up in the hospital from an overdose or from one of her johns beating on her.
    “You are thinking of her too?” Petre asked, breaking his thoughts into pieces.
    “Nah,” Connor lied. “I’m thinking about tomorrow night’s game.”
    “You are going to beat an ass?”
    Connor laughed. “I’m going to ‘beat someone’s ass’ is how you say it. Probably. Janakowski loves to get dirty with his stick when he’s shielded from the refs. He bruised up Cappy’s ribs pretty good last night right at the end.”
    Dennis Capuano had ended up going to the hospital to see if the rib had been cracked after complaining about how much it hurt to breathe.
    “And you didn’t beat someone’s ass?”
    “There was less than thirty seconds left in the game,” Connor shrugged. “Coach tried to put me on the ice, but the ref wouldn’t allow it.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because he knew, same as everyone, that the instant the puck dropped I’d be punching someone, hopefully Janakowski.”
    “You will revenge