The bones in Connor’s hand broke into a thousand tiny fragments.
“Jesus,” Richmond said, “you’re actually a spy… A real motherfucking spy.”
Connor blacked out then came to, his hand burning like a sun.
“Fuck are you surprised Rich,” he wheezed, “You’re a fucking terrorist.”
He blacked out again and Richmond
splashed water on his face. “I shouldn’t have broke your hand like
that… Fuck, I’ll never get you out of here with you all fucked up like
that. I wanted to shoot you… Is that strange? That the first reaction I
had was that I wanted to shoot you?”
Connor
gritted his teeth and shifted his body on the floor of the hotel room.
“It makes sense to me. Shit you really busted it up.”
“I need to clean up some of this blood, it’s making me nauseous. Drink this.” He poured Connor some vodka. “Then why didn’t you see it coming?”
“Fuck
Rich, you’re still my friend. I guess I hoped-” He pushed himself into
sitting against the couch, shaking, taking the glass, and they both
heard the knock at the door. They looked at each other and they knew the
look, after years of sitting beside each other in boardrooms making
business deals, years of sitting beside each other in bars trying to
pick up women, they said to each other with the look that things were
about to get very complicated.
Richmond sighed. “How much do you know?”