CHAPTER 13:  OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS

            Angel shut the door to her room, with me still clinging to her hip, and Leila in her hand somewhere.  Once inside, Angel found a tiny fishbowl, they kind they give out when you win a single goldfish at the fair, and she dropped Leila into it, placing it on her dresser, across from the foot of the bed.

            “In the morning, I’ll decide what I am going to do with you,” Angel said.  She kissed the glass of the bowl, stamping it with lipstick. “But it won’t be pleasant.  At least, not for you.”

            I reached for Angel’s robe again.  Just in time as she took it off and draped it onto the dresser where Leila’s glass prison sat.  Angel stood at the dresser brushing her hair a moment, and then set the hairbrush down.  Her scantily clad body climbed into her bed once again, opposite from her she had her gruesome fun with Wingman.  She lay for awhile, trying to get comfortable.  From here, she really did look like an Angel.  But I knew better.  After another minute, she began to snore softly.

            I waited awhile, still encased in the cool fabric of her robe.  It still smelled of her, I noted.  Working my way out of it, I looked at the fishbowl, maybe fifty yards away.  In its center, Leila sat, faced buried in her hands, weeping the loss of her brother.  I took a deep breath and made a decision.  After a short walk, I stood directly in front of her now, only the round glass separating us.  Her face was still buried in her hands.  I hesitated for a moment, and then I rapped on the glass with my knuckles.  She looked up, startled.

“You,” the client said.

You and I, I said, we need to talk.