Page 229 of Things We Never Got Over (Knockemout)
“Me?” He pointed the gun at his chest, all innocence. “I just told her not to eat another piece of pizza, else she’d get fat, and no one likes fat chicks.”
Tina stomped over and drilled a finger into his chest. “You don’t tell my kid about getting fat. That shit goes to a girl’s head. Body dysmorphia and shit like that.”
I was impressed.
“Bitches are so sensitive,” Duncan said to me as if he could expect my agreement.
“Give me my money and untie her,” Tina demanded.
I couldn’t help but notice the order of her priorities and tabled my newfound respect for my sister.
Exasperated, I started toward Waylay. Waylon scrambled off her lap and tried to approach but was stopped by his leash.
“Uh-uh. One more step, and we’re gonna have a problem, Not Tina.” The warning was accompanied by the racking of a gun as Duncan came to his feet.
I glared at him. “My name is Naomi.”
“Don’t care if your name is Queen Latifah. I need you to stand right where you are.” He gestured with the gun. “Now, Waylay—whatever the fuck kind of name that is—where’s the fucking flash drive? You got ten seconds to tell me, or I’m gonna shoot your aunt right between the eyes.”
The cigarette in Tina’s mouth fell to the floor as she gaped at him. “The fuck? That wasn’t part of the plan, you asshole!”
“You shut your mouth, or I’ll drop you next to your sister. Hey! What’s sadder than a dead twin? Two dead twins!” Duncan howled at his own feeble humor.
“You dirty double-crosser,” Tina snarled.
He stopped laughing. “Now hold on there, T. I ain’t double-crossed you yet. I meant what I said. We can take the drive, sell it and start building something real. Something that’s got nothing to do with my fuckin’ dad or the fuckin’ family business!” His arms flailed, the barrel of the gun pointing everywhere at once.
“Could you please gesticulate without the gun?” I suggested.
“Christ. Again with the daddy issues,” Tina scoffed at Duncan. “My daddy is a big-time crime lord. It’s so hard to live up to his example. Boo-friggin-hoo.”
Again I began to inch my way toward Waylay.
“You know I don’t like it when you talk to me like my mom,” Duncan howled.
“You’re actin’ like you’re large and in charge. But who’s the one who tricked the kid into the car by pretending to be my sister? Who’s the one who got Naomi here?”
“Hey! I’m doin’ this for you, T. We could finally get the equipment to make those fake IDs you’re always runnin’ your mouth about. Or set up a black market organ donor farm.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Gross! Is that a real thing?”
“Don’t you yuck my yum, Hot Tina,” he said to me.
Oh, boy.
Tina backhanded him in the shoulder. “What did you just call her?”
I used the distraction to sneak closer to Waylay.
“Ow! I meant Not Tina,” Duncan insisted.
My niece chose that moment to heave herself forward, trying to tip the chair over, only succeeding in knocking into the table with the fat stacks of cash.
I raced forward, untangling dog leash and rope.
“One more move, and both of them get it,” Duncan warned, the gun trained on me as he stared at Waylay. “You got five seconds, kid, to start talking. Where’s the drive?”
