Inside Out

16

Winter watched as Angela Martinez concentrated on the puzzle in front of her, working as methodically as a jeweler checking a consignment of diamonds. She rubbed each piece of the anodized steel with a Teflon-saturated cloth and then set it on the newspaper. When she was finished putting it back together, the puzzle revealed itself as a Glock pistol. Forty-caliber shells were lined up at attention like soldiers. One by one she inserted the rounds into the mouth of the magazine, then slapped the back of it against her palm to seat the bullets. She jacked the receiver, fed the chamber, removed the magazine to add a round, and slammed the magazine home. Satisfied, she put the gun into her hip holster and snapped the thumb-release strap.

“Think it'll shoot now?” Cross asked.

“Better than yours.”

“In a million years you couldn't outshoot me.”

“Give me a break, Cross. There's nothing you can do that I can't do faster and better.”

“Sexual discrimination suits filed by crybaby dykes and bleeding-heart judges have screwed up everything by trying to make all of us equal. Well, that's just paper equality, it can't make women physically equal to men. Strength and stamina can't be altered by court rulings.”

“You think you're stronger than me?” Martinez said, snickering. “Twenty dollars says I can take you arm wrestling,” she told Cross calmly.

“You have twenty dollars, Cross?”

Beck reached into his wallet and tossed a twenty onto the center of the table. “Arm-wrestling contest? I'm in. Even odds?”

“Whatever you can stand to lose,” Martinez told him.

“Who's covering your losses?” Cross asked.

“There won't be any,” she said with total confidence.

Five minutes later the kitchen was crowded and there was a heap of money in the center of the table. When Cross and Martinez squared off, all the money was on Cross.

Jet laid a ten down and pressed it flat. “On him to win.”

“Traitor,” Martinez said.

“Sorry. I'm a woman, but I've never been called a stupid one.”

The cat fled the room and Dylan was suddenly standing in the doorway.

“Winter, you want in?” Greg asked, ignoring Devlin.

“I don't gamble,” Winter said. He figured Martinez was going to get creamed and he didn't want to waste money, or take any of hers.

Dylan walked over to the table and thumped a hundred dollar bill down. “On Deputy Cross,” he said. “Can you cover this, senorita?” He winked. “Or maybe we can just work out some kind of a trade.”

Martinez stared down at the bill and then at Winter. He could see her confidence faltering.

“On Martinez to win, okay?” he said, taking his wallet out. He took out five twenties and tossed them near the pile.

“Sean, honey,” Devlin called out cheerfully. “Come watch your deputy get his noogies kicked in again.”

Sean came into the room and stood near the stove. Cross put his elbow on the table. Martinez slipped off her jacket.

“You can take off your shirt, too,” Cross told her. “Might distract me.”

Martinez planted her elbow on the table and straightened her forearm.

“What little hands you have, my dear,” Cross crooned, as he took her hand in his. “You want to stand up and lean in to get some leverage?”

Greg covered their hands with his. “When I let go, it begins.” He looked at Martinez. “Anybody wants to back out, do it now. There's a lot of money on the table.”

Greg counted down from three, then let go, and for a second Martinez's arm sank slowly back toward the table. Her face contorted. Cross seemed to be enjoying himself. When Martinez's arm was almost touching the surface of the table, Cross tilted his head and looked at her quizzically. Martinez smiled and started moving her opponent's arm back up to center.

Cross started to sweat. He clenched his teeth, and the veins in his temples began to bulge.

“I know how you're feeling, Cross,” Martinez said. “It's like the heavens are all out of balance and your little Super Boy world is about to collapse around you. Welcome to Club Humiliation, you smug male bastard.” She smiled as she inched Cross's hand back toward the surface. He was giving it everything he had.

“You want to stand up, for leverage?” she mocked. Cross's hand hit the table hard. He sat there, bewildered.

“Again, double or nothing?” she asked. “Left hands?”

The room was silent.

Martinez stacked the bills tidily and picked them up. She took Devlin's C-note and Winter's twenties and handed them to Winter.

“How the hell did you do that?” Dylan asked Martinez, incredulous.

“Black beans,” she shot back.

Winter pocketed the cash and repeated something to Dylan that the killer himself had said earlier. “Things aren't always as they seem.. darling.”

“I thought you didn't gamble, Massey?” Devlin snapped back, his eyes smoldering.

Winter shrugged. “I don't.”

Devlin pivoted on his heel and left the room. His wife stared into Winter's eyes for a long second, then smiled and followed Devlin out.