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She leaned in close, her breath warm against Mac’s ear. Her perfume made his eyes water.
“The guy behind you. He’s the one I’m talking about.”

Mac didn’t bother turning. He’d been bored since he walked in.
“What’d he do to you?”

“What difference does it make? You get him… then you get me.”

Mac let a smile devoid of feeling curl at the corner of his mouth.
“The trouble is, sister, I know that guy.”

She gave a sharp little laugh, all teeth and cheap perfume.
“Where’d you meet that loser?”

Mac exhaled, not quite a sigh, not quite a groan, speaking slowly and softly.
“I met him in hell.”

She frowned, mascara heavy enough to cast its own shadow.
“You’re a strange bird.”

Mac took a slow sip of bourbon, rolling it around like he was tasting memories.
Mac turned toward her. “Did you marry him?”

“None of your business, gumshoe. You’re asking too many questions.”

Mac finally stared at her, pinning her with a look. Her lashes were so thick they looked like they’d been troweled on.
“That ‘loser’ earned a Silver Star and a Purple Heart on Guadalcanal.”

She shrugged. “So what’s the big deal?”

Mac chuckled, low and humorless.
“Sweetheart, Joe beat you to it. He hired me to watch you.”

Her hand came up fast, ready to slap the grin off his face. Mac didn’t flinch. He stared at his drink instead.
“You touch me with that filthy hand, and I’ll rip it off your shoulder and beat you to death with it.”

She froze, hand hovering in the smoky air.
“Give me my money back.”

"Scram, sister, while you still have teeth."