Garrick walked Corrie out of Kemp's office with his hand still on her back. Cutter was already in the hall, waiting.
Cutter: You think a patch makes you safe? You think his hand on your back means a fucking thing?
Cutter took her by the front of her shirt and put her into the wall. Her head cracked the paneling, and warm blood slid down behind her ear.
Cutter: Your mama was a thief. You know that, you lying little cunt?
Cutter: Noreen took three grand out of the club safe and vanished the same week. Left every man in this room holding the hole.
Trixie: And now the brat's back with her dead-man hands.
Trixie got her hand in before Garrick could turn. The slap split the corner of Corrie's mouth open, and she tasted copper again.
Trixie: Thief's brat. Whore's brat. Same fucking face.
Nobody in the bar moved. The men watched her with their drinks still in their hands, and one of them laughed low in his chest.
Cutter: I'll take her fingers off one at a time, and she can tell us where the money went.
Corrie believed him. Her knees went loose, and the hallway smelled like beer and old smoke.
She made herself look at his face anyway. She would not give him the floor.
Corrie: My mother dumped me with strangers. I was six. I slept in a house full of kids, and none of your money ever showed up.
Garrick: You want to talk about money, Cutter, go talk to Kemp. She was a kid. Get out of my way.
His hand on her arm was steady, and it landed right where Cutter's grip had already left a bruise.
Garrick's room sat at the end of the hall. A cot, a dresser, a workbench with a carburetor on it, and one window that looked straight at the fence.
Garrick: Sit down before you fall down.
He turned her head toward the lamp and looked at the split skin behind her ear.
Garrick: That needs a stitch.
Corrie: It's fine.
Garrick: It's a hole in your head. Hold still.
He was close enough that she could smell grease and soap on him. His thumb sat warm on her jaw.
Her heart beat like it wanted out of her chest, and she told herself it was only the fear.
Corrie: Cutter said my mother stole three grand from the club.
Garrick: That's the story they tell.
Corrie: Is it true?
Garrick: Money went missing. She left the same week. That's all I know for certain.
Garrick: Listen to me. Don't trust Kemp.
Corrie: He put me under his roof.
Garrick: He put you where he can see you. That's a different thing.
Corrie: He knew my name. I said her name, and the blood went out of his face.
Garrick: Yeah. I saw it.
Garrick looked back at the door like he wished it locked from the outside.
Garrick: A man who won't speak a woman's name in his own bar is hiding more than cash.
Corrie: Then why does he want me here?
Garrick: Because you see things nobody else can. And he's got a dead man in the ground.
Garrick: Cutter's got a vote coming. He thinks this club should be his.
Corrie: And you?
Garrick: I'm a patch and a pair of hands. That's all I am to them.
He said it without feeling sorry for himself, like it was just the weather. Her chest ached anyway.
Corrie: You stood up in that bar and told every one of them you believed me.
Garrick: I meant it.
He had not moved his fingers from her cheek yet. Under them her heartbeat ran fast and stupid, and she let it run.
Then Nix scratched at the door, patient and low, and Garrick got up.
Garrick: Let him in. Long as he minds his manners.
Corrie: He only bites people who lock me up.
Garrick huffed something that was almost a laugh, then looked down the empty hall.
Garrick: Sleep. I'll be in that chair. Nobody gets past me tonight.
She had protection now. One man against a whole room, and she could hear the room still talking through the wall.