Page 117 of Sting
Shaw flipped him off with his free hand and pulled the hood back up to cover his head. Morrow scowled but said nothing else before returning to his office and pushing the door closed.
Shaw muttered several cuss words, then let his gaze drift from Morrow’s office door to the girl, who was regarding him warily. He stared back for several moments, then said in a low voice, “Lighten up, kid. No matter what they brought you in for, you’ll probably get off doing community service. Maybe some time in juvie, and it ain’t that bad.”
She immediately looked down.
Shaw rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, but left them slitted so he could watch her.
She continued to stare into her lap where her hands were clasped but restless. She’d picked at a loose cuticle on her thumb until it had bled. One minute passed, then another thirty seconds or so. Shaw was beginning to think that his plan wasn’t going to work, when she shyly looked across at him again.
“Are you sick?”
He kept his head against the wall but rolled it to the side and tipped down the sunglasses to peer at her over the frames. “Not exactly. They pulled me outta the hospital on an assault warrant.”
“You were in the hospital?”
“Till about an hour ago.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Got stabbed.” With his free hand he raised his shirttail to show her the bandage.
Her swollen red eyes rounded slightly. “Who stabbed you?”
He coughed a laugh. “Last time I’ll piss her off.”
“A woman?”
“Girlfriend. Former girlfriend. She got me with a broken, rusty outboard propeller.”
“Mercy.”
He laughed again. “I said a little stronger word than mercy.”
When she smiled, Shaw shot her one back. “Good to see you smiling. I heard you crying earlier. From in there.” He indicated the interrogation room. “Sounded rough.”
Her lower lip began to tremble and misery settled over her whole being again.
“Look, kid,” he said, speaking softly, “don’t let these assholes get to you. The deputy said your folks’ll be here soon. They’ll get you out. Whatever it was you did—”
“I didn’t do anything!”
Shaw just looked at her, knowing she desperately wanted to tell what had happened, explain it, clarify it, justify it, whatever. So he gave her the opportunity by saying nothing.
“I mean…” She licked her lips. “I went to this place where I shouldn’t have gone. A bar? My friend and me had fake IDs.” Then, speaking in a confidential undertone, in stops and starts, she told basically the same story her friend had told Morrow.
By the time she got to the part about leaving the bar, she was crying again in great sobs that made her choke, because she was trying to be quiet about it.
“Hey, shh,” Shaw said. “Shh. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Whatever happened, I don’t think it was your fault.”
“But it was. My friend told me I shouldn’t leave with a stranger.”
“She figured him for a loser, and sounds to me like she was right.”
“But I…I…I didn’t listen. I’d had so much to drink. And he told me I was hot, and that he’d never got that…that…aroused just by kissing.” She ducked her head, asking softly, “You know what I mean?”
He frowned guiltily. “Yeah, us guys say shit like that when we want to get on a girl. Sometimes we mean it, though. Maybe he did.”
“I don’t think so. Because as soon as he pulled off the road and parked the truck…”
