“You bastard” she spat again. A drop of spittle clinging precariously to her quivering lower lip rocketed at my face. I didn’t move. I had been spit on by my share of bloated, hard-drinking, cud-chewing scum of both sexes, and some whos sex was unrecognizable. This dame was so hot that the droplet was steam before it hit me.
If I could remember what I had done I could pretend to be sorry. All I could remember was a drink and then something about yellow. Yellow . . . I think it meant something. I dug deep in my brain, hitting spinal cord, but could not piece together the last couple of hours.
My heart jumped. I checked my old watch, the one my partner was wearing when . . . It had been 12 hours, not 2! What’d she slip in my drink!? “What’d you slip me” I said. My voice sounded muffled, like it was coming from a closed coffin. Shaking my head to clear it, I asked again, “What’d you slip me, you b-?” Before I could finish she slammed the pointed tip of one lickable, black pump deep into my jewelry bag. “Ungh!”