“You’re asking questions?” Big, tough and nasty said, testing me with a small punch to the face.

Darn it, yet another broken nose I didn’t need.

“Miss Melinda Rose don’t like people asking questions,” small, mean and just let me get my roll-up pack of scalpels out, added. Carefullly picking a slender blade that looked so thin it was almost invisible in the dim light.

My stomach rolled over, ready to barf. “All I said,” I tried to explain, “was simply, ‘Has anyone heard about a psychic winning the lottery.’ Just a simple rhetorical question. No harm meant. Nothing.”

Both nasty looking’s sucked in their breath and paled as I spoke.

“He’s got guts, this one.” Big and nasty said, I detected a small hint of admiration in his voice.

“Not for long,” Small and mean added, picking up a long thin skinning dagger. I detected a hint or two of maliciousness there.

“Sorry dude,” Big and nasty apologized as he checked my chains. “Can’t let anyone know Miss Rose wins the jackpot every week.”