A Body to die for

put it back in my purse, I heard a scream behind me. I turned to see who was there.
    She was just a blur of dark hair and naked nails, coming at me like a whirling dervish from hell. I ducked. She rammed me square in the gut with her shoulder, knocking the wind out of me. I collapsed to the floor like a deflated balloon. I struggled to catch my breath, but my lungs billowed uselessly in my chest. A hot pain gripped my sternum. I wasn’t sure, but I think she broke a rib. Despite my agony, I didn’t drop the gun. I pointed it at her feebly. She was on the floor next to Larry, kissing his forehead and smoothing down his hair. My search for the Baggie lady was now over. If I ever needed to fill slots on a roller derby team, I’d give her a call.
    I said, “Gasp, sputter, groan.”
    She said, “You killed him.”
    Maybe scared him to death. She was the second woman in the last twenty-four hours who’d rushed me to protect a man. I said, “Choke, cough, wheeze.” I sat up and began to feel a bit less like a pancake. I shook my head to clear it. My neck was stiff—so much for my complete body stress-reduction therapy. I attempted a deep breath and a white hot flash exploded behind my eyes. I stuck with small breaths, like baby sips from a water fountain.
    Meanwhile, Larry regained consciousness. He said, “Molly, thank heavens it’s you. An insane woman drew a gun on me and threatened to kill me if I didn’t tell her your name.” He screamed suddenly. “Oh my goodness! She’s right there.”
    I waved lamely. “I need tequila,” I managed to say. I slipped the gun back in my purse. Molly glared at me suspiciously and went back to caring for Larry. He watched me lolling in pain. Sympathy seeped into his eyes.
    He said, “She looks bad.”
    Molly checked me out. “But are you okay?” she asked Larry.
    “Maybe we should take her to a hospital,” he said.
    I shook my head, sending stabs of pain into my cranium. Molly sighed. She said, “Larry, you’re just too nice a guy.” She stood up and opened the freezer door. Her body was one of the most athletic I’d seen at the club, with long limbs and muscle lines. She looked like a marathoner, with tight skin and a gaunt face. When she bent at the waist to look in the freezer, her calf muscles blew up under her skin like a gum bubble. She flung her long, straight brown hair aside, and reached behind a few pounds of frozen tofu. She dug out a large plastic Ziploc Baggie. Inside were a few hundred different colored pills and tablets. She yanked the bag open and dug around for a big white doorknob-size tablet. “Here,” she said. I put the pill in my mouth and downed it with saliva. “You just took fifty milligrams of Valium. You should feel better in about twenty minutes.”
    I felt better immediately. The sound of the word Valium was soothing in itself. I smiled at Molly, dispenser of sunshine and light. I said, “Give me that bag.” It hurt to talk. Max will love this.
    She said, “No way.”
    “I just want to look at it,” I squeeked out. Maybe the chromium compound pills and the steroids were in that bag. Not that I would know them if I saw them.
    “The hell,” said Molly the Marauder. “Jesus Christ.”
    Larry said, “Molly, please.”
    “For Christ’s sake, Larry. I just saved your life and you want me to watch my language? God, are you an ingrate.”
    “You’re doing it again,” he scolded. We all turned toward the rapping on the kitchen door.
    A muffled voice said, “Hello? Is anyone in there?” A woman. I could hear the ice cream lust dripping off her tongue like syrup.
    Molly said, “Larry, go take care of the customers. I’ll deal with her.” Larry exited the kitchen. Molly shoved the bag back into the freezer and helped me to my feet. I had one arm over her shoulder, and one around my rib cage. “I’m sorry I hit you so hard. It looked like you shot Larry.”
    My knees nearly buckled. Molly led me outside, past the Dumpsters, and into the sunny afternoon on Pierrepont Street. A few kids skateboarded by. It felt like a band of carpenters had gone to work in my chest, constructing a house of pain. And I don’t mean the ones who sing “On Top of the World.” I wanted that bag. I could give it to Ameleth to search for her samples. I said, “A thousand bucks for the bag. I won’t tell Ameleth anything. Everybody’s happy.” Molly eased me down on a brownstone stoop right in front of the club entrance. I felt woozy. She sat