Tripwire

she could think was: that’s what they mean when they say gunmetal.
    “Step closer,” the man said.
    She was paralyzed. Her hands were clamped to her face and her eyes were open so wide she thought the skin on her face would tear.
    “Closer,” the man said again.
    She stared down at Sheryl. She was struggling up on her elbows. Her eyes were crossed and blood was running from her nose. Her top lip was swelling and the blood was dripping off her chin. Her knees were up and her skirt was rucked. She could see her panty hose change from thin to thick at the top. Her breathing was ragged. Then her elbows gave way again and slid forward and her knees splayed out. Her head hit the floor with a soft thump and rolled sideways.
    “Step closer,” the man said.
    She stared at his face. It was rigid. The scars looked like hard plastic. One eye was hooded under an eyelid as thick and coarse as a thumb. The other was cold and unblinking. She stared at the gun. It was a foot away from her chest. Not moving. The hand that held it was smooth. The nails were manicured. She stepped forward a quarter step.
    “Closer.”
    She slid her feet forward until the gun was touching the fabric of her dress. She felt the hardness and the coldness of the gray metal through the thin silk.
    “Closer.”
    She stared at him. His face was a foot away from hers. On the left the skin was gray and lined. The good eye was webbed with lines. The right eye blinked. The eyelid was slow and heavy. It went down, then up, deliberately, like a machine. She leaned forward an inch. The gun pressed into her breast.
    “Closer.”
    She moved her feet. He answered with matching pressure on the gun. The metal was pressing hard into the softness of her flesh. It was crushing her breast. The silk was yielding into a deep crater. It was pulling her nipple sideways. It was hurting her. The man raised his right arm. The hook. He held it up in front of her eyes. It was a plain steel curve, rubbed and polished until it shone. He rotated it slowly, with an awkward movement of his forearm. She heard leather inside his sleeve. The tip of the hook was machined to a point. He rotated the tip away and laid the flat of the curve against her forehead. She flinched. It was cold. He scraped it down her forehead and traced the curve of her nose. In under her nose. He pressed it against her top lip. Brought it down and in and pressed until her mouth opened. He tapped it gently against her teeth. It caught on her bottom lip, because her lip was dry. He dragged her lip down with the steel until the soft rubbery flesh pulled free. He traced over the curve of her chin. Down under her chin to her throat. Up again an inch, and back, under the shelf of her jaw, until he was forcing her head up with the strength in his shoulder. He stared into her eyes.
    “My name is Hobie,” he said.
    She was up on tiptoes, trying to take the weight off her throat. She was starting to gag. She couldn’t remember taking a breath since she had opened the door.
    “Did Chester mention me?”
    Her head was tilting upward. She was staring at the ceiling. The gun was digging into her breast. It was no longer cold. The heat of her body had warmed it. She shook her head, a small urgent motion, balanced on the pressure of the hook.
    “He didn’t mention me?”
    “No,” she gasped. “Why? Should he have?”
    “Is he a secretive man?”
    She shook her head again. The same small urgent motion, side to side, the skin of her throat snagging left and right against the metal.
    “Did he tell you about his business problems?”
    She blinked. Shook her head again.
    “So he is a secretive man.”
    “I guess,” she gasped. “But I knew anyway.”
    “Does he have a girlfriend?”
    She blinked again. Shook her head.
    “How can you be sure?” Hobie asked. “If he’s a secretive man?”
    “What do you want?” she gasped.
    “But I guess he doesn’t need a girlfriend. You’re a very beautiful woman.”
    She blinked again. She was up on her toes. The Gucci heels were off the ground.
    “I just paid you a compliment,” Hobie said. “Oughtn’t you say something in response? Politely?”
    He increased the pressure. The steel dug into the flesh of her throat. One foot came free of the ground.
    “Thank you,” she gasped.
    The hook eased down. Her eye line came back to the horizontal and her heels touched the rug. She realized she was breathing. She was panting, in and out, in and out.
    “A very beautiful