Sin City Goddess by Barbra Annino Page A

moments, we turned a corner. There was a sliver of light peeking through a dirty blue sheet.
    “This is it. This is where he lives. Hopefully,” Archer said. “Yo, Tommy.”
    I heard the squeak of bedsprings, some movement.
    “Who’s there?” Tommy’s voice cracked as he spoke. Almost like he was afraid.
    “An old friend.” Archer smiled.
    Tommy mumbled. “Go away.”
    “Tommy, it’s me, Archer.”
    There was a long silence. Then the sheet was flung to the side and a very small man the size of a satyr stood there. He was holding a very large knife.
    “Whoa, Tommy, what the hell? Not happy to see me?” There was an edge to my partner’s voice. A hesitation.
    Was this Archer’s killer?
    Tommy was visibly shaken. His face turned white as lightning, and he backed up. “No. No, it can’t be. You’re a ghost, man!”
    Then he turned and ran like mad.
    Archer took off after Tommy, and I followed. He was weaving around walls of boxes, cardboard, old doors, and plywood, keeping pace with the small man. I was right behind them when a metal rod crashed down in front of me.
    I stopped short, nearly toppled over, in fact.
    There was a woman standing in front of me with glazed eyes. She swayed a bit.
    “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she barked.
    “Passing through.”
    “No one passes through my casa without paying a toll.”
    Was she serious? I thought about Archer’s handing out all those gifts he had brought for the tenants of the tunnels. Except now he was gone. And I had nothing to offer.
    The woman blew a strand of blond hair from her sallowface. Her eyes were vacant, bloodshot. She was wearing overalls and a bathrobe. She smelled of gin and sin.
    The woman took a step forward, threatening to do something more serious with that rod.
    “I’m afraid I have nothing to offer,” I said, scanning the space beyond her. The light was thicker here. The exit had to be just beyond her apartment.
    “A pretty thing like you? All dressed up in those fancy clothes? You got nothin’? No wallet? Bullshit.” She spat that last part out.
    I really didn’t have time or patience for this. “Look at what I’m wearing, woman. Where would I put it?” Honestly, even my hip bones were visible through these tight pants.
    She curled her lip, thought a moment. “Good point.”
    “Thank you.” I stepped forward, and she poked the rod, or pipe, or whatever the rusty thing was, at my stomach.
    Mind your fury, Tisiphone
, I thought as my blood roiled.
Mind your fury.
    “Not so fast, missy,” said the woman. Her face contorted into a map of sagging lines as she thought.
    “Can we hurry this along, please?” I really didn’t want to discipline her. She seemed as if she’d had her share of punishment.
    “Tell you what.” She lowered the rod. “Give me them shoes.”
    “What?” I wasn’t fond of them, but they were the only things standing between me and the disgusting ground that was littered with candy wrappers, stale bread, and gods knew what else. Then a horrible thought hit me. Where did these people relieve themselves? I shivered.
    “Your shoes!” she snarled.
    Oh, for the love of Zeus.
    I crossed my arms. “I am not giving you my shoes. There’s broken glass, cigarette butts, and Hades knows what else on these streets.”
    She considered this. “Tell you what, missy. I’ll trade ya.”
    Well, this just kept getting better.
    I looked down at her worn pink slippers. Her cracked, rough heels hung off the back. There were brown stains smeared across them that I could only hope were from chocolate, and the left one had a huge hole in the toe.
    The woman followed my gaze. “Oh, no you don’t. Them’s my lucky slippers. Won my first hundred in these slippers. I got something else in mind.”
    I expected her to pull out two empty shoe boxes for me to slip into. Instead, she rummaged around her space and presented a pair of white leather running shoes that looked brand new.
    “Seriously?” I