The Killing Floor Blues
“-- The Killing Floor Blues 34.I stood up slow, eyeing the guard on the threshold. Red rims lined his baggy eyes, and he walked with a lethargic shuffle in his step. Somebody’s a little hungover from last night’s festivities, I thought. Perfect. “Infirmary,” he said. “The doc needs to check you out.” I knew the routine by now. I presented my wrists and waited patiently while he fumbled with the shackles. My eyes were on his belt. Pepper spray, pistol, key ring. I walked just ahead of him, a litt...le slower than I needed to. Once we passed the checkpoint gate, my fingers dipped into my pocket. They closed over the marble-sized lump of alchemist’s clay that Emerson had smuggled in for me. One of Bentley’s specialties. I scooped it up and rolled it into my palm, pinning the clay in place with my thumb. “Let me ask you something.” “Shut up,” the guard said. “Keep walking.” “I’m just wondering how you live with yourself, being an accessory to all this.” We rounded a corner.MoreLess
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