“My God,” Savanna pleaded. “ You can"t just let him be ripped to pieces ...”
Omar raised an eyebrow. “No?” He slid off the table and approached her. “And why not?”
She hesitated. His face hovered in her own like some foam-latex Halloween mask—Uncle Pervus, perhaps, or Baby Stinky. “You, you just can’t,” she stammered.
He c****d his head to one side and smiled broadly, wickedly. “You ever been to prison, sugar-muffin?”
His teeth seemed covered with a yellow, p***y substance which reminded Savanna of that gummy liquid SPAM was packed in.
She shook her head.
“That"s too bad .... they"d like you there.” He stepped closer and Savanna felt his coat pressing against her breasts. The reek of liquor-sweat and pitted-out leather seemed to radiate off him in waves. “You ever heard stories abou
