23
NINE
As I strolled toward the nurses’ station, the low-level buzz that hummed through my body gave me a taste of my old life. I was taking a risk coming to the hospital, of course I was, but not an excessive one. I’d missed this part of my job. The thrill of deception. Of convincing the world that I was a cute little pussycat when a Siberian tiger lurked beneath my skin. When I was eighteen, I’d roller-skated past a senator in hot pants and a tight little vest—that was me in the hot pants, not the senator, although I’d once run into another politician with that particular kink. Quite literally—I drove over him with a Mercedes sedan. Anyhow, while the senator was staring at my breasts, I’d hit him with the blow dart hidden in my lollipop. He thought he’d been stung by a wasp.
Five min
