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Chapter 37
"I think she had a stroke," I say. "You killed her with your boner." Hank nods. "Armed and dangerous." "She's not moving. Is that normal with a stroke?" I ask. "I don't know. I've never had a stroke." He walks us over to the little lady. She's about forty years old, and she's wearing a cotton dress and flats. Her hair is pulled back in a long ponytail. She's less than five feet tall, and she has tiny hands. Doll's hands. And she's not blinking. Hank claps his hands together in front of her face, making my chained hand fly up. It works. The little woman blinks, gasps, and takes a step backward. She crosses herself. "Oh, dio mio," she cries. "We're not crazy perverts," I say, trying to calm her. "Tell her we're not crazy perverts, Hank." "We're not crazy perverts," he says. "We're jus
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