Low Sided by A.J. Downey (best detective novels of all time txt) 📕

could take on a Sacred Heart. That we weren’t nothing. That was, until they lay on the pavement broken and bleeding, or until we fuckin’ caught up to their little asses later – whichever came first.

They burst out laughing about something and high-fived each other. I didn’t care except they were ruining my peace and damn quiet.

“Hey, hey yo!” one of them called out, and I knew it was to me. I just ignored them. I was on parole for another year, and I had absolutely no desire to go back to the state pen and finish that bid off, fuck them very much.

“I’m talking to you!” he shouted, irritated.

“Hey! Knock it the fuck off, boys, or you can get the fuck out my bar,” Raven told ‘em.

“Shut up and just keep pouring the fuckin’ drinks, sweetheart,” one of them called out. I turned, just in time to see him grab his crotch and tell her, “I’ll deal with you later.”

Nice.

“Some people’s fuckin’ children, man,” I said slowly. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Man, fuck you!” the dude’s buddy, some Asian kid, said laughing.

“I don’t swing that way,” I said, turning back to the bar. “More power to you if you do, though.”

I have no fuckin’ idea what happened next. I heard something snap, shouting, and a white light flared through my vision as the back of my head erupted in pain. Next thing I knew, I hit the sticky barroom floor, face-first and next, my ribs exploded in fire.

I managed to get up and heard more shouting, as I groped blindly and spilled out of the exit and onto the front sidewalk.

I couldn’t get air, I couldn’t breathe, and I had a second to think through my drunken haze, goddammit! They got the drop on me.

What came next was probably the most brutal ass kicking of my life, and that’s including the one I took in that yard fight when I was locked up.

I took a sneaker to the face and grimaced, immediately tasting blood as kicks and blows rained down on me.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Three deafeningly loud rapid reports sounded. I heard some muffled shouts and screams, the thudding of rapid footsteps down the sidewalk, and then the smell of essential oils assaulted my nose.

“Come on, Mace, you gotta get up! Cops are coming for sure, and we need to not be here when they do.”

I struggled, but things didn’t want to quite work. My eyes were swelling shut and every time I breathed in, it was like breathing so much bitter broken glass. I spat and tasted nothing but copper.

“Come on, Mace! Help me!” a woman’s voice cried, and I struggled to my feet. My head swam with liquor and the beatdown. I don’t remember shit else after that.

1

Mace…

“Easy.” A light hand fell on my chest and pressed me back down onto the uneven surface I was lying on. I rested my head back on the arm of what I assumed was a couch just by feel.

“I can’t see,” I complained, then I tried to look around. Everything hurt, and it was dark.

“Your eyes are swollen shut, hang on. Let me finish what I’m doing here, and I’ll get some ice on that.” The voice was kind, soothing, and female.

“Who are you?” I asked the voice.

“Raven,” she said gently, and I felt a stinging touch against my eyebrow. I flinched. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m just cleaning your cuts.”

“Where am I?” I demanded.

“My place.”

“You call the cops?”

“No. The cops aren’t my friends. You’re going to be okay, I’m a trained medic… take it easy for me, would yah?”

“I’ve never called a pig friend either…” I grunted, laying back, at this woman’s mercy. Her voice was soothing, and instilled a touch of trust. It was sort of familiar, but I couldn’t place it in my haze of pain. “Do I know you?” I asked.

I could hear the smirk on the tail of her slight laugh. “I told you, I’m Raven… you might remember me as your friendly neighborhood bartender.” I reached out, groping blindly, and captured her upper arm. Her skin was soft as silk and I felt my way to her face, startled when I encountered equally soft, silken hair. I remembered; Raven had had dreads.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” she said softly.

“Raven had dreads,” I said.

“A wig,” she murmured. “My own hair, I made it myself.” A rough dread was pressed into my hand.

“That’s actually kind of gross,” I muttered, and she laughed.

“Yeah, well, all that aside, I’m going to need you to try to rest.”

“My phone…”

“Trashed, I’m afraid.” She had gone back to doctoring up whatever cut was on my face, and I tried not to flinch.

“Fuck,” I muttered, and she chuckled again.

“Only thing that matters is that you’re going to be okay,” she said, low and conciliatory.

“You’re doing a lot for a man you don’t know,” I said, and she was quiet. No touching. I waited and heard nothing. I was starting to wonder if I were going crazy, if I were dead or some shit and having some weird Hell experience. There was no way I would have got into Heaven. “Raven?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she muttered. “Some people helped me once… guess I just need to pay it forward.”

I was quiet, turning her words over in my head. Her voice had been the softest yet, and incredibly sad.

“Thank you,” I said. “For whatever you did to get ‘em off of me.”

“Just stay right here, don’t move,” she murmured. “I’ll get you some frozen peas for your eyes and then we’ll get into the really not fun stuff.”

“What’s that?” I asked, a slight smile curving my lips.

“Pretty sure you’ve got some busted ribs; we need to bandage you up and keep shit from moving. You’re lucky; you don’t seem to have punctured a lung.”

“Shit, this gonna require I move?”

“Yup.” Her voice was strained and ended on a whoosh of breath as she heaved herself to her feet.

“Fun,” I muttered.

I waited, listening to her footfalls retreat,