I placed the phone against the side of my face. The device felt hot, like she had been talking to him for a long time.
“Melvin, this is Evan Arden,” I said smoothly and emotionlessly. My throat was still dry, and I hoped I wouldn’t actually break into a coughing fit, which definitely wouldn’t help with the reputation. “Is there some kind of problem?”
“Uh-uh-um…” he stammered.
“Excuse me?” I said in the same deadpan voice. I swallowed a couple of times to coat my throat in moisture.
“I was just checking up on my bitch,” the pimp said with a little more confidence. “She’s been gone for some time, and–”
“Melvin,” I interrupted, “did one of my guys pick her up and say he was bringing her to me?”
“Uh…yes. Yes he did.”
“Do you think if I kept your property for an extended period of time, or returned it damaged, that I would refuse to compensate you for that loss?”
There was a long pause before he answered. I had the feeling he was choosing his words pretty carefully at this point.
“Um…you…ah, no, I never thought you’d do that,” he said. “You’ve always been a good customer.”
“Do you think I’m somehow not good for the money all of a sudden?”
“No! No, man – not at all!”
“Do you think that I want to be disturbed right at this time?” I asked.
“Uh…no…”
“Do you think calling your whore and harassing her when she’s with me is in your best interest?”
“No,” he replied softly. “No, sir.”
“Then why are you calling and interfering with the business of my dick?”
“Sorry, um…”
“Don’t call again,” I said. “I’ll bring your bitch back when I feel like it.”
The phone closed with a click, and I tossed it on the floor before I wrapped my arm back around Bridgett and nestled against her soft body. That warm, comfortable feeling was all around me, and I didn’t want it getting chased away by being pissed off at her troll of a pimp.
She said nothing as I dozed a little but couldn’t seem to actually get back to sleep. My hip hurt, and I had the feeling I had been lying like that for way too long. I grumbled as I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling.
“Do you want to try to drink something?” Bridgett asked.
“Not really.”
“You should.”
“Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn,” I told her.
Again, she was relentless and eventually convinced me to drink from a bottle of water. After a few minutes, she was convinced it wasn’t coming back up and made me drink some more. With the partially empty bottle sitting on the nightstand, she sat close to me on the edge of the bed as her fingers traced the side of my face.
“You don’t feel as warm,” she commented. “Will you let me take your temperature?”
I shook my head.
“Come on,” she coaxed, “we’ve done this before.”
“We have?” The next thing I knew, there was a thermometer in my mouth. I didn’t even recall owning one, but it was suddenly under my tongue and going beep a minute later.