"You can't get it to…" I started.
"Shh," he hissed.
I made a zipping motion with my fingers and pretended to throw the key out the window. Fortunately, the key was imaginary, otherwise it might have bounced back and hit me in the face.
He rolled his eyes at me. That was better than the expression he would have given me a week ago. Then, he would have wanted me to follow the key out for the long drop to the ground. Not to mention the fatal landing on the sidewalk.
Now? We had an uneasy alliance going on. How long it would last was anyone's guess. With luck, it’d hold until we got the hell out of here.
Honestly, I'd like it to hold for a lot longer than that. Long enough for him to follow through on his promise to make amends, but Woody was temperamental to say the least. No doubt he'd say the same about me. Whatever. I wasn't the one who should do the groveling around here. That ball was firmly in his court.
He bent again, listening carefully. Moving the lock-pick around, until he gave a jerk and slid it out. He nodded to me and stood up straight, dropping the lock-pick back into his pocket.
Heart racing, I stepped over to him, my feet bare. I thought for a moment before slipping my heels back on. If we had to run, I'd rather do it in shoes. It was cold outside and the sidewalk was hard. Besides, these were my favorite pair.
"If those make a fucking sound…" he whispered harshly.
"I'll take them off again," I assured him. Heels clicking on the ground would give us both away. Shoes were replaceable. We weren't. Not even limited edition, handmade kitten heels.
"Wear sneakers next time," he said.
"At a black tie event?" I made a face at him.
"Why not?" He placed his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it, easing the door open a fraction. It moved without a sound.
One of the senator's thugs stood just outside. He realized the door was opening and turned.
Woody leapt at him, wrapping a hand around his mouth and another around his throat. He pressed him back against the wall beside the door, holding him, squeezing.
The man's eyes bulged. He struggled against Woody, his hands flailing. He started to reach for his gun.
Before he could grab it, I got to it first, pulling it out of its holster and holding it against his forehead.
He struggled harder.
I wrapped my finger around the trigger. I had no idea if the safety was on or not. How would I even check?
If the terror in his eyes was an indication, it wasn’t.
His mistake.
I started to squeeze.
I’d half closed my eyes when his knees gave way, drawing him down toward the floor. He dragged Woody with him. They both fell to their knees.
Woody pushed him to the ground, both his hands wrapped around the man's neck now.
He gave a last struggle before his eyes rolled back in his head and he lay still.
Panting, Woody drew his hands from around the man. "I fucking hate strangling people," he said, shaking out his hands. "People think it's easy, but it's not."
It didn't look easy to me. It was, however, a lot quieter than shooting him in the head.
"Is he dead?" I nudged his calf with my toe.
He didn't move. He lay staring up at the ceiling. The skin around his throat was already turning purple. Should I have felt bad he died doing his job? No, because his job was bullshit. What sort of man protects a predator like the senator? He could haveended him instead, done the world a favor. Either way, he would have ended up dead.
"Yeah," Woody said slowly. The rest of the apartment was dark and appeared to be empty. Open plan living had its advantages, including being able to see all the way across the space. Unless someone was behind the kitchen island, or the couch, there was nowhere to hide.