“She’ll kill me,” Gibsie pointed out. “You do get that, don’t you? Your mother will murder me.” “I’ll take full responsibility,” I countered. “Just do this for me, Gibs.” “Fine,” he snapped, throwing his hands up. “Call your fucking doctors. Ask them if they’re familiar with surgery that involves removal of a woman’s high heel from someone’s asshole, because that’s what’s going to happen to me when I take her baby out of this house, Johnny. She is going to hurt me.” Groaning, he added, “Tell them to book me a bloody bed. I’m going to need one.”
