Knock out dart

“Porphyre’s pleasure, missy,” the hairdresser said, as the cabin door opened behind them. And then he was twisting, clawing at the buckle of his seatbelt, and Angie turned in time to see the bright orange parka in the hatchway, the upraised arm, the mirrored glasses. The gun made no more sound than a cigarette lighter, but Porphyre convulsed, one long black hand slapping at his throat as the security man swung the hatch shut behind him and sprang at Angie.

Something was clapped hard against her stomach as Porphyre lolled back bonelessly in his seat, the sharp pink tip of his tongue protruding. She looked down, in pure reflex, and saw the black chrome buckle of her seatbelt through a sticky-looking lozenge of greenish plastic.

She looked up into a white oval face framed by a tightly drawn orange nylon hood. Saw her own face blank with shock, doubled in the silver lenses. “He drink, tonight?”

“What?”

“Him.” A thumb jerked in Porphyre’s direction. “He drink any alcohol?”

“Yes … Earlier.”

“Shit.” A woman’s voice, as she turned to the unconscious hairdresser. “Now I’ve sedated him. Don’t wanna suppress his breathing reflex, y’know?” Angie watched as the woman checked Porphyre’s pulse. “Guess he’s okay …” Did she shrug, inside the orange parka?

***

Mona Lisa Overdrive ch 30