The battle spilled into the living room. There was no way we could handle him, even though there were five of us, and I was ready to resort to fighting dirty.
Vincent heard the ruckus and came to see what it was all about. His expression, the single timeI was able to focus on him, was bored. He rolled up his sleeves, pulled the Russian off us, and clocked him, leaving him bleeding from his nose on the really nice area rug I’d found in Rockville.
“Call a cab, would you, Sweetcheeks?”
Couched as a question, it was an order nonetheless, and I didn’t think twice about obeying him. I did wonder briefly how he’d managed to get in, then decided one of the boys must have forgotten to lock the door after admitting the Russian.
Vincent dragged the man down the stairs by a leg, muted thuds announcing each time the Russian’s head hit a riser, and out into the street.