Late Night with Andres Read Free Page A

about that? Looks like your own foot was your target.” Gage motioned with his chin at the small hole in the floor.
    “If I blow my foot off, I’ll replace it with yours.” Fart flared his nostrils.
    Milla spoke out of the side of her mouth. “He’s crazy.”
    Gage looked at her like she was the insane one. “You’re just figuring that out?”
    “My head hurts.” She rubbed her scalp and winced. There would be a bruise for sure.
    “Shut up, shut up, shut up! Kiss her again. Stop talking!” The Fart was intent on his forced porn.
    “I think I might puke.” Milla moved her hands to her belly and groaned.
    Fart bent down and screamed like a wounded animal. When he went silent, so did Gage and Milla. In the new quiet, they all listened intently as the ceiling and walls seemed to groan. Obviously, they were not alone in the building. Fart looked around frantically, as if the room was closing in on him. In his fear he farted. He expelled a long, sputtering cacophony of digestion-related noises.
    All three looked at each other and then down at the floor. Milla willed herself not to laugh. This was so much worse than laughing at a church fart. In the desperate silence Gage’s phone’s vibrations were suddenly audible, sounding like a set of bees doing the samba in his pocket.
    “You traitor! Give me that. Give me the phone!” Fart stood and pointed his gun at Gage. “You’re hiding the police in your critchy crotch! Girl! Get the police out of his pants!” Fart flung spittle from his lips like it was his job.
    “What now?” Milla tried to focus on the gunman’s mouth. Between his crazy and her mild concussion, nothing made sense.
    “Get the phone out of my pocket and toss it to him.” Gage was saying so much more with his eyes. He arched a high pattern with his line of vision. Milla had no idea why.
    She reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “You smoke? That’s horrible. Do you know the cancer rate for smokers?”
    “Give me those!” Fart was excited. “Does he have a lighter?”
    Milla shrugged and reached into Gage’s deep pocket. She flopped her hand around and squeezed. Something was in there, but it wasn’t coming out.
    “That’s my dick. And it can’t start a fire—on a cig, at least.” Gage pulled her hand out and went into a smaller pocket just above the one that led to his genitals. He flicked a book of matches high in the air and to the left of Fart.
    “Oh. I get it now.” Milla finally understood Gage’s eye commands. He’d wanted her to toss the pack wildly.
    Gage rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Fart, who was angry because of the wacky throw.
    “NO! YOU ARE DISRESPECTFUL! HORRIBLE WOMAN STEALER!” Fart lunged and wedged his gun under Gage’s chin.
    The men joined in a tight, tense embrace, eyes bulging and necks straining. Milla scurried around them and dug her hand in Gage’s other pocket, where she encountered a phone that was still buzzing its ass off.
    “Here, here! It’s for you. Answer the phone!” She held it toward Fart.
    As if those were the magic words, Fart stepped back. Gage inhaled deeply and leaned forward.
    “You will speak to me!” Fart screamed into the phone. It continued vibrating.
    “Unlock it, Dickwad.” Gage glanced up with tremendous hatred glowing in his eyes.
    He seemed to be coming down from an extremely testosterone-filled primal place in his head. Okay, fine, he looks hot. The gunman tossed the phone to Gage who ran a finger smoothly over the screen and tossed it back.
    “Speak!” Fart growled.
    Gage obviously had the phone preset on speaker or had really quick fingers.
    “This is Detective Brun with NYPD. Sir, I’d like to talk to you. We know you have two hostages, and we’d like to find out exactly what you want.”
    Fart seemed to try to find the button to quiet the speaker, but he was unsuccessful. Exasperated, he began shouting his demands at the phone. “I want one woman. She’s the reason