She curled her hands around the key ring, debating the merit of swinging her elbow backwards into the face of the man standing behind her. It probably wouldn't be the smartest move, but her instincts were telling her not to go inside with this guy. Of course, she noted wryly, her instincts picked a wonderful time to show up. Perhaps they should have tipped her off not to pick him up in the first place. Her hands shook a bit as she lifted them to unlock the myriad deadbolts. She needed the money. Really needed the money. From the cut of the guy's clothes, she knew he could pay ... she was almost certain she would be able to charge him extra for some of his special requests. That thought alone was enough to give her pause.
She was a whore, but she wasn't a stupid whore. She still had trouble with her left wrist from where one of her customers got upset with her almost a year earlier. This guy was giving her that same nasty vibe. Oh hell, she could pawn her television if it came to that. Anything was better than being at the mercy of some sick fuck she couldn't hope to take in a fair fight. Not that she intended to fight fair. She kept weapons hidden all over her apartment and wasn't afraid to use them, but still, if you could avoid a situation, it was always best to do so. She'd find some way to make rent this month. She took a deep breath and lowered the keys. Slowly, she turned around to face him. "Maybe a date isn't such a good idea," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
He stared at her blankly for a moment. "What?" he snapped acridly.
She straightened up, staring him in the eyes. "I changed my mind," she said firmly. "You're going to have to leave."
He snarled, slamming her back against the door. She didn't yelp. She had been expecting this. She managed to stare up at him without betraying the fear screaming through her veins. "Marco said you were good," he growled, "he said you did kinky shit and didn't ask too many questions. He didn't mention that you liked to back out of business arrangements."
"I don't," she countered, "but tonight feels off. I think we should both just go our separate ways."
He grabbed her chin and she could already feel bruises forming. "Listen you stupid fucking whore, I'm not leaving here until I get what I came for - "
"And what exactly would that be?"
Abby didn't need to look down the hall to see whose voice it was, but she did anyway, as did her potential John. His grip on her chin loosened as he stared at the interloper. "Fuck off," the John spat.
"This isn't your business."
Abby groaned, closing her eyes. She could hear his heavy footfalls as he approached. She looked up in time to see Gibbs pull open his jacket and tuck it behind the pistol holstered at his right hip. The John tensed at the sight of the weapon and let his hand fall from Abby's face slowly. Gibbs flipped open his badge and smiled malevolently. The John backed up several steps, moving away from Abby.
"Officer, I don't want any trouble - "
"Special Investigator Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Gibbs corrected curtly. "And I'd like to see some identification."
"I just - we were just talking - I, uh ... " the John sputtered. He backed up another step and fought the urge to snarl at the hooker leaning against her door, flaunting those sweet tits in her low cut top.
"We can do this here, or I can take you down to the station," Gibbs bit out with a snarl. The John's beady eyes widened as he fumbled to get his wallet out of his pocket.
Abby sighed and looked at her shoes. As far as next door neighbors went, Gibbs was wonderful. He was quiet, he minded his own business and he was occasionally handy. One time two years ago, he helped her change a light bulb she couldn't reach. But for the most part, she avoided him. He was a cop and a rather antisocial one at that. She had never seen him with anybody else. As far as she knew, he didn't have any friends or family, except for the occasional co-worker that came by but that really wasn't her problem. She gave him his distance and he gave her hers. Abby knew from the looks the other tenants gave her that most of them either knew or heavily suspected what she did to pay rent. Gibbs could have made her life very unpleasant, but he seemed rather content to look the other way - until now. Maybe if she sold her television, her stereo and her car she'd be able to afford all the court costs for this little visit.
Gibbs looked at the John's wallet. He flipped it around, flashing a picture. "Nice family," he said dryly, "do they know where you are tonight?"
"I, uh ... " the John said lamely.
Gibbs snorted in disgust, taking out a notepad and writing down all of her potential client's identification information. As Gibbs removed the stack of crisp bills from the wallet, the John made a strangled noise. Gibbs glared at him. "Trust me," he said, "going to jail for this will be a whole lot more expensive," he looked at the family photo again, "in all kinds of ways."
The John bit back his protests and mutely took the wallet.
Gibbs stared at him with undisguised loathing. "If I see you in this building or near her again, I will take you in," he said.
The "John" nodded and left as quickly as he could without actually running.
Abby was still staring at her shoes. She didn't know what the hell was going on. She just assumed Gibbs would be escorting her to the police station. As his hand, wrapped around the wad of money, came into her line of sight, she snapped her head up and looked at him. He shook his hand again, motioning for her to take the money. Her brow furrowed, looking from the money to Gibbs and back again with obvious confusion. He sighed in exasperation and grabbed her hand, slapping the money into her palm. "You need to be more careful," he said tightly, "he would have hurt you."
He was already turned away and walking down the hall by the time she found her voice. "I, uh, thank you," she called, just as his door slammed.
The End... maybe not to sure yet..