I hid the knife tight against my leg and entered the bathroom. The stench of human feces socked me in the nose. My gag reflex kicked in and I fought the urge to hurl. Ugh. What did Godzilla-Kong roll in?

The cinder block bathroom was a ten-by-ten sewer hole and hot as hell.

Across from me, a cracked mirror hung above a one-tap sink. The porcelain was crusted with calcium and rusted brown. On my right, there were three urinals. The middle urinal had been ripped from the wall and laid in a busted heap on the cracked cement floor. On my left were two stalls but only one door. Brown sludge seeped from the doorless stall, making a chunky, funky path to a drain in the middle of the floor.

I cupped my free hand over my nose and mouth. The one time I’d welcome The Woman’s lavender stench.

Godzilla-Kong exited the doored stall. Zipped his pants and skipped the sink. Hands on his zipper, he froze and stared at me. The corner of his lip raised. “Wrong bathroom, stupid cow.”

At the sheer size of him, my heart slammed against my ribs like an animal trapped in a cage of bones. I resisted the urge to step back. Clutched my knife with one hand and wiped my other sweaty hand off on my jeans. If I kept him off me, I might have a chance. Distract him, and hopefully, help would arrive in time. “There’s a boy in your truck.”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“He doesn’t belong there.”

“What the hell do you know?” Godzilla-Kong’s eyes were as empty as the make-believe characters I’d named him after.

I’d met those empty eyes before. From a boy on the street who’d sold his body for food. He’d seen things, heard things, done things that had sucked the humanity out of him. “The boy doesn’t belong to you.”

“That’s what you think.”

Godzilla-Kong was huge, hairy and real. The urge to run crawled over my skin. Pain is temporary. Him taking the kid won’t be. “That’s what I know.”

“Get out of my way.” His voice was low and savage and warned me that he wouldn’t tell me twice.

I widened my stance and raised my knife. “Can’t do that.”

“That nose-picker ain’t gonna stop me.” He pulled a switchblade from his back pocket. A Pro-Tech 900CF Godfather. I knew the knife. Four-inch AUTO knife blade. Stainless steel. Smooth open. In the top ten of my gotta-have-it list of weapons.

“No cow’s gonna stop me from leaving with the boy.” With a press of his thumb, the blade slid into place and fear slid through my flesh and liquified my bones.

“It’s not the size of the knife. It’s how you wield it.” My tone jeered and jabbed him with an invisible punch.

He lunged, aimed for my stomach.

I sidestepped and slashed his upper thigh. He was all brawn and bulk, an abuser. I was quick and clever, a survivor. “That’s one for me.”

His gorilla roar was shake-the-trees loud and vibrated against my chest.

His hand swiped over the cut, and blood coated his fingertips. His face turned purple. The veins in his neck swelled as if they were truck suspensions holding up his massive head. “I’m going to make you bleed. Like you’ve never bled before.”

He rushed forward. His knife slashed from low to high in a move to gut me from belly to breastbone.

But I was faster. I slid to the side and sliced his other leg.

Godzilla-Kong couldn’t stop his momentum. He hit the wall, and his knife took a chunk out of the cement block.

Blood seeped down both sides of his jeans. His eyes sent out a death glare and he made an inhuman sound deep in his throat.

I leaned against the sink and pretended not to care. Steadied my breathing but monitored his movements. “Does it hurt your throat to grunt like that? Guys in the gym groan that way when they lift. I’ve always wondered.”

He switched the knife to his other hand and charged.

The Woman appeared. Hands curled into claws, she attacked Godzilla-Kong. Unaware of her presence, he plowed through her transparent form like a hot knife through butter. The power of The Woman’s rage sparked the air and flashed the lights off, on, off.

The room went blacker than the deepest caverns of Hell.

Not sure of his proximity, I leapt to my right. My boots slipped and slid through crap. I was going down. My shoulder slammed into a stall and stopped my fall.

“Cow, I’m going to skin you.” In the dark, his voice closed the gap. The cruelty in his tone dropped my body temp into hypothermia, my spine fused into a frozen line.

The Woman lit up like a super-sized glow stick and the lights flipped back on.

By the time my sight had adjusted, it was too late. Godzilla-Kong stood so close I could feel his breath stirring my hair. I tipped my head back and stared into his dead eyes.

I swallowed a scream. “You can’t have that boy. Not today. Not ever.”

He swung back and struck me in the eye with the back of his fist. Thwack.

The sound of bone colliding against bone didn’t compare to the pain. Hot, sharp, breath-stealing pain zipped straight to my brain. Fireworks exploded behind my eyes. My body swayed.

Through the sparks and colors, I swore The Woman collapsed in a dead faint. But the way my head was spinning, it could’ve been wishful thinking.

My eyesight shifted back and forth between double vision and blurry blobs but one thing was crystal clear, The Woman had abandoned me. Again.

“That’s one for me.” Godzilla-Kong sounded superior.

I didn’t want to admit it, but my eye socket might’ve crunched. I blinked back stupid tears. Forced my blurry gaze to focus.

He stood in front of me, the doorless stall behind me. The disgusting smell emanated from the stall. I straddled the sewage oozing its way to the drain. I’m pinned between him and a bad spot. And I didn’t mean the smell. “That back punch was my move butt-munch.”

“I don’t like cows who talk.”

I inched away from the stall and towards the exit. “You have mommy issues, don’t you?”

“My mom knew when to keep out of my business. Something I’m going to teach you before this is over.” He blocked my path. His knife was close. Too close.

“Yeah, right.” I stepped back towards the stall. “No one tells me what to do.”

“You’re a slow learner but I’ve got time.” His voice mocked me, but a thread of evil ran through each word.

Panic plucked at my nerves, sweat seeped from my skin and a lump of fear, thick and foul, clogged my throat. How much time had passed? Half an hour? More likely minutes. If I keep him talking, maybe the Geezers will save the boy. “Back up your bus. Nobody wants to get their tires stuck in what’s all over the floor.”

“Afraid to play in the sewers?” In the depths of Godzilla-Kong’s empty-eyes, I saw hell. “You shouldn’t have threatened to take the boy.”

My heart beat like a drum of doom. I shifted my weight to my back foot. “What? And miss kicking your ass?”

He jabbed with his knife, chest level.

His arms were long.

My legs were longer.

I kicked his fist and the knife flew from his hand and clattered against the floor.

I held up three fingers. “Three for me.” I lowered two fingers and left my middle finger standing. “One for you.”

He let out a yell, King-Kong-loud, and came at me like a linebacker sacking the quarterback on the final fourth and four.

I struck out blindly with my knife, but the force of his charge knocked it from my grasp.

His shoulder hit me in the chest, and I flew back into the open stall. Landed hard against the toilet bowl, my back taking a direct hit and my butt smacking the floor. My breath escaped in a long, low moan.

“I’ve heard women groan like that too.” His smile was as dark as his soul.

The stench from the toilet made my eyes water and I was covered in crap. I scrambled to my feet. My boot slipped. I slapped my palms on the stall walls and braced myself. I was in deep, deep shit.

My knife had landed on the other side of the room. I’d violated Survival Rule Number Four—never give up your weapon, unless you’re ready to die.

“That’s two. Ready for three?”

I listened. The only sound was our breathing. No sirens. No help. No gray-haired Geezer Calvary.

I raised the only weapons I had left, my fists.

“You’re a cocky little cow, aren’t you?” He came for me.

I kicked him in the kneecap.

It didn’t faze him. He kept coming.

He grabbed me around the waist. Lifted me off my feet.

I grabbed the sides of his head and pressed my thumbs into his eyes.

He slammed me against the stall wall, desperate to knock me off.

My temple hit metal. Stars exploded behind my eyes. Was that sirens? Or the popping of my eardrums?

He flung me against the other wall.

I lost my hold. Struck him in the nose with the heel of my palm and blood gushed over both of us.

Not done, he lifted me up, up, up above his head.

My gut told me this wasn’t just going to hurt—it was going to be the end. I’ve failed. I’ve lost. I’ve lost the kid.

In my mind, I pictured the boy’s puffy eyes and sad face. Will his sister be next? How many other children will Godzilla-Kong take if I don’t stop him?

I grabbed fistfuls of his nuclear-green hair and latched on. I hooked my foot around the back of his neck, swung my other leg up and wrapped both of my legs around his neck. Sitting on his shoulders, I locked my ankles together and squeezed the sides of his throat with my thighs cutting off the blood supply to his brain.

I held on tight for a ten second ride.

He let go of my waist and dug his thick fingers into my thighs. He turned and twisted and struggled to buck me off.

I arched back and squeeeeezed. Five seconds. Four.

A purple hue crept across his skin. We locked eyes. His wide and wild. Mine strong and steady. His mouth stretched wide and he sucked in air. A roadmap of veins popped out on his forehead. His pale skin might as well been a white flag. He had no choice but to surrender.

Three seconds. “Who’s the cow now?”

His eyelids fluttered. Those empty eyes closed. It was good night Godzilla-Kong. He was out.

He swayed and we both went down with a ka-BOOM.

We landed hard. Him—flat on his back. Me—flat on top. Half in the stall, half out. My knees smashed against the concrete and a searing pain ran down my shins.

I crawled out of his reach. My body shook with aftershocks. My lungs and heart competed for space in my chest. One sucked and released breaths at a frantic pace. The other dumped enough blood into my veins to fuel a NASCAR race.

I palmed my knife. Sat on the floor next to the broken urinal, with my back against the wall. Crap was in my hair, on my jacket, all over my pants. The ringing in my ears was joined by the sound of sirens. “Hello, Tokyo—you’re safe.” Adrenaline shot, my voice wobbled. “And so is the boy.”

I pulled my phone out of my boot and called the only person in social services that I’d trust with the boy. The Woman who’d saved me not once but three times as a child. “Miss Dodd, there’s a boy who needs you.”

I gave her the particulars and waited for help.

Officer Rodriguez charged through the door with his gun raised and ready. He coughed and choked. Nudged Godzilla-Kong with his foot. But the monster didn’t budge.

Rodriguez’s gold and black uniform was dry cleaner clean. He held a fist against the base of his nose, “Holy crap, JD. You reek.”

I rested my arms on top of my bent knees. “Don’t you have like eighteen zillion children? Half in diapers? You should be used to this smell.”

He holstered his weapon, rolled Godzilla-Kong onto his side, and cuffed his hands behind his back. “Suspect under control,” Rodriguez spoke into the radio on his shoulder. “How’s your first day as a PI?”

My breathing leveled out. My heartbeat slowed. “Living the dung beetle dream.”

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