I stared at the tattoo, stunned. Then I crouched and wedged the key through the cracked plastic window in the heel of my sneaker. With a push it fit into the air pocket. More drops of blood tapped the floor, the tops of his shoes.
His voice sounded loose, pain-drunk. "Your life is now on the line. I'll explain to you. I'll explain to you everything you need to kn-"
The cell phone they'd sent me in with rang in my pocket, shrill off the concrete walls. We both started, and I jerked upright. We faced each other, a few feet apart, bathed in the antiseptic glow of the pool. I pulled out the phone again.
He gestured for it. "I'll buy us another few minutes."
I handed it to him. He took it and staggered back a half step. Moving his injured arms gingerly, he unfolded the phone.
Charlie winked at me with that flesh-crowded eye. "Trust no one." He spit blood, raised the cell phone to his face, and said, "What?"
A white flash of an explosion replaced his head atop his shoulders, the concussion sending me in a slow-motion float back through the roaring air, and then into darkness.