I saw the light go out in one of the rooms; somebody was finishing up.The men's was on the left and I started up the three steps. I heard a noise, like a yelp coming from the women's. I heard it again. I went over and was about to knock."No!" said a woman's voice. "Please no!" It didn't take no genius to figure out what was going on. I threw open the door. Time stood still.A man holding a switchblade turned to see who was interrupting his business. A woman with torn clothes and with her genitals exposed lay on the toilet floor."Motherfucker!" said the bladist. He came at me. The knife hand came out and thrust toward me. I grabbed the assailant's wrist, twisted it, bent the arm backward snapping it. I drove the point deep into the man's torso and twisted his wrist; he was dead even if he didn't know it yet. He began to sink floorward. I let loose the man's now dangling arm.I turned my attention to the woman. She'd already been raped, that was clear, and she'd been about to be. "Boyfriend troubles," answered the other man. "We can only hope," said the first. It was an article of faith between the two that Becky would sleep with at least one of them if not for her boyfriend. The remark made Kate angry. She did not enjoy male-bashing and had nothing against men; she just did not want to sleep with any of them. Remarks like this, however, just fulfilled the stereotype of the man with a one-track mind. It was not until later that she realized the true reason for her anger was that she had had the same thought.* * * That Friday, Becky invited Peter over. She intended to sleep with him. She had to prove to herself that she was not a lesbian, and expressing her desire for Peter would be a good way to prove it. Peter arrived. She kissed him hello, but he seemed nervous, agitated. He refused to sit down at first. Finally, they sat on the couch together, he took her hand in his and said the fateful words: "We have to talk." He wanted to remain friends, but their.
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