My Cardboard Balcony

Crystal Are we clear? Crystal. Good. Spread out your lungs and feel the tang. Why? Because your heart's a light in a dozen diamonds, and I want to see its walls. Walls? Like mines, gem hives, where jewel insects crawl and give you air to nourish you. Creepy. Maybe. But it's true.

She has crude methods for making crooks talk. Crude as in rough. Crude as in brutal. She chews tobacco and spits it onto the table just right so it splashes and hits the person in the cheek. She unbuttons her police jacket, exposing a white T-shirt underneath with stains. And when a guy doesn't talk in the right tone, she slams his teeth into metal.