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Dave looked at his shortened pinkie, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he crashed facefirst to the floor.
“Shit, Joyce,” I said to her. “There's blood all over the hall and Dillon just did the floors.” Joyce put her boot to Dave and rolled him onto his back. 'Was his nose always flat like
that?"
"No. And he didn't used to have blood coming out of it either. He broke it when he fell on
his face."
Joyce took his hand and shoved it into his pants so he wouldn't get any more blood on the
floor. "What do you want to do with him? We could call. Or we can put him in the elevator
and push the button."
“Was he alone?”
“No. He has a partner waiting in a black BMW.”
“We'll turn him over to the partner.”
We dragged him to the elevator and rode him down to the ground level. Then we dragged
him out to the parking lot, and Joyce whistled through her teeth to get the partner's attention. The BMW drove up and the partner got out and squinted down at Dave. Dave still had his
hand rammed into his pants, and his crotch had a big bloodstain.
“Jesus, lady,” Dave's partner said. “Goddamn.”
"It's not as bad as it looks. Joyce wanted to shoot him in the nuts, but the gun discharged
prematurely. Probably that happens a lot with you guys, right?"
“What?” "Anyway, she just shot his pinkie finger off. We put his hand in his pants so he
wouldn't bleed on the carpet/'
“Man, that's cold.”
“Do you need help getting him into the car?”
Dave s partner reached inside and popped the trunk.
“He's not dead,” I said to the partner.
"This is a new BMW with real leather seats. I don't want him bleeding all over everything.
He'll be fine in the trunk."
Joyce had her gun drawn, presumably protecting her investment, which was me. Go figure,
saved by Joyce Barn-hardt.
“Don't try anything stupid,” Joyce said to Dave's partner. "It was disappointing to have to
settle for a pinkie finger. I wouldn't mind getting a second chance to shoot someone's nuts
off."
