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I try to roll onto
my side and the pain floods up. Nearly pass out.
“Stop. Stop.” Graham’s hands lay on and things come in snatches from there. I know I take my weapon back from Thuggie. Then darkness. We make it downstairs. I know that much. Next thing I remember is trying to ask how he found me.
He says something like his heart led me to him. Graham pats me down, pulls out Molly’s cellphone. I see his laptop in the backseat. A little dot blinking on its screen. I lay my head against the window; pass out as we drive off.
Last thing I remember is him gunning it onto the highway and thanking God we missed the emergency responders.
47
At first I think Graham is talking to me, but when I look over he’s on the phone.
“Yes, I can make that go away,” he says, looking annoyed. “You do this for me, I do that for you.”
Out the window and the highway is long gone. Blacktop has changed to gravel. Buildings to thickets of trees. The drone of insects has replaced the roar of engines. We hit a bump and the flare of pain in my back nearly puts me out again. My vision constricts and I want to vomit.
I hear Graham say, “Deal. I’m around the corner now.”
I pass out as he turns down a driveway in the middle of nowhere.
Manhandled out of the car.
“You’re not drunk right now, are you?” Graham asks. I want to say no, but another voice chimes in.
“Nah. Just a nip, just to take the edge off.”
“What edge?” Graham asks. I can feel his hands under my armpits, carrying me. Someone else has my feet. Speaking of a drink, I need one. My head swims and I can’t fight through the semi-unconscious fog.
“When a cop calls you in the middle of the night to sew up one of his buddies, I’m not stupid,” that other voice says. Gruff. Female. “I know this is some shady shit. I’m down; you’re one of the good guys. But, you’re lucky I need the money.”
Graham huffs and nearly trips over a stick or something. My body jitters hard and I must cry out because Graham starts apologizing. Then I hear him say, “You need a charge fixed. You’re lucky I need this.”
“Yeah, yeah. All right, fine. Five hundred for parts and labor, fix the DUI. I take care of your friend. Deal?”
“Deal,” Graham says.
I hear a door open and AC hits my skin. I feel a smooth, hard metal table underneath me and the other voice must be rummaging through some instruments on a tray. Someone tugs at my pant leg and the unmistakable sound of scissors cutting fabric fills the room. A straight line goes up my shin to my knee and the blunt scissors tip bumps the flesh of my kneecap. Moves on to my thigh.
“How do you fix the DUI, anyway?” the other voice asks. “You just wait ’til no one’s looking and tear up a piece of paper? Something like that?”
“I wish,” Graham says. “Who is this guy?”
“Hey. Name’s Ian. Good to meet you.”
I try and open my eyes enough to see just what in the hell is going on. I stir just enough to feel a hand firmly on my chest. Muscles are weak. My skin is getting tacky with the blood coming out of the bullet wound on my back. The voice belonging to this Ian fella speaks up, “Whoa, easy there, big guy. Let us work our magic.”
Graham says, “What the hell is he doing here?”
The female says, “He’s my tech. I need a second pair of hands when I’m operating on anything bigger than a Saint Bernard.”
“Yeah, bro. It’s cool,” Ian says.
I try to stir again and that hand keeps firm pressure. “Whoa, easy there, big guy.”
Graham says, “He’s a man. Not a horse.”
“It’s cool. It’s cool.”
