I turned to see one of the officers walking over. “Aye. I’ll be there in a jiffy. I’m on my way to give my statement now, Officer.” I turned back to the brothers and held out my hand. “Thank ya for ya help, guys. Oh, and if he comes back in or calls, please tell him I’d like to talk to him.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my card, scribbling on the back before handing it to Raj. “That’s my number. My mobile is on there too. Please tell him I’d like to talk with him.”
“Sure, Patsy,” Raj said. His eyes suddenly filled with tears as he reached across the counter to me. “Thank you for saving us.”
I smiled, standing a little taller as I grasped his hand. “Thanks for keepin’ him calm under pressure. It could’ve been much worse.” I gave them a little wave and turned to walk out to my Beetle, hoping against all hope, Weston had taken himself to hospital, but fearing he hadn’t.
Chapter Two
WES
My arm throbbed. I counted myself lucky, though, that the gunshot hadn’t been worse as I ran through the pelting rain toward my car a few blocks away. I knew leaving the way I had wasn’t the wise thing to do. I should’ve just waited for the ambulance to arrive and gone to the hospital to have them remove the bullet I could still feel inside my arm. But as soon as the man who’d wrestled the gun away from the robber had turned his back on me, I’d bolted.
I did my best to ignore the pain as I approached my car parked under a streetlight and breathed a sigh of relief. The old station wagon my mother had bought new in the 80s wasn’t much to look at, but I wasn’t one to complain. Once I had some money, I’d get a better car, one that wouldn’t sputter going up hills, or belch out black soot when I drove down the street. I spared only a moment to remember the beautiful, white Charger my father had given me when I finished grad school at MIT. He’d bought the car new in 1971, twenty years before I was born, and had kept it pristine for me.
Parting with the Charger to settle my mother’s medical bills and pay the mortgage hanging over both our heads during her illness had been bittersweet. I loved the car but giving her peace of mind in her final days, had been much more important to me. The money had been just enough to hold onto the house until she took her final breath in a hospital bed set up in the front room. It was where she could look out at the garden she adored and wave to friends passing by. I shook my head to rid it of painful memories as I reached the car.
I opened the tailgate, rifling through boxes to look for my mom’s medical kit as my arm throbbed. I smiled as I found the worn metal box and pulled it out, laying it on the tailgate. Just as I remembered, she’d packed it with bandages and antibiotic ointment. I grabbed those, some scissors, and an ACE bandage to wrap my arm after I could get a good look at what I was dealing with. I let myself into the car, out of the rain. Sitting was a relief and if things went my way, I’d be able to avoid the hospital entirely.
I laid the items I’d gathered on the bench seat beside me and opened my glove compartment, pulling out my hunting knife. It was one of the few treasures I’d kept after having to pack up my meager belongings and vacate the house we no longer owned. I shrugged out of my jacket with difficulty and took a look at the wound in my left arm. The bullet had gone through my jacket as well as a flannel shirt I’d picked up at Goodwill, but I shrugged out of it too, disappointed but not devastated by the loss of the clothing.
The chill on my bare skin was to be expected, but I ignored the cold as I examined the seeping wound. I took a deep breath and grabbed a piece of gauze before pressing down over the skin to see if I could feel how deep the bullet was. Maybe if it wasn’t deep, I could— “Fuckkk...”
I slammed my eyes shut as my head hit the headrest and spots swam before them. Gritting my teeth, I realized how stupid digging a bullet out of my own arm was.What the fuck am I doing?I was a total idiot. A couple of my mother’s Band-Aids and some Neosporin wasn’t going to be enough to fight off infection. It really was foolish to think I could do this on my own.
I concentrated on my breathing, holding onto the gauze for a few more seconds and then lifted my hand. The gauze stuck to the wound as I knew it would. Blood was already seeping rightthrough. I picked up the ACE bandage and began wrapping it, knowing I’d be making a visit to the closest hospital after I rested a bit so I could drive. I had no choice but to face the wrath of the LAPD for leaving the store and not waiting for the ambulance. All I could do was pray they wouldn’t fuck up my chances of passing the background check for my new job.
I pulled my shirt and coat back on before closing up the medical kit and storing my knife. I wiped my forehead, noting the sweat that had gathered during my efforts, thinking how stupid I’d been. If pressing on the wound hurt this bad, how awful would it be if I tried to dig it out with Dad’s hunting knife? I surprised myself with a laugh and shook my head. I really was an idiot. Exhaustion took hold of me as I bundled the damp clothing closer and closed my eyes. Just for a few minutes.
I bolted upright, my eyes popping open with a start as I looked toward the station wagon’s window. A man—a familiar man—was tapping on the glass. I blinked several times, noting the smile as he said something which was muffled with the window between us. I shook my head as my memories came rushing back. This was the same stranger who’d been in the store where I’d been shot. I looked around, expecting—I don’t know what—perhaps a bunch of cops, all with their guns drawn, pointing them at me. My imagination ran away with me at times.
Instead, the street where I’d parked the aging Chrysler was absent of anything but the occasional leaf as it was propelled end over end by the breeze dancing down the street in search of a gutter. At least the rain had let up.
“Open the window, mate!” the man said, speaking louder. The same Irish brogue I’d heard before was pleasing as it rolled off his tongue.
I sat up straight, then winced as my arm began to throb again. Sun beat down through the windshield, and I reached across my body and rolled down the window since my other arm hurt like a mother.
“How did you find me?” I don’t know what madethatimportant or why he’d come looking for me.
“Why don’t ya come out here so we can have a wee chat?”
I was confused. “Are you here to arrest me?”
He laughed, shaking his head as he stepped back with his hands on both hips. “What should I be arrestin’ ya for, eejit?” When I said nothing, he sighed. “No, I’ve not come to arrest ya, just to say ya deserve a good thumpin’ for leavin’ the shop and not waitin’ for the bloody ambulance.”
I sighed. “I couldn’t take a chance on that,” I replied, looking up at him.
“Why don’t ya get out of the car so we can talk?” he repeated. “I feel like a right na-na standin’ here lookin’ down atcha.”
I studied him for a few moments before nodding. “Okay.” I winced as I reached for the door handle. He instantly grabbed it, opening it for me. “Thank you,” I muttered, begrudging the fact he knew I was in pain even though I’d tried to hide it. I got out of the car and closed the protesting door with a loud squeak. When I turned to look at him, he was holding out his hand.
“Patsy Good.”
I narrowed my eyes but took his hand, noting how warm it was as I shook it. “Chaudry.”
“Nice to meet ya in better circumstances, Chaudry.”
I sighed. “So, now what?”
He grinned and I noticed how it made his blue eyes dance merrily. He had nice eyes, and I forced myself to look away, glancing around the street. The sun was out, making the wet streets shine brightly. Just looking at them made my head pound. I wished I had sunglasses. Moreover, I didn’t want to think about the way my breath was coming out in puffs of steam in the cold air even though it was sunny and my body felt too hot to be normal.
