Court grunted. “Tell that to the guy who did this.” He opened the blanket and took his hand from his knife wound. His blood pressure was low enough now to where the blood no longer pumped from his waist, but it oozed and glistened in the harsh light of the treatment room.
Justine gasped. “That looks bad.”
“Could be worse. It’s through the muscle, bloody, but I’ll be okay if I can get some O positive. If you can help me, I’ll be on my way. Fitzroy will pay you and your doctor for the trouble.”
“Monsieur. Are you not listening? I work with zee dogs!”
He shut his eyes, seemed to drift off a bit, but he said, “Just picture me with fur.”
“How can you joke? You are bleeding to death.”
“Only because we’re arguing. Where is this clinic? We can go there, get what I need. I can’t go to a hospital. Have to do it this way.”
She breathed out a long sigh, nodded, and tied her brown hair in a ponytail behind her head.
“Let me put a bandage on that so you do not lose more blood.”
The barking of the dogs began to subside.
—
The small surgical center in the vet’s office was filthy. It had not been well cleaned after the close of business on Friday.
“I am sorry, monsieur. If I knew you were coming—”
“It’s fine.” Court made to pull himself onto the metal stand in the middle of the room, but Justine stopped him, grabbed a spray bottle, and perfunctorily wet and wiped down the brushed aluminum surface while her patient leaned against a shelf of bandages. She ran out through the door and came back with a cushion from the sofa in the waiting room.
“You must let your legs hang off zee side. It is not made for persons.”
“Okay.”
He used his last bit of strength to rip open his shirt. Buttons flew and bounced over the tiled room. Justine pulled off his rain-soaked shoes and used shears to cut his pants off, left him in his shorts.
“I... I am not so experienced with humans,” she said.
“You’re doing great.”
She fought her timidity and looked Gentry over from head to toe.
“What happened to you?”
“I got shot in the leg. A couple of days back.”
“With a gun?” She looked down at the open three-day-old wound in his thigh, then back up to the bloody hip. She quickly pulled rubber gloves on over her small hands.“Mon Dieu.”
“And then my legs and feet got cut with broken glass.”
“I see that.”
“Then I snapped a rib rolling down a mountain in Switzerland.”
“A mountain?”
“Yes. Then I fucked up my wrist busting out of some handcuffs.”
Justine was silent. Her jaw had dropped open slightly.
“And your stomach?”
