I shimmied backward, out from under the pool table, soaked. It brought back some elemental memories, all of them sensory rather than specific, but I didn’t have time for introspection.

I hurried to the wall phone behind the bar, grabbed the receiver, and punched the pertinent digits, leaving crimson fingerprints on the buttons.

“Help,” I said, when the dispatcher answered.

I looked down. Russell huddled between two boxes, gazing up at me with huge, despairing eyes.

I crouched to run a hand over his broad back.

“I’m at Bad-Ass Bert’s Biker Saloon in Cave Creek,” I told the operator. “A man’s been hurt.”

“Your name?”

I knew this was standard procedure, but it still set my teeth on edge. While we were chatting about vital statistics, Bert was probably bleeding to death. “Mojo Sheepshanks,” I answered. “I live upstairs, above the bar. Get somebody here, please—”

“There are police and ambulance units on the way,” the woman answered calmly. “Are you injured in any way, Ms. Sheepshanks?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not sure about the dog, though.”

Russell whimpered, and I gave him a quick once-over with my free hand and both eyeballs. Except for delayed-stress syndrome, he seemed to be all right.

A siren screamed in the distance.

“Stay on the line, please,” the operator said.

“I’m here,” I answered. “But I’d like to go back to Bert. He’s under the pool table, and I don’t want him to think he’s alone.”

“Is there anyone else on the premises?”

Also standard procedure. Can’t have the cops and the EMTs rushing into a potentially dangerous situation.

“Just Bert and the dog and me,” I answered. By then, I was queasy. The smell and feel of all that blood made me shift to my knees. I leaned forward and rested my forehead between Russell’s soft, floppy ears.

The siren was getting closer, and I heard other sirens kick in behind it, farther away, a shrill, weaving braid of sound.

“I need to find out if Bert’s still holding on,” I said. There was a cord on the phone, and it wouldn’t reach to the pool table. I was effectively pinned.

“Render aid if necessary,” the dispatcher instructed. “But please do not break the connection.”

I nodded, being in shock, and left the receiver to bounce back to the wall and then dangle.

“It’s okay, boy,” I told Russell. “The cops are on their way. Just hang out right here, and everything will be all right.”

Russell probably didn’t believe me. Hell, I didn’t even believe myself.

I left him, grabbed a bar towel, and went back to Bert.

I wadded the towel and pressed it to the wound in his chest, hoping to staunch the flow of blood.

The nearest siren gave a blipping shriek, and blue-and-red lights flashed across the interior of the bar.