Blood was spilling from the top of Peter’s left thigh, but he made it to his knees and dragged himself over to Charlie DeLuca and started punching the body. If Peter could get up, I figured I should get up, too. I did okay at it, but my ears were ringing and my shirt felt wet. I looked down and opened my jacket and saw that my shirt was turning black from the top down. Then Pike was there, peeling back the shirt. “Doesn’t look bad. Caught it across the top of the trapezius.”

“Sure.”

Pike went over to Peter, took off his belt, and wrapped it tight around Peter’s leg. Then he came back to me and used his sweatshirt as a compress on my shoulder. I burned where the bullet had torn through the muscle and there was a tingling feeling, but it could’ve been worse. Peter blinked at his leg and at Charlie DeLuca and then he grinned at me. “We got the bastard. We got him.”

“Yes,” I said. “We did.”

He began to laugh. “It’s over.”

Karen was laughing then, too. Nervous and scared and letting off the tension by laughing. “Yes,” she said. “God, yes.”

Karen came over and hugged me. Toby helped Peter to his feet and they came over and hugged me, too.

Some days, I guess you’re more huggable than others.

Chapter Thirty-nine

Thirty-nine

We left the bodies at the airport and went into town to see Chelam’s only doctor, a young guy with a beard and glasses name of Hocksley. Karen Lloyd drove.

The doc was good about it. He practiced out of his home just four houses down from May Erdich’s place, the kind of guy who wanted to know his patients and bring babies into the world and watch them grow. Idealistic. You know the type. When he cut off my shirt and Peter’s pants, he whistled and said, “Man, I haven’t seen anything like this since I left the Bronx General ER.”

“Hunting accident.”

“Sure.”

He swabbed us down and cleaned us out, then put in a couple of stitches and gave us each two injections, something clear to fight infection and something white to fight tetanus. He also gave us some orange pills for the pain. He said, “Don’t suppose I should call the police about this.”

I said, “Mind if I use your phone?”

I called Rollie George and told him where I was and what had happened. While I told him, the doc crossed his arms and listened and absently stroked his beard. When I hung up, he said, “Think I should maybe go take a look?”

I shook my head. “It won’t do any good.”

He looked at Peter. “You look familiar.”

“I’ve got one of those faces.”