One of the legs of his pants had been torn off completely. His legs were swollen with red and purple abrasions yet no bones were broken. He hurt all over, yet he really wasn’t that hurt except for the searing pain on his buttock, which was an agony unlike anything he had ever known. Twenty minutes later, the burn seemed a thousand times more painful. Hammermeister took a warm shower and carefully soaped his wounds. It helped to take action. After he dried himself, he applied some antibiotic cream to his right butt cheek and placed a nonstick dressing on it. There was only one such dressing in his medicine cabinet that would fit it, a super jumbo—hell, in Detroit you would think that gun-trauma kits would be fast-moving items at every drugstore. After Hammermeister put on a pair of clean Jockey shorts, he went back to the phone where he found himself again paralyzed with indecision. As the booze and dope kicked in, Hammermeister felt a magical sense of relief. Suddenly he was packing his suitcase. He would drive back to Sondra in the morning. He missed her and the kids more than anything. God, he had been a dick. Sometimes it took a real shocker to bring you back to your senses. Well, this night had been an epiphany. The booze and the codeine were so good, so nice, he was thinking straight for the first time in years. He had a proper sense of perspective again.

In the morning Hammermeister abruptly came to in a world of pain. The burn felt more like a chemical burn, like a deep burn—like a real deep burn. He couldn’t look at it. Instead he immediately dosed himself with vodka and codeine, and then, when he realized that his car was in the shop, he wondered about his plan for claiming the vehicle and driving back home after all. You could not drive when you could not sit down. Canada—shit, the bridge had been burned. He really hated his wife, and while he loved his kids in a way, it was one of those deals like “out of sight, out of mind.” There was no going back.

Nipping from the pint of vodka, Hammermeister laced up a pair of heavy weatherproof brogues and walked to work, stopping at McDonald’s for two Egg McMuffins and a large coffee to go. He was going to the school where he would confront Duffy and Cline. He wouldn’t even have to ask a question, all he would have to do is listen to them breathe.