As Craig started to turn to face Duckworth, it became clear he was in a swivel chair. He turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees.

Duckworth hoped the shock he felt didn’t show on his face.

Craig Pierce was missing a significant part of his own.

His nose was gone. The cheeks were missing large chunks of flesh. Least damaged was his mouth, but his upper and lower lips were ragged.

He looked at Duckworth with only one eye. The left was mostly unscathed, but the right was closed and covered over with rough skin.

“It’s okay,” he said. “If you have to throw up or something, I’ll understand. Bathroom’s right across the hall.”

“I’m fine,” Duckworth said. He pointed to the bed. “Can I perch myself there?”

“Sure. Be my guest.”

Look him in the face, Duckworth thought. Don’t look away.

“I just had a chat with your mother,” he said. “I didn’t know your father had passed away. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Like I said, some people just want to barf. Dad went the full Monty and had a heart attack.”

Duckworth thought it looked as though Craig was trying to grin.

“He’s the lucky one,” Craig said. “You carry a gun?”

“I do.”

“I’d ask you to shoot me, but that’s probably against some kind of regulation, right?”

“Kinda,” Duckworth said.

“Arrest someone?”

“No.”

“Could have guessed. At least they put the dog down.”

“I want to go over a couple of things again.”

“Super!” Craig said. His buoyant response was jarring. “I can’t imagine anything I’d like more! Which part do you want me to relive? When the pit bull was ripping my face off, or when he was making a meal out of my—”

Duckworth raised a hand. “Two days ago, someone—”

“You just don’t want to hear it, do you? No one does. But I think it’s even harder for guys. It all got chewed off. They didn’t find anything to reattach. Maybe someone should have thought of opening up the dog and getting my bits back. How about that, huh?”

Duckworth cleared his throat. “Two days ago, someone was coming out Knight’s. You know Knight’s?”

“Sure. A fine drinking establishment.”

“He got lured into an alley. Then he blacks out. Wakes up two days later.”

“What ate him?” Craig asked. “A polar bear? A wolverine?”

“Neither. Someone did some artwork on him.”

Duckworth got out his phone and showed Craig the photo he had taken of Brian Gaffney’s back.

“Hmm,” Craig said, nodding. “That’s it? A little inspirational message?”

“It’s a tattoo,” Duckworth said.

“So he got off easy. What I’d give for someone to scribble shit all over my back. Throw on a shirt and off you go. No biggie.”