He was in and out for two days. He was very lucky. That’s what they told him. There was a pretty nurse with tired eyes and a doctor with graying hair and thin lips. He wasn’t ready to believe them, not when he was too weak to lift his head, not when the hideous pain swarmed back into him every two hours like clockwork.

When the two cops came in he was awake, and the pain was smothered under a few layers of morphine. He made them as cops at a glance. His instincts weren’t so dulled that he didn’t recognize the walk, the shoes, the eyes. He didn’t need the identification they flashed at him.

‘‘Gotta smoke?’’ Phillip asked it of everyone who passed through. He had a low-grade desperation fornicotine, even though he doubted he could manage to suck on a cigarette.

‘‘You’re too young to smoke.’’ The first cop pasted on an avuncular smile and stationed himself on one side of the bed. The Good Cop, Phillip thought wearily.

‘‘I’m getting older every minute.’’

‘‘You’re lucky to be alive.’’ The second cop kept his face hard as he pulled out a notebook.

And the Bad Cop, Phillip decided. He was nearly amused.

‘‘That’s what they keep telling me. So, what the hell happened?’’

‘‘You tell us.’’ Bad Cop poised his pencil over a page of his book.

‘‘I got the shit shot out of me.’’

‘‘What were you doing on the street?’’

‘‘I think I was going home.’’ He’d already decided how to play it. He let his eyes close. ‘‘I can’t remember exactly. I’d been . . . at the movies?’’ He made it a question,opening his eyes. He could see that Bad Cop wasn’t going to buy it, but what could they do?

‘‘What movie did you see? Who were you with?’’

‘‘Look, I don’t know. It’s all messed up. One minute I was walking, the next I was facedown in the street.’’

‘‘Just tell us what you remember.’’ Good Cop laid a hand on Phillip’s shoulder. ‘‘Take your time.’’

‘‘It happened fast. I heard shots—it must have been shots. Somebody was screaming, and it was like something exploded in my chest.’’ That much was pretty close to truth.

‘‘Did you see a car? Did you see the shooter?’’

Both were etched like acid on steel in his brain. ‘‘I think I saw a car—dark color. A flash.’’

‘‘You belong to the Flames.’’

Phillip shifted his gaze to Bad Cop. ‘‘I hang with them sometimes.’’

‘‘Three of the bodies we scraped off the street were members of the Tribe. They weren’t as lucky as you. The Flames and the Tribe have a lot of bad blood between them.’’

‘‘So I’ve heard.’’