He went into the warehouse.

I leaned against the van, my good hand holding me up. My stomach convulsed, and I tried to heave, but nothing would come up. I was sweating all over, and the pain was beginning to finally seep into my wounded hand.

I crawled into the front seat of the moving van and rested my head against the cool glass of the passenger window. Blood gushed with every heartbeat. My vision was going fuzzy.

Jimmy stormed out of the warehouse, his big belly quivering each time his foot hit the ground. It looked like he had an armload of shredded cabbage. He got right up in my face. “It’s here, Charlie boy. We found it. It’s here!”

I worked my mouth at him, tried to ask him what he was talking about. Stan? Had he found Stan? He was floating away from me. Blood trickled warmly from my ear and down my neck.

“You’re fine, Charlie. I got you,” said Jimmy. “You hang tough. We’ll get you a doctor.”

I could barely keep my eyes open, and I drifted off, dreaming of Jimmy in a balloon, dreaming I had wings.

My instinct was to jerk free of the tubes and restraints, but I couldn’t remember the last time an instinct had done me any good. I didn’t have the strength anyway.

I pried open my eyes. It didn’t help. Everything was a uniform blur. I blinked a few times, shook my head. My eyesight began to clear. The hospital room took shape around me. I had a tube in my arm and another in my nose. My hands were tied to the railings of the hospital bed. A thick bandage kept my left hand together. The hospital room looked like any other. I was alone. I let my head fall back on the pillow.

Marcie came into the room, saw my eyes open, and gasped. “That’s just typical. I sit in here for five hours, and then you wake up the two minutes I go for a root beer.”

I smiled weakly. “Hello.” I was damn glad to see her, and my heart did a little flip-flop. She came closer, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said.

She smiled, put her hand on my arm.

I tugged at the restraints around my wrists. “Get these off, will you?”

“The doctor said-”

“Marcie.”

“Oh, fine.” She untied me.

I scratched my ear. Relief.

“Don’t pick at it.” She frowned.

“It itches.” I’d never have back the chunk of earlobe I’d lost in the warehouse shootout. I didn’t think I’d miss it. But my ear was wrapped awkwardly in gauze, and it itched like hell.

She shook her head at my hand. “That’s a shame. Now your head isn’t symmetrical.” She touched my wounded hand lightly. “Hey, do you know what stigmata are?”

“Something you get in your eye.”

She snorted.

I took a look at my hand. Sooner or later, I’d have to take a peek under the bandage, but I wasn’t eager. It seemed to ache in a dull, distant sort of way, and I suddenly understood I must’ve been full of dope, or it would’ve hurt a lot more. No wonder I’d been out cold. I mentioned this with a laugh to Marcie.

“Laugh it up, hotshot,” said Marcie. “Painkillers aren’t the only reason. You lost a lot of blood. When your friend called, I checked out of the hotel and drove straight here. You’d already finished surgery. I brought you something to cheer you up.” She placed a stuffed rodent on the sheet over my chest. It looked at me cross-eyed, its tongue hanging out the side of its mouth. Lunacy.

“You thought a retarded rat would cheer me up?”

“It’s a chinchilla. And it’s supposed to be whimsical.”

“Sorry. I love it. Really.”

“Smartass. At least you’re regaining your senses.”

The memory came flooding back. Jimmy had arranged a doctor, and by the time he’d raced me to the hospital in the moving van, I was out of my head and drenched in my own blood. It was all fuzzy after that, a patchwork of memories involving doctors and nurses and people shining lights in my eyes, people who wanted blood and urine and whatever else they could get. Before I went under, I told Jimmy to call Marcie at the Hilton.

“Baby, thanks for coming.” Had I said that already?

“Wild horses and all that.” She ran a finger down the tube that led to my arm. “Want me to hook this to a bottle of Chivas?”

“I don’t think I should mix it with the dope.” I was a little worried. I didn’t handle narcotics well. God knew what I might do or say.

She turned serious, not a lot, not too somber. She just altered her tone enough to get my attention. “You were lucky, Charlie. It’s just your hand. The doctor says you’ll be able to use it again after physical therapy.”

“Yeah.”

Marcie was too supportive to harass me in my condition, but the look etched on her face said I was a dumbass. Considering the tubes in my nose and arm, I couldn’t really argue. I wanted to tell her again it would all be over soon, but I wasn’t sure even I believed that anymore. This sort of hospital visit had been one of the reasons she’d packed her bags. I mentally vowed to make it all up to her.

But at the moment, all I could do was lie there and soak in juice from a tube. I shouldn’t have worried. Marcie was strong in the way that women who’ve been kicked around are strong, and there would come a time when she’d kick my ass for putting her through this. But not now, not while I was flat on my back.

She asked, “Can I get you anything?”

“Maybe a magazine.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know. A National Geographic.”

“You got it. There’s a Books-a-Million near here. Anything else?”

“I’m okay. Maybe flip on the TV before you leave.”

She flipped on the TV to a shampoo commercial. “Any particular channel?”

“I’ll just watch whatever comes on here,” I said.

“See you later, hon. Try not to freak out the nurses.” She kissed my forehead and left.

The commercial ended, and a show called The View came on. Four mouthy broads started yakking it up. God, help me. At the end of the segment, the announcer said, “Coming up next: Know your vagina.”

Holy shit.

I fished around desperately for the remote control, but it was nowhere in sight. I hit the nurse call button.

“Yes?” came a crisp voice.

“Drugs,” I croaked into the intercom.

I felt stronger after my nap. A nurse came in with some Tupperware and demanded urine.

“I can’t move,” I said. I could still feel the painkillers coursing through my veins with giddy potency. “I hate to ask, but could you put that between my legs?”

Without comment, the nurse pulled back the covers. When she saw the chinchilla perched on my crotch, she half screamed before slapping a hand over her mouth.

I giggled like an idiot.

“Hilarious,” she said, holding out the plastic jug within easy reach. “I see we’re feeling better. Now how about a specimen?”

“I don’t feel very productive right now.”

“I understand,” she said reasonably. “I’ll come back with the catheter.”

“Wait!” I waved her over. “Give me the jug. I already got enough tubes sticking in me.”

She handed it over and said she’d be back for it in a little bit. I put it under the sheet and wedged it between my legs. I was feeling some pressure to perform. If I didn’t squeeze out a little high-test… well, I’d rather have another bullet in the other hand. I positioned myself and grunted. Nothing. I grunted harder. More nothing.

Jimmy walked in. “Hey, Charlie-boy. Sheesh! You don’t look so good.”

“Yeah… I… uhhhh.” A couple of sad dribbles into the jug. I felt a cold sweat break out over my eyebrows and behind my ears. I was bone dry.

Jimmy frowned. “You want me to call a nurse?”

“No.”

“You’re turning all red.”

“No!”

“But you look like you’re gonna fucking rupture-”

“Uhhh. Arhh!” I got off a couple of good squirts and brought out the jug. The nurse must’ve had her piss-radar on, because that’s when she walked in.