“I thought you already were done with me anyway,” I said, looking at her.

She shifted in her chair, then glanced over me to the window. “I’m not here to talk about us. Now’s not the time.”

“Why not?”

“Because if we try that, I’d probably end up kicking your ass and I think you’ve had all you can handle for now.”

I wasn’t sure if it was what had happened to me or if it was just being near her again, but the ice had been broken on the freeze-out between us and I wanted it to continue to melt away.

“When’s the time gonna come, then?” I asked. “For us?”

She moved her gaze from the window to me. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it will.”

I stared at her for a moment, then went back to concentrating on the ceiling.

“Huge,” I finally said.

“What?”

“He was huge.”

“Who?”

“Mo.”

“Who’s Mo?”

“The mountain that fell on me.”

I told her about working for Peter Pluto, what I remembered about going to the house, about finding Lonnie and then Mo finding me.

“Skinheads?” she asked after I told her about the tattoos.

I tried to nod, but it came off more like a spasm. “Hard-core. Aryan Nations stuff.” I cleared my throat and tried to get my voice to sound normal. “I think they killed Pluto.”

Liz stood and came over to the edge of the bed. “They found a body with yours. No ID.”

The memory of crawling up next to him was still hazy, but I’d recognized him. “That was him.”

She nodded. “I’ll get John the name and we’ll check on next of kin. You know if this Peter Pluto was into that racist crap?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Well, let me know if you hear anything,” she said, as she came over and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle me. “You’re gonna be okay.”

I looked away from her and toward the window on the other side of the room. “Yep.”

“None of it’s permanent. You’re gonna hurt like hell, but it’ll go away.”

I nodded. I knew that. It was the mental part that I had questions about. I couldn’t help wondering if I could’ve done something to avoid it all. Not taken the case, not gone to the house, not gone in without a gun. But all of those were things I normally did. I didn’t want to change because of this, alter the way I thought and the way I acted. But through all the pain I could feel something shifting in me, a combination of fear and anger that was shifting even as I tried to stop it.

“I called Carter a little bit ago. Didn’t know who else to call,” Liz said. “Got his voice mail, told him you were here.”

“Thanks.”

She stood up and I could feel her eyes on me. “I’m gonna go.”

I turned to her. “Okay. Thanks. For coming.”

“I’ll check on you in a couple of days.” She hesitated for a moment, then touched my hand quickly, covering it with hers. “There’s something else, though, Noah.”

“What?”

“You have your ID with you when you went in?”

I thought about it. “Yeah. My wallet. In the pocket of my shorts.”

Liz nodded. “I figured. But it wasn’t on you.” She paused. “They probably took it. Most likely for the money or credit cards.”

I knew what she was getting at. “But they know where I live.”

“If they wanted to know, yeah, they do now.”

It didn’t surprise me, but hearing it out loud made my stomach jolt.

“We found your rental, too,” she said. “Up in University City, a little beat up. I’m gonna talk to John and I’ll get your Jeep back to your place tomorrow.”

A tiny, selfish voice popped into my head. The guy who was supposed to pay me and for that rental car was dead. A couple of days in the hospital were sure to jack up my insurance premium. Money was the last thing I wanted to think about, but the concern was there like a fly that wouldn’t die.

“Okay,” I said.

“I’ll be in touch,” Liz said, giving my hand a quick squeeze, then heading for the door. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

I didn’t know that I really was, but I watched her go without saying anything, as the fear and anger in my body and in my thoughts continued to work themselves together in a gathering fury that I wasn’t sure how to handle.

A nurse came in bright and early the next morning and woke me up to inform me that since there was nothing further they could do for me, I was on my way out. She assured me I’d be fine and said she’d be back shortly with some papers that needed my signature.

Gee, thanks.

The pain had kept me awake for parts of the night. My limbs were heavy and sore and my chest felt like a tractor had been parked on it. When I was finally able to get myself out of bed to use the bathroom, my back cracked and burned the more I tried to straighten it.

The mirror in the bathroom told the same story. The circles around my eyes were a myriad of reds and purples. I had a huge split in my bottom lip and more bruises on each cheek.

The nurse returned and I signed the discharge papers, refused the wheelchair trip out, and was pulling on my clothes from the closet when Carter walked into the room. He wore brown board shorts and a bright purple T-shirt. He looked out of breath.

“Sorry,” he said, frowning. “I was in LA.”

“It’s alright.”

“I just checked my voice mail this morning,” he said. “I came as soon as I listened to Liz’s message.”

“It’s alright.”

“I’m really sorry, Noah.”

It wasn’t like him to offer sincere, direct apologies. I knew my appearance probably rattled him.

I pulled on my shorts and T-shirt, trying not to grimace. “Dude. It’s okay. I haven’t been much fun anyway.”

“Still. Shoulda been here.”

“Whatever.” I stepped into my sandals. “You can make it up to me by getting me out of here.”

He nodded and opened the door.

We walked silently out of the hospital and I was so glad to breathe fresh air that I didn’t make my usual remark about his god-awful-looking car. The topless Dodge Ram Charger, painted like a zebra, save for the skull on the hood, was a welcome sight.

We made it to my place in fifteen minutes. My Jeep was out front like Liz had promised. Carter stood awkwardly next to the car, not sure how to help me. I waved him off and struggled out, figuring the movement would keep me from getting stiff.

By the time I made it to my sofa, I was winded.

Carter went to the fridge, opened two Coronas, and came around to the couch. He placed one on the table in front of me.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching for it, deciding I’d substitute the alcohol for the pain pills I’d been prescribed.

He nodded and took a long pull from his bottle. He set the bottle down and took a deep breath.

“So,” he said. “Anybody we know?”

I took a drink from the bottle, the beer tasting much better than the water and juice I’d been given in the hospital. I shook my head. “Don’t think so.”

“But you’ll know them when you see them?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Good. You say when and we’ll put them down. I’ll call in a few favors.” He drank from the beer again. “You can be in on it or not. I don’t care. But these fuckers are going down.”

I nodded and didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if I wanted in on it. I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to see their faces again. And that bothered me more than anything else.

I changed the subject. “Why were you in LA?”

He smiled and pointed the bottle in my direction. “Workin’ on a real job.”

“No. Seriously.”

“Workin’, dude.”

“A real job?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Yeah, I guess. I’m gonna be on TV.”

I leaned back in the sofa. “Excuse me?”

He drained the beer and set the empty bottle on the table. “Acting.”

“So, while I was in the hospital, hell froze over?”

“Funny. I’m gonna be a reenactment actor.”

“A what?”

His eyebrows danced over his eyes, the excitement apparent. “Okay, you know like America’s Most Wanted and shows like that?”