B Is for Burglar
Page 24
Marty started to cry. It was an odd sound, like an infant with colic. Leonard leaned over and put his arm around her protectively.
In that moment, I wished there was someone to comfort me. My left arm was hanging like a piece of wood with a loose connecting pin. I glanced down and saw blood spreading out across my sleeve from a rip the size of a pea. The sucker shot me, I thought with astonishment. I steadied the gun in my good hand and started yelling for help. It was May Snyder who finally heard me and called the cops.
Epilogue
* * *
I've been in the hospital now for two days with my left arm in a cast. There's an orthopedist coming in this afternoon to assess the X rays and figure out what kind of rehabilitation I'll need once I get out of here. I've talked to Julia Ochsner by phone and she's invited me to recuperate at her place down in Florida. She promises sunshine and rest, but I suspect she sees it as a chance to set me up as a fourth for bridge. My final bill came to $1,987.35 but she says she won't pay me until I arrive on her doorstep. You gotta watch out for little old ladies – they're tough – which is more than I can say for myself. I hurt just about every place there is. I look in the mirror and I see someone else's face: puffy mouth, bruised cheeks, the bridge of my nose looking flat. I'm feeling some other kind of pain as well and I don't know quite what that's made of. I'm closing the file, but the story's not over yet. We'll have to wait and see what the courts do now, and I've learned to be cautious about that. In the meantime, I stare out the window at the palms and wonder how many times I'll dance with death before the orchestra packs it in for the night.
Respectfully submitted,
Kinsey Millhone