The little house was almost as filthy as it had been the first time Raphael had seen it. The yellow dog stood in the center of the living room and barked as Raphael entered.
“Shut up, Rudy,” Raphael said.
“Go lay down,” Tobe ordered the dog.
Rudy gave one last disinterested bark and went back into the dining room.
Sam lay on the rumpled daybed in the dining room partially covered by a filthy quilt. He recognized Raphael and tried to smile. “Hi, buddy,” he said weakly in his wheezy voice. His left eye was half-closed, and the left corner of his mouth hung down slackly.
“Hi there, Sam.” Raphael steeled himself against the smell and went to the side of the bed. “How you feeling?”
“Funny, kinda.” Sam’s words were slurred.
Raphael reached down and took hold of the old man’s left hand. “Squeeze my hand, Sam.”
“Sure, buddy.”
The hand in Raphael’s grasp did not move or even tremble.
“How’s that?” Sam asked.
“That’s fine, Sam.” Raphael gently laid the hand back down.
“All right?” Sam slurred. ” ‘m I gonna be all right?”
“Sure, Sam.” Raphael turned and-crutched toward the living room, motioning with his head for Tobe to follow.
“You come back-real soon now, buddy,” Sam said haltingly, and his head fell back on the pillow.
“Can you figure what’s wrong with ‘im?” Tobe asked anxiously in a low voice.
“We’d better call an ambulance.”
“No!” Tobe shook his head. “He don’t want no more hospitals. He told me that when we come outta that detox place after I got sick that time.”
“This is different.”
“No,” Tobe said stubbornly. “He said no more hospitals.”
“Tobe, I think he’s had a stroke. He could die in there if we don’t get him to a hospital. His whole left side’s paralyzed.”
Tobe stared at him for a moment. “Oh God,” he said. “I was afraid that’s what it was. Poor old Sam. What are we gonna do, Rafe?”
“We’re going to call an ambulance. Sam’s got to see a doctor right away.”
“All right, Rafe.” Tobe’s narrow shoulders slumped. “Anything you say. You think he’s gonna die?”
“I don’t know, Tobe. I’m not a doctor. I’ll go call an ambulance.”
“Okay, Rafe.” Tobe’s voice was broken. Tears had begun to fill his eyes and spilled over, plowing dirty furrows down his cheeks.
Raphael went out quickly and crutched across the street to call the ambulance.
v
It was early, very early, even before the first faint hint of dawn. Raphael had endured the heat until about two in the morning when the breeze had finally turned cool, and then he had gone to bed. It seemed that he had only slept for a few minutes when he heard the faint, muffled banging on the locked door at the top of the stairs. Groggily, almost sick with the heat and the lack of sleep, he fumbled his way into his pants and reached for his crutches. The leather cuffs that fit around his forearms seemed cold, even clammy, and he shivered slightly at their touch.
“Who’s there?” he asked when he reached the locked door.
“It’s me.” Flood’s voice came from the other side. “Unlock the goddamn door.” His words seemed mushy, thick.
“Damn!” Raphael muttered, slipping the latch. “Come on, Damon,” he said, opening the door, “I’m tired, and I’ve got to get some sleep.”
Flood was bent slightly, and his hands were pressed against his ribs. Raphael could not see his face in the dark stairwell. “Let me in, dammit.” He moved into the light, and Raphael could see the blood on his face.
“What happened, Damon?”
“I got hit with a chain,” Flood said thickly, “and kicked in the ribs for good measure. Can I sit down?”
“Come on in.” Raphael stepped back awkwardly. “Let me have a look at that cut.”
Flood lurched across the roof to the apartment, went in, and sank carefully on the couch. There was a long, bruised cut on one side of his forehead, just above the eye, and his lip was cut and swollen. The blood had run down the side of his face and dried there. His olive skin was greenish, and little beads of perspiration stood out on his face. His breathing was shallow, and he kept his hands pressed to his ribs on the right side.
“Let me get some things and clean you up,” Raphael said. He turned and went into the bathroom. He got a washcloth and a small bottle of antiseptic. He juggled them around until he could hold them between his fingers and then crutched back out to the kitchen. “What happened?” he asked from the sink where he ran cold water on the cloth.
“We went out to visit scenic Hillyard-a very unfriendly part of town. We found the Dragons, and Big Heintz got his last and final war. Jimmy and Marvin are in the hospital, and Heintzie’s bleeding out of his ears. A most unsavory group, the Dragons.” He laughed slightly and winced. “I think I’ve got a couple of cracked ribs.”
“Why are you running with that bunch anyway?” Raphael demanded, going to the couch and beginning to carefully wash away the caked blood on Flood’s face.
“For laughs. All that bully-boy bravado is sort of amusing.’ Flood’s voice was muted and quavered with shock.
“How much fun are you having right now?”
“Not much.” Flood winced and stifled a groan.
“This is going to hurt.” Raphael carefully started to clean the cut.
“You’re right.” Flood said it through his clenched teeth.
“That’s going to need some stitches,” Raphael said, looking at the cut. “You want me to take you to the hospital?”
“You’re going to have to, Raphael,” Flood said shakily. “I damn near passed out a couple times on my way down here. I dropped Heintzie off up the street, and this was as far as I could make it. The big clown bled all over my front seat. They got him down and kicked him in the head a time or twelve. Jesus!” Flood doubled over, holding his side. “That hurts like hell.”
“Don’t move around too much. If those ribs are broken, you could puncture a lung.”
“You’re a little bundle of good news, aren’t you?”
“Let me throw on a shirt and a shoe.” Raphael went into the bedroom.
“I need a gun,” Flood said through the door. “The bastards wouldn’t have gotten me if I’d had a gun.”
“That’s a real sensible approach you’ve got there.” Raphael was lacing up his shoe. “You shoot somebody, and they’ll lock you up forever. Why don’t you just stay away from those half-wits instead?”
“Nobody’s going to run Jake Flood off. I’ll go where I damn well please and with whoever I damn well please, and the next time some greasy punk comes at me with a chain, I’ll make him eat the damned thing.”
“You’re getting as bad as they are.” Raphael came out into the living room again.
“Nobody’s going to run me off. I’ll get a gun and then I’ll make it my personal business to obliterate every one of those bastards.”
“Damon,” Raphael said firmly, “knock off this bullshit about guns. You don’t know anything about them in the first place-and do you actually think you could deliberately pull the trigger on a man? I had to shoot a sick cat once, and I couldn’t even do that.”
“You’re different from me, Raphael.”
“Not that different. It takes a special kind of sickness to shoot a fellow human being, and you’re not that sick.”
Flood coughed and then he groaned slightly. “I’m pretty sick right now.” He was holding his ribs tightly. “All I’ll need is a little practice-a bit of plinking.”
“Plinking beer cans and shooting people are altogether different, Damon.”
“I wasn’t thinking of beer cans.” Flood’s eyes were flat.
It was useless to talk with him. Raphael could see that. Maybe later, when he had calmed down, there might be some hope of getting through to him, but right now he was too angry, too hurt, too affronted and outraged by the beating even to be rational.
“Can you make it downstairs?” Raphael asked. “There’s no way I can help you.”
“I’ll make it.” Flood got up from the couch carefully and went back out, still half bent over.
Raphael followed him. “Get into my car,” he said when they reached the street. “You aren’t going to do those ribs any good trying to fold yourself into that sports car, and I can’t work the clutch anyway.’
“All right.” Flood slowly got into Raphael’s car.
Raphael went around to the other side, got in, and started the motor.
Flood was still holding his ribs, and he had his head laid back on the seat. “I’ve got to get a gun,” he said.
vi
After work on Thursday, Raphael gave Denise a lift home as he usually did when he worked late. Things had been a bit strained between them since her outburst the week before, even though they both tried to behave as if the incident had not happened.