I moved in the direction he pushed, toward the single door in the corner. I took inventory of the garage, an accounting of anything that might clue me into location, potential weapons, or an escape. It was a run-of-the-mill chop shop, and based on the accents and who took us, my guess was Charlestown or Southie.
He opened the door. It was heavy. Reinforced. He kept the gun trained on my head and shoved me inside.
An office. Sparsely furnished—a desk, chair, and TV straight out of the last century, knobs and everything. Shelves of parts, paint, and oil covered all but one of the walls. No windows, but at least a portable air conditioner kept the space at a reasonable temp.
Gina sat slumped against the wall cradling her left arm. Her head rested against the exposed brick, eyes closed. Blood seeped through the rag wrapped around her biceps and stained her fingers. The pained expression on her face stoked my anger as much as the smear of blood across her left cheek. I clenched my fists.
The door clicked shut, and the rattle of keys in the lock sealed our fate.
She lifted her lids enough for me to see why she’d kept them closed; they glowed a faint red.
I sat to her right and leaned against the brick. “Is it bad?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice raspy. “I’ve never been shot before.”
“Lemme see.”
I peeled the rag-bandage away to reveal Gina’s bloody left biceps. Most of the mess was dried blood, but a ragged wound leaked, a steady drip down her arm. I lifted it. She winced. The entry hole on the inside of the muscle was dark red but a perfect circle.
“It went through,” I said. “Good.” The exit had done more damage, but at least the bullet hadn’t hit bone. “Would be a real pain on both of us if I had to dig it out.”
Her lips flattened, and she side-eyed me.
“Small favors,” I said with a shrug. “We should clean it up though. The less mess, the fewer the questions when it heals up quick.” I pushed myself to my feet and glanced around the office.
“It won’t heal as quickly as I’d like,” she mumbled.
I frowned over my shoulder.
“I had an appointment with my Source tonight. It was supposed to be Sunday, but I rescheduled after everything with Luca.”
I found a case of bottled water in the cabinet behind the desk. “Here,” I said and sat back down. I took the rag, wet it, and cleaned the blood from her arm. “You’ll be fine. It isn’t that bad.”
I’d tended to too many bullet holes lately. Yeah, I had experience doing it, but playing doctor wasn’t exactly something I enjoyed. Done enough of it in the War, then again under Big Frankie. Being Marco’s consigliere suited me just fine.
I removed most of the dried blood, leaving the area around the wounds alone. Didn’t want to disrupt her body’s natural healing. “Hold out your hands.” I poured water into them, and she rinsed the blood off.
“You’ve got…” I wiggled my finger at my left cheek. She lifted her fingers to her right. “No. Here.” I dabbed her face with the rag, cleaning off the smear of blood.
“Thank you.” She laid her hand across mine and leaned into the touch. Tears brimmed her eyes beneath her long lashes. “Thank you for protecting me.”
I cleared my throat and put distance between us. I wrapped the rag around her arm with as few blood stains showing as possible and secured it with a knot. I sat back against the wall and handed Gina the water. She took it and drank.
“What are we doing here?” she asked and handed me the bottle.
I drained it. The water was room temp, but after the sweltering heat and being locked in a trunk, I’d take it. Didn’t know the next time we’d get fresh water.
“No idea,” I said.
Keys rattled in the door.
“But I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”
THE END
