at the wound. The bullet had entered on the inside of my thigh and gone right through. It didn't hurt much yet, but it would. I put the gun into the pocket of my jacket, stripped off the jacket, took off the white T-shirt I wore underneath, folded it the long way, and wrapped it around my thigh. I held it there with one hand while I pulled Ed's belt off and strapped it tight around the T-shirt. Then I put on my jacket and pulled up my sweat pants and experimented with standing up. I could. The bone in my thigh was probably not broken. The traffic on Storrow was starting to build, but the chances of flagging someone down were slim. The guy with the golden retriever was nowhere in sight. Neither was the dog. Neither was the MDC cruiser that had passed me earlier. Never a cop around when you need him.
My leg still didn't hurt much, but I felt dizzy and sick. Mass General Hospital was a mile or so back. I swayed a little and looked at the Buick. I took a step toward it and almost fell. I steadied, took a sort of hop, and got my hands on its hood. The motor was running. Balancing against it, I edged along past the two dead men and got in. It was an automatic. A clutch would have been difficult. I put the car in gear, took off the emergency, and drove forward; the car bumped over something that I knew was Ed. But I didn't have much strength for maneuvering. Ed wouldn't care.
It was like driving drunk. I could barely keep my eyes open. With both hands on the wheel I stared as hard as I could at the curving black ribbon of the pathway. Back eastbound I went. I didn't dare go fast for fear I'd lose control. The car wavered as I drove. My head kept drooping and jerking back up as I caught myself. A couple of joggers moved out of my way. They probably glared at me, but I didn't have the strength to notice. All of what I had left channeled onto the asphalt ahead of me. Dimly I realized that the radio was on and a morning man was talking brightly about the last record and introducing the traffic reporter. Avoid the esplanade; there's a double homicide and a slow-moving vehicle on the footpath.
The pathway began to waver and the steering wheel got more and more limber. The pathway curved in close to Storrow Drive and the wrought iron fence that separated me from Storrow Drive suddenly surged up in front of me and rammed into the car. The impact made no sound, and as I spiraled down into the dark I could hear clearly the radio still playing: 'This is radio eighty-five… eighty-five… eighty-five…'
And I woke up with Martin Quirk leaning over the end of the bed with his hands clasped and his forearms resting on the footboard.
Chapter 30
Quirk said, 'The emergency room people tell me you're not going to die.'
'Heartening,' I said. My voice seemed a little uncoordinated.
'They say you can probably go home tomorrow,' Quirk said.
'I'm going home today.' My voice was better. I could feel a connection with it.
Quirk shrugged. An I.V. unit was plugged into the back of my left hand.
'Want to tell me about it?' Quirk said.
'I don't think so,' I said.
A small blond-haired nurse with big blue eyes came in and took my pulse.
'Nice to see you awake,' she said.
'Nice to be awake,' I said. Polite.
She smiled and took my temperature. It was one of those electronic thermometers connected to a small pack on her belt. You didn't even have to shake it down. Where was the fun in that? Quirk was quiet while she took her readings. She noted her results on a small chart and said, 'Good.'
When she was gone Quirk said, 'Up under the Mass Ave bridge there are two stiffs shot to death with a small- caliber automatic; four ejected shells are scattered around them. In your jacket pocket the MDC cops found a twenty-five-caliber automatic with four rounds gone. One of the stiffs is Eddie DiBenardi. The car you rammed into the fence is registered to him. The other guy is Roger Francona. He had a nine-millimeter Smith amp; Wesson with a round missing. You have a hole in your leg. They told me downstairs that you're lucky, it missed the bone. Eddie DiBenardi's belt is missing, and one about the right size was wrapped around your leg when they brought you in.' Quirk had straightened and walked to the window and was looking out with his hands in his hip pockets. He turned to look at me.
'Some of us are beginning to suspect a connection,' he said.
'You suspect me on that kind of flimsy evidence?' I said.
'Sort of.'
I nodded. 'They jumped me. They didn't say why. I was jogging along, minding my own business.'
'Carrying a loaded gun?' Quirk said.
'Carrying a loaded gun, and these two guys attempted to shoot me.'
'And succeeded,' Quirk said.
'And I returned fire in self-defense,' I said.
'You know either one of them?'
'No.'
'Eddie is with Joe Broz… Was.' Quirk said. 'Roger, we don't know yet. We're still looking into him.'
I nodded.
'And, small world, you were just recently sitting in my office reading the OCU file on Joe Broz.'
I nodded.
'You care to comment on that?' Quirk said.
'No,' I said. My leg felt hot and sore. I felt it with my right hand. It was heavily bandaged. The more I woke up, the sorer it felt. Maybe I would wait till tomorrow to go home. Quirk walked across the room and closed the door.
'How come I'm in a private room?' I said.
Quirk pointed at his own chest.
'I tried to get hold of Susan,' Quirk said. 'But she's not around.'
'She's in Washington,' I said.
Quirk rested his butt on the windowsill, folded his arms, and looked at me.
'Okay,' he said. 'Here's what I think. I think you were bothering Joe Broz and he sent Eddie and Roger out to kill you and they weren't quick enough. If two guys had to go down, they're not a bad choice. I don't know Roger, but I know Eddie. Eddie was a scumbag. I'm willing to bet Roger was pretty much the same. A day in which you shoot a scumbag like Eddie DiBernardi is a day well spent.'
'Makes a nice hobby,' I said.
'On the other hand,' Quirk said, 'I am not employed by the city to go around saying 'Way to go' when somebody blows up a couple of citizens in a public park. Even if the citizens are scumbags.' I nodded.
'You see my position,' Quirk said. I nodded some more.
'When you put your mind to it,' Quirk said, 'you can be an all-world pain in the balls. And you think you're smarter than you are, and you think if you want to do something it must be the right thing to do.'
'I'm not as sure of that as I used to be,' I said.
'Me either,' Quirk said. 'But, on the other hand, you haven't done too many things since I've known you that I wouldn't have done if I was you.'
'Maybe we're both wrong,' I said.
'Probably,' Quirk said, 'but I don't think there's much we can do about it.' He stood up and unfolded his arms and put his hands back into his hip pockets. 'Anyway. I don't see a reason to charge you at the moment, but I want some information. Eddie and Roger are not the last two guys that Broz can hire. If he wants you in the ground, he can be persistent. If he succeeds, I want to be able to nail him for it.'
'You sentimental bastard,' I said.
'Off the record,' Quirk said, 'what the fuck is going on?'
I told him. All of it.
When I got through Quirk said, 'The guy's wife isn't worth it.'
'Ronni Alexander?' I shrugged. 'She's worth it to Meade.'
