“You were damn lucky, Mr. Carl. If you had dropped upside down, you likely both would have been crushed.”

“That’s just how I feel, lucky lucky lucky. It’s because my lucky jacket was in the trunk.”

“Is it bright?”

“Blinding,” I said.

“Lovely. Did you happen to see the license-plate number of the Camaro?”

“No, I’m sorry, I was busily spinning in the air as it drove away.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“I couldn’t see inside,” I said. “The windows were a dark blue, but it was Skink driving.”

She flipped through her notepad. “You mean the Mr. Skink who gave the statement?”

“That’s right, Phil Frigging Skink.”

“Calm yourself down, sir.”

“Sorry. But it had to be him. He obviously followed me here to Vegas. There’s something he’s desperate to hide, desperate enough for him to try to kill me. My guess is he was in on a murder that happened in Philadelphia and he knows I’m hot on his trail.”

“A murder?”

“That’s right.”

“In Philadelphia.”

“Yes.”

“You’re talking about the Mr. Skink who ignored the smoke pouring from the front of your hood and dragged you and Miss Derringer out of the vehicle and maybe saved your lives?”

“Exactly.”

“And you think he’s a murderer?”

“Doesn’t what he did prove it?”

“Why would he try to kill you, Mr. Carl, and then save your lives?”

“I don’t know. Ask him.”

“I will. But I have to tell you, the truck driver who saw the whole thing said Mr. Skink drove up in a blue Taurus about three minutes after it happened, moving in the same direction as the Camaro, so he couldn’t have been involved in the accident.”

“Accident? It was no accident. The damn Camaro slammed into me.”

“The truck driver said the Camaro was trying to pass and it looked like you sped up and blocked it in.”

“I was speeding up to get away from him.”

“And the truck driver said the Camaro tried to get out of the truck’s lane but you stayed in its path and that’s why it tapped you.”

“It wasn’t a tap.”

“No, sir, going as fast as you were, it must not have seemed like a tap at all. Do you know how fast you were going?”

“No. I don’t.”

“The speed limit on that road is fifty-five.”

“Is that so?”

“The truck driver said you were flying.”

“I was trying to get away.”

“From whom, Mr. Carl?”

“From the Camaro.”

“I see. We are of course looking for the Camaro, leaving the scene of an accident is a very serious charge, but often we find in these types of incidents that both parties are somewhat at fault.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe not, sir, but I’m going to have to ticket you for speeding nonetheless.”

I bolted up off of the examination table and ignored the scream of pain in my back. “You’re going to ticket me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I get run off the road and you ticket me?”

Just then the doctor came back into the room. When he entered and saw me sitting straight up, he stopped short and gave me a stare. “Good to see you up and about, Mr. Carl.”

My head grew suddenly woozy and I lay back down on the table. “I don’t feel so well,” I said.

“Is that so?” The doctor gave the officer a knowing look, and I thought, Hey, no flirting with my cop. “Everything looks fine,” said the doctor. “Nothing broken, just bruising. I see no reason to keep you in the hospital, so we’re releasing you.”

I struggled slowly to sit up again. “What about my friend?”

“We’re going to keep Miss Derringer overnight for observation. In addition to her broken wrist she’s having headaches and might have a concussion. We’d like to be sure of her situation before we let her go.”

“We took your luggage from the car, Mr. Carl,” said the cop.

“And my briefcase?”

“Yes, that, too. You can pick it up as soon as you sign all the paperwork here. Is there anyone in Philadelphia you want me to call in reference to this murder you were talking about?”

She had a benign expression on her face, as if I were a lunatic she was trying to mollify. I thought of the discussion she would have with Stone and Breger, the three of them laughing together at my expense, and I involuntarily winced.

“No. No one.”

“Good,” she said. “I always strive to be thorough. This is for you.”

She handed me a slip of paper and I knew without looking what it was.

“What happens if I just rip up the ticket and refuse to pay?” I said.

She gave a smile, a charming, heart-stopping smile, aimed at the doctor. “Then we hunt you down and kill you.”

BETH HAD already been admitted as a patient. I took an elevator to the third floor and limped down the hallway to pay her a visit. It wasn’t a big hospital, a white circular building on the eastern edge of Henderson, and it wasn’t at all crowded. Beth’s eyes were closed when I entered the room, her left arm with its shiny white cast rising and falling atop her stomach. I didn’t want to wake her, so instead I stepped over and brushed away a lock of hair from her forehead. I don’t know why I did that, it never does any good, the lock always falls back, but I did it, and it made me feel better, and maybe that’s the reason right there. Whatever the cause of what happened, whether a simple accident or a brutal attempt on our lives, I still had been driving. She had been my charge, and I had failed her.

I sat down beside her and waited. After a while I took out Hailey’s phone and made some calls, pushing to the next afternoon our flight back to Philadelphia, reserving another night at the Flamingo, informing the rental-car agency of the little mishap and the total destruction of their automobile. When my calls were over, I sat and waited by Beth’s bedside.

My family had disintegrated like an atom split, my old high school and college chums had drifted like driftwood, my law school classmates had gone on to promising careers and gladly left me behind, all but Guy, and we know how well that had turned out. I didn’t have many people in this world with whom I had a mutual caring relationship. My father, maybe, though you could never tell by the tense words we passed back and forth. My sometime private investigator Morris Kapustin, whom I was keeping far away from this case because he knew me too well and could see right through me, when right now I didn’t want anyone seeing right through me. And there was Beth. Beth, my partner and best friend, the woman who shared my adventures, both financial and legal. There had been a time when we had contemplated something romantic happening between us, but it wasn’t there, at least for me, the primal spark, and so we never tried it, and I am so glad. I am the Wile E. Coyote of romance, I keep chasing, keep chasing, only to end up, always, standing still in midair, the edge of the cliff behind me, the bomb in my hand, fuse burning low. But whatever tragedy befalls me, there has always been Beth to crack a joke and rub my neck and keep me from plunging into total despair. What would I do without her? The mere contemplation left me fighting tears.

“Hey, cowboy,” she said. “Why so sad?”

Her eyes were open and she was smiling.

“I was imagining the worst and trying to calculate the price of new letterhead. How’s the wrist?”

“I can’t feel a thing with all the Novocain they pumped into it.”

“How about your head?”

“It hurts so much I can’t tell. Too bad they can’t inject Novocain into the brain.”

“You want the nurse?”

“Nah, not yet. They’ll only give me more drugs, and you know how I am about drugs.”

“Yes, I know. I’ll go get her.”

The nurse came in and checked the chart, took Beth’s temp, and told her it wasn’t time yet for her medication. Beth flirted, the nurse shook his head, Beth pouted, the nurse remained resolute, Beth pled, shedding all dignity, and finally the nurse said he’d ask the doctor. When the nurse came back with the little paper cup of pills, Beth gave me a triumphant smile.