41

Magozzi rose slowly out of his crouch in the doorway, gun still steady in his hands, pointed at the motionless body of Jeff Montgomery. His eyes darted around the room, taking snapshots: Montgomery off to his left, his chest a ruin; Marty Pullman straight ahead, flat on his back but his eyes still open, even as his shirt turned red; Jack Gilbert vaulting from the sofa to drop to his knees beside Marty. Desk, computer, chair, an empty bottle on its side, dribbling liquid onto the floor.

He allowed himself to breathe then, and let the wind push him into the little office that smelled like booze and cordite and blood. He toed Montgomery’s gun away from the boy’s curled hand, then felt the heavy comfort of Gino’s hand on his shoulder, easing him off to one side. ‘Let me by, buddy. Just let me by.’

Magozzi’s legs trembled beneath him as the adrenaline drained away. He watched Gino bend to press his fingers against Montgomery’s neck, and then rise again, saying, ‘He’s done.’

By the time they took the three steps over to where Marty lay, there were half a dozen cops outside in the rain, flanking the doorway, weapons drawn. ‘Clear?’ one of them hollered in.

‘Clear! We need a bus here right now!’ Gino answered.

‘On its way!’

Jack was ripping open Marty’s shirt, then peeling off his own to press it hard against the wound. Marty grunted and his eyes creased in pain.

‘Christ, Jack, are you trying to kill me?’

‘It doesn’t look so bad, Marty. You’re going to be okay. Just a little hole, we got it under control now, but you bled all over your shirt, you stupid asshole. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of linen?’

Marty closed his eyes and smiled a little, but he looked bad.

‘Let me take that for you, Jack.’ Magozzi laid his hand over Jack’s, waited for him to pull his away, then put some weight on the polo shirt compress, but not too much. He knew damn well that Marty wasn’t bleeding much on the outside because he was bleeding on the inside, and that wasn’t good. He was breathing hard, lungs and heart fighting the pressure, and the blood that seeped into Jack’s polo shirt was bright red – arterial red.

‘Hey, Pullman,’ Gino was up by his head, kneeling in close. ‘Open your eyes, buddy. You think we’re going to write this report on our own, you’re out of your friggin’ mind.’

‘Gino,’ Marty whispered, but he didn’t open his eyes. ‘How bad?’

Gino swallowed hard, making sure his voice would come out light. ‘Are you kidding? You took a slug in the chest, you think that’s going to be a cakewalk? Way I figure, you’ll be flat on your back for about a month, pissing into a tin bowl. Why the hell did you let that asshole shoot you?’

‘He was shooting at me,’ Jack choked out, hands gripped so tightly together they were turning white, holding each other back so they wouldn’t touch Marty, wouldn’t hurt him. He was breathing fast, talking fast, blinking hard, trying to hold it together. ‘Goddamnit he was shooting at me and Marty jumped in the way. Stupid son of a bitch jumped right in front of a bullet and it’s my fault this is all my fault why the fuck did you do that Marty why do you always have to be the fucking hero…’

Marty’s hand shot out and grabbed Jack’s wrist and held on. He rolled his head, opened his eyes and looked at Jack. ‘I’m not a hero. I’m just like Morey, Jack. Remember that…’

‘That is such bullshit…’

Marty’s hand tightened on Jack’s wrist, and the effort cost him. It was getting harder for him to talk. ‘Just like Morey. Just like the rest of them. You gotta tell them. Tell Magozzi and Gino about Eddie Starr. Let them close it down.’ And then he smiled. ‘All this time, you were the only good guy, Jack. Better than any of us. You’re the hero.’

Jack laid his head down on Marty’s and started to cry.

Gino pushed himself up, scowling hard, then cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to check on that bus,’ he said, proud because his voice cracked only a little. When he turned to face the doorway, he saw a sea of blue uniforms standing a silent vigil just outside the door in the rain, faces hard, lips compressed, a few of them touching their eyes, pretending they weren’t. Lily Gilbert was pushing her way between them, a little old bulldozer with rain plastering her white hair against her head, running down her glasses, hammering her straight shoulders. The uniforms parted and let her pass. She walked over to where Marty lay and knelt beside Jack, giving not one glance to Jeff Montgomery’s body. Magozzi got up and backed away.

She had to get very close before Marty could see her. He was having trouble with his eyes, for some reason, and that seemed all wrong, since he’d been shot in the chest. ‘Is that you, Lily?’

‘Who else?’

‘I’m right here,’ she said, laying her old bony fingers on his forehead, feeling a deathly chill.

‘Jack has things to tell you,’ he whispered, his tongue moving to the side of his mouth, finding blood.

‘I know. I’ll listen. Be still now.’

‘A little late for that.’

Tears were streaming down Jack’s face, dripping from his chin to his bare chest, rolling down the swell of his silly little belly. ‘Shut up, Marty, goddamnit, shut up. You’re going to be okay. I swear to God you’re going to be okay…’

Marty’s eyes fell closed as he tried to speak, his chest lifting with the effort, then falling.

‘Jack,’ Lily said gently. ‘He’s not going to be okay. He’s dying. Let him say what he needs to.’

Marty’s smile was a sad grayish blue, but when he opened his eyes again, they were clear and focused and brimming. ‘God, I love you, Lily,’ he whispered. ‘I tried to make it right.’

She smiled down at him. ‘Always, you tried to make things right. That’s who you are. A good man. A good son, Martin,’ she whispered, and then watched his eyes close for the last time.

A few feet away, Magozzi turned his face to the wall, found a splinter of wood peeling up from the paneling, and stared at it hard. He could hear Jack sobbing, he could hear the sniffling of some of the officers near the door, he could hear Gino outside, screaming, ‘Where the fuck is that god-damned ambulance?,’ and over it all, he could hear the wind picking up again, the rain coming down harder, hammering the world.

Finally, he heard the sirens.

The med techs worked on Marty Pullman for a full ten minutes, doing all the horrible things they did to people they weren’t willing to lose, going through all the motions they knew were futile the minute they looked at him, because a cordon of officers and the family were standing around watching, and they all needed that. When they finally packed their gear, got up, and backed away, one of them wept, unashamed. He’d wrestled against Marty Pullman at the State tournament a million years ago, laughing when he lost, because trying to pin Marty’s monstrous shoulders had been like trying to hold down a gorilla.

Jack had moved far enough away to give the techs room to work, but no farther. The minute they left, he was back on his knees at Marty’s side, because he’d looked so sad, lying there all alone.

One by one, the officers at the door walked in and looked down at one of their own in silent homage, and then filed out and disappeared into the heavy rain. Without their bodies blocking the doorway, the rain blew in on Marty’s body, washing the blood from his chest.

Gino, Magozzi, and Lily were standing near the doorway, and somehow Lily’s hand had found its way into Magozzi’s. It felt tiny and fragile and sad. There would be a few moments of relative calm before the technicians bustled in to turn death into science. Too many moments for Jack Gilbert to sit over there all alone, Gino thought, trying to be grumpy because he didn’t like Jack Gilbert, nevertheless pushing himself away from the wall, walking over to stand next to him.