I listen to his breathing and heartbeat. There’s no indication that he's faking it; his breathing is slow and even, his pulse steady. I reach down and pull the gun from his belt, sticking it in my own pants. Ok, memo to me: if I ever carry a gun, get a holster. The pants thing does not work for me.
Once the gun is secure, I hoist him onto my shoulder. Man, he reeks. Has he never heard of deodorant? Or a breath mint?
Steeling myself to his odors, I hop into the air, speeding back to the police car as quickly as I can. I hope that the fast-moving air will keep his scent from coagulating on my clothes.
I land right next to the vehicle and open the back door. I shove Ignacio in, saying a silent apology to whoever will have to clean that backseat. I walk over to the highway patrol officer an
