I check the poor bastard’s pulse, and I grab the body bag. I’m thankful the clean up has been left to someone else. It’s one of the only reasons I took this job. “Is it safe to drive it to the yard?”
“You see, that’s the thing… I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I mean, I don’t know.”
“You don’t sound like yourself.”
“I think I have a concussion…”
My breath catches. I should’ve known better than to leave town. “A concussion.”
“I took a hit. No big deal.”
Of course it’s a big deal. With you, everything is a big deal. “Stay there. I’m calling Rudy.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Is there someone else I should call? A taxi?”
You don’t answer, and the line goes dead.
* * *
The following evening when I arrive home you’re lying on the couch with a blanket over you
