Roberts’ revolver went off.
Lindsey was rolling on the floor, waves of pain washing over him. He was remotely aware of a struggle, but he heard no more shots after the first. Then Marvia and Jayjay Smith were helping him, first to a sitting posture, then to stand shakily. The waves of pain were receding slowly, but each was still like a birth contraction, or what he imagined a birth contraction would be like, starting somewhere inside his left collarbone and washing to the top of his head and the tips of every finger and toe.
Marvia and Jayjay were talking to him, asking if he was all right, and somewhere in the distance he could hear the drone of Gutiérrez’s voice. He recognized the Miranda routine from a thousand movies and TV shows, and from that dreadful moment in Lieutenant High’s o
