Chapter Twenty-Three
I should have ducked. Anyone with a brain would have found cover in the midst of incoming fire. But I'd heard the howl of a kicked dog erupt from inside the Pinto and my mind was occupied. “Lisa!”
“I'm all right! It wasn't me!”
The front windshield had only a small hole in it but had cracked into a massive spider's web. Lisa appeared to be unhurt. Willie, on the other hand, had disappeared into the dark back seat.
“Willie! Willie, are you all right?”
“I'm shot,” he screamed.
God, not again! “Is it bad?”
“It's terrible!”
I strained to see him in the dark and was well rewarded; what a sight. He'd let go of the left arm he'd been supporting in the sling and, with his bad hand, was holding what had been his good right shoulder. As was becoming the new norm for the
