38
Little White Dots
Doc touched the left side of Pietro’s torso. A slew of Italian swearwords ensued.
“Oh, boy! Here we have a very angry appendix. Did you get injured on that side?”
Pietro had a vision of lying on his side on the tar after stopping Tap Tap’s whip from doing real damage to Mercury, his winged messenger, who brought the note that changed his life. The hard steel toe of those magnificent Italian leather boots had kicked him repeatedly in the right side. She was worth it. Pietro shrugged. What was the use of telling the tale of Tap Tap’s Italian boot?
The pain had never gone away after that, and in truth, it’d been getting worse. Perhaps it was psychosomatic. His heart was the place Pietro wished Doc could heal.
“It would be smart to have it out,” advised the doctor.
