“And please stay out of trouble,” the detective said, shooting him a hard glance, as he walked back to his cruiser.
“Always,” Kurt murmured. He hopped into his truck and turned on the engine and waited, windows open for the heat, until the detective left. Then he pulled the truck slowly forward, and, just as he pulled out, a shot rang out, and a force slammed into his shoulder.
He hit the brakes and fell over sideways out of sight, as he lay here, swearing to himself.
His shoulder burned hard and fast and he didn’t know if the bullet had gone in or if it was just a burn. He clamped his hand tight around the injury, as he searched the front of the truck for something to stop the bleeding. That shot had been targeted just a little too perfectly after the detective was gone for it to be accidental.
In his mind Kurt could see the five kids first and foremost as the shooters. But he couldn’t prove that. Not without the cameras. He lay still, listening for footsteps coming closer, but instead heard several running away, not coming to help. Or to hurt. He shifted so he could look in the direction of whoever was taking off. He fired up the truck and, holding his shoulder, drove after them.
The five kids were up ahead, one holding a handgun. They took one look at Kurt and screamed in terror. He drove the truck right inside the group, splitting them up. Another vehicle raced around him, and the kids bailed into the new vehicle. Kurt, swearing at the interference, tried to read the license plate as they took off. It appeared to be smeared with mud and was illegible.
He didn’t know if the detective was still around or if he’d even give a shit. But, in this case, Kurt was an innocent citizen, and that wouldn’t wash in his world. He pulled off to the far corner of the parking lot and swore now at the pain in his shoulder. He didn’t want to go to a hospital ever again, and he sure as hell didn’t want to deal with doctors’ questions or cops called because of a gunshot wound. Kurt had to figure out what he would do with those damn kids, but first and foremost he needed his shoulder looked at. He thought about his options for a long time.
“It’s a bad idea. Don’t do it,” he muttered. “But then, if not that, what?”
He pulled out his phone and looked her up online. She still had the same name. She lived about twenty minutes from here. He hadn’t found an online mention of her cell phone number yet, but, when he saw her name at a clinic and a cell phone for after-hours assistance, he quickly dialed it.
When he heard her voice on the other end, he said, “I don’t have any right to ask you”—without bothering to identify himself—“but I need an injury looked after.”
“Kurt?” she asked. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m back at the truck stop, looking for the dog,” he said. “I’ve been here all afternoon, and five kids came out of nowhere, and one shot me.”
“Oh, my God,” she cried out. “Go to the hospital.”
“No, I don’t want to do that. Do you remember Amos Packard, the local cop? He already warned me to stay out of trouble.”
“That’s very presumptuous of him,” she said flatly. “He doesn’t know anything about you.”
“No, and neither do you by rights,” he said. “But I was really hoping you could check to make sure the bullet was out.”
“You know that I’m a pediatrician, right? I’m not a doctor doctor.”
“Oh, that’s doctor doctor enough for me, as far as I’m concerned.”
“You really need to go to the hospital,” she said calmly.
“And that’ll just bring up all kinds of questions which I don’t want to deal with.”
“You do have a legitimate reason for being here, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I told you about it.”
“Well then, go to the hospital,” she said, “and get it looked after.”
He swore and said, “Fine,” and tossed his phone on the bench seat, but he didn’t hang up the call. He reached for the glove box to see if anything inside there could be useful.
“What are you doing?” she asked through the phone suspiciously.
“I’ll look after the damn thing myself,” he said.
“Don’t do that,” she said. “It’ll get infected.”
“Well, I won’t start opening up case files and bothering the cops. You know they’ll take one look at me, remember my history, and then just say something like You deserve it.”
“Well, I would hope not.” But doubt was in her tone.
“You know that’s what they’ll do,” he said. “You’d like to think that they won’t give a shit about the past, but Amos already warned me. Besides, this isn’t bad,” he said. “I just need some antiseptic to clean it up. I’ll go to the drugstore and get it.”
“Don’t bother,” she said. “Come here.”
At the resignation in her tone, he snorted. “Don’t do me any favors. I don’t owe you anything, and you don’t owe me anything,” he said. “I’ll just go to a drugstore.”
“Covered in blood?” she asked calmly. “I’ve got everything I need here.” She quickly ran off her address and said, “I expect you in twenty.”
He snorted at that, but he headed down the highway in her direction. He just hoped, with the pain kicking in, that the damage wasn’t more than he thought. It didn’t seem like it was more than a flesh wound, but it was killing him regardless, and that worried him a bit. As he pulled into her driveway, he watched a couple kids skateboarding up and down the road. That was something he’d never had a chance to do. Not the activity itself. Not the time spent with like-minded people either.
At that stage in his life, Kurt had been still fighting for food on the streets.
The front door to the house opened, and there she stood in shorts and a T-shirt, hands on her hips, as she glared at him.
He shut off the engine, opened up the truck door, and hopped out, almost dropping to his knees. He grabbed the truck door to hold himself upright, and she was there in a heartbeat. He wrapped his arm around her, and she said, “I didn’t think I came home early today for this, but now I have to wonder.”
And he closed his eyes and said, “I didn’t think I needed help either.”
“You needed help back then too,” she said, “but you wouldn’t let me get close enough.”
He smiled at the memories, as she half supported him inside the house and then into the kitchen. When he finally sat down on a kitchen chair, he said, “If I go to sleep, just let me sleep. Okay?”
“Nope,” she said. “You pass out on me, then I am calling an ambulance.”
“You always were a hard-ass,” he murmured.
“Yep, sure was,” she said.
“I always loved that,” he said.
She snorted. “You couldn’t have proven it by me.”
“Yeah, I feel like I should have stayed in town, but I knew it was bad news for me,” he murmured. “And, even worse, it was bad news for you.”
“I’m not sure what brought this on,” she said, “but it was a long time ago. Time to move on with your life.”