We continue on with the new short story involving Tom Vargas. If you do like this, and you haven’t read FROZEN DREAMS (which stars Tom!) yet… feel free to pick up the book.
I woke up, which is always nice to have happen after a fight. And I itched like a bastardo, too. Come to think of it, that was probably what woke me up.
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a table at Rick’s. From the clock on the wall, maybe ten, fifteen minutes had passed. That kind of pissed me off; just once I’d like to wake up after being knocked out to find out it’s two weeks later and the guy who put me under had already been caught by hard-working Cin City street cops. But no, I was going to have to run this guy down myself. As usual.
I swung to a sitting position, and winced. Maybe I won’t run, I thought. Hobbling seemed more my speed right now. I looked down at my side, and winced again. It looked like I’d need to buy my next Shamus suit a few months early. On the other hand, I had gotten better than the usual rough bandaging. And I felt… better than I should have. “Must have been a flesh wound,” I muttered.
“Only if you count a kidney as ‘flesh,’” came a voice behind me. I gingerly turned my head to see… Sofia, was it?… gamely smiling at me. She was wiping her hands dry with a napkin as the hubbub of a police investigation went around us. We were in a bubble of nobody bothering us, though, which confused me until I remembered her last names. ‘Huston Redgrave’ was about as noble as it gets before the King starts keeping a spare eye on you.
I tried a chuckle. Didn’t hurt too bad. “Didn’t you hear? Shamuses don’t have organs. We’re like potatoes, inside.”
“You mean, all eyes and starch?” Sofia was quick with the comebacks, which was nice.