Page 110 of The Woman at the Funeral

“Anything else?”

“Maybe some… like… visual disturbances?”

“Disturbances or full hallucinations?”

“I don’t know. It’s becoming blurry.”

“What do you think?” I asked him after he asked her to sit still and not talk for a minute so he could take her blood pressure.

“Could be a few things,” he said, shrugging. “But judging by the injection, symptoms, and the ease of supply, I’m leaning toward ketamine. Salvatore’s got an in at a blood testing place. He can get the results sometime tomorrow.”

“Will there be lasting issues?”

“Nah. Not from just the one dose. I mean, she might be off for a few days. Dizzy, emotional, headaches, fatigue, that kind of thing. But it will wear off. Nothing long-term to worry about.”

“That’s a relief,” Blair said, words still thick and slow.

“Sounds like I get to play nursemaid for a few days,” I said, rubbing her arm.

“Alright. Walk me through,” Venezio said, pulling off the cuff and marking down notes for, I assumed, Salvatore.

“The door hit me first,” Blair said, touching her face. “And then I fell. Hit my head. Ronny climbed on me and slammed my head into the floor. Danny stabbed me. Then I was out. I don’t know how long. It had to be a while. The sun was starting to go down. When I woke up, my head was screaming.”

“Could be the drugs or the blow,” Venezio said when she paused. “Anything else?”

“Danny… he did this,” she said, lifting a hand toward her face. “With a flashlight. One of those big ones for camping.”

I didn’t realize the growl I felt building inside had burst out until Venezio shot a bemused look in my direction.

“You’re sittin’ funny. Ribs?” he asked.

“Yeah. With the flashlight too.”

Then, without another word, Venezio yanked up the shirt, exposing her lower half, panties and all, but being careful to pin the material under her breasts to preserve some modesty.

“Any shortness of breath?” he asked, checking out the bruises that were already forming. They’d grow darker over the next few hours.

“No.”

Venezio probed with his fingers.

“Eh, don’t think they’re broken. It woulda taken a big fuckin’ blow to break ‘em. Probably just bruised. But bruised and broke mostly feel the same. Go easy on ‘em. Don’t reach up over your head if you don’t gotta. Don’t twist, that kinda thing.”

“What about her head? Did Sal really get a scanner?”

“Yeah, we got a CT a couple months back after we got the lead walls and doors done and shit. He considered an MRI, but the CT is smaller. And you can go in it with bullet shards in you. The MRI will pull those fucks violently out.”

“Where the hell did you get a CT machine?”

“Russians,” Salvatore said, appearing in the doorway. “Crazy the kinda shit they can get. Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted Blair. “Had a rough night, huh?”

“We’ve been over this!” Blair yelled, cradling her head as Venezio relayed everything Blair had told him.

There was a second of tense silence before Venezio shrugged it off. “It’s the drugs,” he said.

“Did you take blood yet?”

“What? I gotta do everything?” Venezio asked, lips twitching, making me realize I’d never seen the man smile.

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