Page 99 of Savannah Royals
“Is that a no?”
“I mean, I can try to dig the bullets out, but it’s not going to be pretty.”
Paul lifts his head. “I never…cared much…about being pretty,” he manages. “Alive is…far more important.”
“It could get infected.” Matthew looks around the dirty tavern. “Easily.”
“Just do your best.” Paul drops his head. “And try not to kill me, even though you probably want to.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Matthew answers, reaching to open his bag. “But those bullets might. Especially that one.” He points to the upper hole.
“Why that one?” I ask.
“Because it’s damn close to his liver.”
“What if we leave them in there?” Tony asks. “The bullets. And you just close him up?”
Matthew shakes his head. “Then it will definitely get infected, and he’ll be dead in a week.”
Paul lets out a small chuckle, wincing. “So I’m either dead tonight or dead in a week? You’re a bundle of joy, doc.”
“Paul, just…just clam up for a minute,” I tell him.
“Okay, doll.”
Matthew digs through his bag, pulling out supplies one by one.
“If we can help,” I say, “just ask.”
“Oh, you’re going to help. I’ll need it. Get up, Kat.”
I spring to my feet, and he kicks my chair aside, dragging a nearby table over. He starts assembling supplies across the surface. He tosses me an alcohol-soaked cotton pad.
“Clean his arm. Over his biceps.”
I take the wipe and dutifully scrub Paul’s arm. I have no idea how thoroughly I need to do it, so I just keep swiping. Matthew does the same on Paul’s stomach, cleaning the area around the two holes by pouring a harsh, ethanol-smelling solution directly over it.
“Motherfucker.”Paul graces us with his new favorite word.
Matthew doesn’t apologize, just keeps moving. He snaps open a small case filled with drug vials. He draws something up with a tiny needle, flicking the glass syringe twice.
“What’s that?” I bite my lip.
“It’s phenobarbital—a tranquilizer and hypnotic. It’ll help with the pain and, hopefully, some of the memories, because trust me, he won’t want to remember what’s about to happen.” He looks at Paul. “I’m giving you a dose big enough to take down a fucking horse, but I’m probably going to start digging before it hits. It’s going to hurt like arealmotherfucker.”
Paul smiles slightly at Matthew’s use of his word.
“You might pass out,” Matthew adds.
“Just do it,” Paul grits through tight teeth. “Kat? If you want to tell me you love me one more time, sounds like now’s the last chance.”
“I love you,” I tell him. If it bothers Matthew—and I’m sure it does—he doesn’t show it.
“Love you too,” Paul murmurs, eyes falling shut.
“All right. Stick.” Matthew plunges the needle into Paul’s biceps without fanfare, emptying the drug out.
Paul’s face doesn’t even register the prick.
