Page 109 of Gin & Trouble

Dante

The so-calleddoctor and Casio’s older brother arrived around lunch time the following day. I took one look at the guy and knew I had a problem. A big one.

“Are you a physician?” I’d tried to keep my voice down. Tried and failed. I felt like absolute shit, and I couldn’t shake the feeling this guy was used to treating patients of the four-legged variety.

“Be nice.” Frankie’s tone reminded me of my mother. Threatening with a thick layer of pleasantry.

“Veterinario.” The older gentleman gave me a smile too wide for a donkey doctor planning to examine my skull.

Grinning, I nudged her shoulder. “Did you catch that?”

“What?” She glanced between me and the vet.

“Nothing.” I stood and stretched and did my damnedest not to pass out. “I’m good. Have him look at your leg.”

Frankie huffed out a breath, clearly at the end of her patience. “Sit down and let him examine you. Honestly, you are being such a baby about this.”

“I’m not being a baby. I said, I’m fine.”

Shit. I really need to work on my inside voice.

The doctor went rigid, made the sign of the cross, and hurried into the hall.

She rolled her eyes. “Tell him you have a head injury.”

Folding my arms, I remained silent. Was I acting like a toddler? You bet. But we didn’t have time for this. Unless I missed my mark, the good doctor knew who we were—or at least knew we had ties to the Cosa Nostra.

We needed to get the hell out of there, and I needed a phone. My family was probably losing their minds. Not to mention, if Marco suspected Abruzzo was behind the bombing, there could very well be more bloodshed.

Not that I’d mind if said blood belonged to Tommaso Abruzzo. I’d make him pay for hurting Frankie one way or another.

Frankie limped to the door and ushered the veterinarian back into the room, where she proceeded to pantomime being hit in the back of the head.

The vet nodded and motioned for me to lie down.

“Talk to him,” she demanded.

Frowning, I gave the guy the rundown of what I remembered from the explosion and the days after, as well as my symptoms.

Casio stepped forward and filled in some of my missing memories. The kid told the vet that Frankie had dove back into the water to save me, that she’d performed CPR, that I’d vomited so much water, he feared I’d sink their boat.

I sat in stunned silence, imagining the hell she’d gone through while I was blissfully stoned on Maria’s special-tea.

Speaking in local dialect, the vet asked, “How long were you unconscious?”

I shrugged and motioned to Casio.

The boy held up five fingers.

I did some quick math, but trying to figure out the current date made my brain hurt. It had to be either the twenty-second or twenty-third.

One more reason to get out of here. I told Frankie we’d find a Christmas tree.

“Please go while the doctor examines me.” I motioned to the door.

Frankie opened her mouth as if to protest, but snapped it shut and followed Casio out.

As soon as we were alone, I turned to the vet. “Do you have a phone?”

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