Page 63 of Cash

There was a deep cut, maybe three inches long, and blood was pouring out.

Brick grabbed the pack of dish towels and tore them apart, quickly pressing one against the wound. He put all his weight into it, and he could feel blood already soaking through the cloth. He snarled in frustration when the phone call went to voicemail.

He had to let go of the towel to redial, but then he was right back at it. He grabbed the rest of the towels, packing them together tight over the wound.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up, you motherfucker, pick up,” Brick chanted frantically.

“Hello?” Cutter’s grumpy voice mumbled.

“Hi! Hello! Detective Cutter!” Brick exclaimed. “It’s Cho Brixton! Remember me? JD or uh, Andrew or whatever his name was fell down the stairs in my house? I need help! Jules got hurt, okay? He got hurt going after his friend or whatever it was in your stupid message! He told me to call you, and he’s bleeding, really badly. I think he got stabbed? I-I don’t know. I need your help, please! He’s passed out, he’s all clammy, and, and—”

“Jules Price?”

“Yes! What other fucking Jules is there?”

“Where is he hurt?”

“His leg.”

“Get a belt. Something. Tie a fucking tourniquet, okay? And keep pressure on it. I’m sending someone right now.”

“Okay, okay, but please! Fucking hurry!”

“I’m on my way.” Cutter was more awake now. “Be there in fifteen minutes, all right?”

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Let me make something very clear, Mr. Brixton. I am not doing this for you. If this goes south and Mr. Price dies, I’m arresting you.”

“Me?” Brick scoffed. “For fucking what?”

“For murder.”

Chapter Eleven

Brick didn’t move from Jules’s side until there was a hurried knock at the door.

Each passing minute had dragged on for an eternity, and his emotions seesawed between absolute terror and determination. He had pulled off Jules’s belt to fasten around his leg above the wound, and he felt a tinge of relief when it seemed to staunch the gushing blood. He refolded the towels so they were thicker and pressed them back against the wound.

He was scared.

When he heard the knock, he hesitated to leave Jules’s wound unattended, and he shouted, “One second!”

Using the sash from his robe, he tied the pack of towels as tightly as he could around Jules’s thigh. He ran over to disarm the alarm and swung open the door. He had been expecting Cutter, and he was surprised to see Fanny the medical examiner instead.

Fanny had a big first aid bag with him. “Hey! What happened?”

“What are you doing here?” Brick refused to move from the doorway.

“Cutter called me. Said there was a, uh, a special emergency.”

“Okay, I’m confused. Why did he call you?”

“I’m a paramedic,” Fanny explained hurriedly, “and I was a combat medic in the Army. Okay? I can help.”

“Yes, thank you. Come on! Hurry!” Brick shut the door and then rushed back to Jules’s side. “I don’t know what happened.” He put pressure back on the wound. “He came home, he seemed out of it, tired, and then bam, he just passed out. He’s been stabbed, I think? I don’t know. I don’t fucking know but he’s getting cold, he’s just so cold—”

“Hey, hey. It’s all right.” Fanny slid on a pair of latex gloves, grunting as he kneeled down with considerable effort. “Here, let me see what we’ve got, all right?”

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