Kim came back, dropped on his knees beside me. He was breathing hard and his voice was hoarse.
“Where is it, darling?” he asked. “Where did it hit you?”
“My side,” I gasped, touching it with my right hand.
The cop who had talked with us the night before came running down the alley.
“Where was that shot?” he demanded.
Kim pointed toward the street. I let myself fall back against the pavement. Kim’s quick fingers unbuttoned the jacket to my suit. He pulled the blouse up out of my skirt, rolled me gently so that the light touched my side. As his fingers probed at my ribs, I fainted.
When I swam back up through the layers of darkness, I was on the couch in my dressing room. A stranger, the light glistening on his bald head, was stripping wide adhesive off a roll and taping my ribs.
When I moaned, he looked at my face and said, “Hello, young woman. Exhale, please.”
I did so, and he taped me up. We were alone in the room. I could hear voices out in the hall. I suddenly realized I was bare from the waist up, but, as I reached for one of the couch cushions he said, “If you feel strong enough, you can slip into your clothes now.”
I still couldn’t figure out what had happened. My white blouse and the jacket of the gray-green gabardine suit were over the arm of the chair near the couch. He fussed with getting the tape and scissors back into his bag as I dressed. It hurt to lift my right arm.
“What happened to me?” I asked in a small voice.
He straightened up. “Shot, I believe. At least that’s what the policeman said. Your friend and two policemen are out in the hall. I thought you’d rather I shooed them out.”
“Thank you, Doc. How much?”
“Ten will cover it.”
I walked dizzily over to the bench where I noticed my purse. I opened it up, took out the wallet and looked at it in dismay. There was a ragged hole that went completely through it, and through every bill in it. I found a ten and it was in bad shape. I gave it to him. He looked at it curiously, but pocketed it, picked up his bag and walked out.
Kim, the familiar cop and Danny Geraine came in. Danny hurried over and kissed me on the cheek while Kim looked on, baffled.
“How do you feel, Hank honey?” he asked.
“Sort of beat up, Uncle Danny,” I said, sitting on the couch gratefully.
Danny was one of my pop’s best friends. He was in plain clothes, and his weathered old face looked drawn and grim.
“What is it they’re trying to do to you, girl?” he asked, his big hands on his hips, the hat on the back of his head.
“I was coming out—”
“I’ve got all that, girl. You got down two steps and you caught a forty-five slug in the ribs. I took the slug out of your purse. A good thing you carry the purse in the crook of your arm, girl. That big slug went through one side of the purse, through both folds of the wallet and then hit your cigarette lighter and cigarette case. Girl, it must have been like getting hit with a ball bat. The doc says you’ve got two broken ribs.”
I tried to take a deep breath. “He’s crazy. I’ve got eleven broken ribs, a broken back and a small fire just under the skin.”
“Hank,” Kim said, “I saw the muzzle flash from the shadows about thirty feet from the steps. I fired back and ran toward it. By the time I got to the bend in the alley, whoever it was, was gone. I ran back to see how badly you were hurt.”
Danny looked at me severely. “This lad tells me that this is the fourth time in two weeks you’ve nearly died, girl. Why haven’t you been to tell Uncle Dan about it?”
“And be told I was looking for publicity?”
He frowned, then nodded. “Some of them that don’t know you might have thought so, girl. But not Dan Geraine. What have you been doing that somebody should want you dead?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, Uncle Danny. Nothing.”
He thought for a few moments and then made a suggestion. “Girl, suppose you tell Uncle Dan every little thing you know, and in return I’ll keep this out of the papers.”
“How about last night?” the patrolman asked. “How about the trouble out there on the sidewalk?”
Dan turned to him. “Son, suppose you trot along and take care of your beat. When you make your report, refer to the report I’ll make.”
“Okay,” the patrolman said sullenly. He turned and went out.
I was beginning to feel better. I stood up and took the cigarette Kim offered me. Danny took the slug out of his pocket and showed it to me. It was large and flattened. He pointed with a blunt thumbnail to one portion of it.
“There’s the only place we can get a marking off it to put under the comparison microscope,” he said. “There’s so many G.I. forty-fives around that it’s nearly impossible checking.” He shoved it back into his vest pocket and pulled out a more familiar one. “Now this one, this little thirty-two slug isn’t so battered. Found that in your purse too.” He pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. “Start talking, Hank baby.”
