returned to the BMW, the other had been standing behind him, waiting for this to happen. As Macandrew gripped the door sill, the man slammed the door shut.
Pain flooded through Macandrew’s head like a nuclear explosion. The bones in his hands broke like matchsticks and, through his agony, he heard a man's voice rasp, 'You won't be fuckin' around with no one else's wife from now on.'
SEVEN
Macandrew curled up into a ball on the road and held his hands to his body. He was vaguely aware of the BMW roaring off but his mind was being overwhelmed by successive waves of pain that shot up through his arms and burst like starshells inside his head. Someone, somewhere, was asking what all the noise had been about. Another demanded that an ambulance be called. Yet someone else was telling neighbours not to get involved.
No one approached him directly. This was Kansas City suburbia where the real world never came to call. Drama was the stuff of television, always held at a comfortable distance. But now, there was an injured man lying in the street, beside an empty car with its driver's door swung open.
Macandrew managed to prop himself up a little using his elbows but the pain in his hands was so bad that he feared he might pass out. His vision was being blurred by waves of red mist. 'Can somebody help me please,' he croaked.
There was no response.
'Is anyone there?'
From a distance, a man asked cautiously, 'What's your problem, buddy?'
'My hands are bust, I need help.'
'How'd that happen then?' asked the voice.
Macandrew added despair to his agony. He took a succession of deep breaths. 'Would you please get Dr Karen Bliss for me. She lives in apartment 32, number thirty-seven.'
'Karen Bliss.'
'Yes, Dr Karen Bliss. Tell her it's John Macandrew.'
'Macandrew,' repeated the man without expression.
Macandrew could feel tears of frustration well up in his eyes. Just how far back on the evolutionary trail was this bozo stranded? A few base-pairs less and he’d be a palm tree and where the fuck were all the other people? Had they all gone back indoors? 'Jesus,' he murmured. 'Land of the free . . . home of the brave . . .'
'Number thirty-seven. Right?'
'Jesus.'
Macandrew was losing strength fast. The terrible pain had sapped every ounce of energy from him and he felt unconsciousness beckon, promising him sleep and blessed release from the pain. His head lolled against the side of his car, and then he heard high heels clicking towards him.
'God Almighty, Mac, what happened?' asked Karen Bliss.
'Two guys . . . they jumped me . . . jammed my hands in the car door.'
Karen made to examine his hands but the mere thought of it made him cry out.
'Okay, Mac, Relax. I'll drive you to the Med Centre. It'll be quicker than calling an ambulance. I’ll just get Jeff.'
Macandrew passed out on the journey.
When he came round, Saul Klinsman was in the room. He was talking to a nurse but stopped when he saw that he was awake. 'You're back with us,' he said.
The fuzzy feeling in Macandrew's head told him that he had been given a powerful analgesic but he had no trouble remembering what had happened. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were bandaged. 'How bad?' he asked.
Klinsman came and sat down beside him. He said, 'I'm not going to bullshit you, Mac; they're a mess. For a plumber, they'd be a mess; for a mailman, they'd be a mess; for a surgeon . . . they could be a serious mess.'
The comment made Macandrew attempt to flex his fingers. He was rewarded by needles shooting up through his arms. He grimaced and asked, 'A career-ending mess?'
Klinsman shrugged his shoulders. 'Frankly, I don't know. It's too soon to say. Either way you're going to need a bunch of surgery on them.'
'Thanks for levelling with me,' said Macandrew.
'Did you see the bastards who did this?'
'Sure but they were just the hired hands. We both know who was behind it.'
'That little bastard Francini; the cops have got to nail him for this.'
'Leave
Pain flooded through Macandrew’s head like a nuclear explosion. The bones in his hands broke like matchsticks and, through his agony, he heard a man's voice rasp, 'You won't be fuckin' around with no one else's wife from now on.'
SEVEN
Macandrew curled up into a ball on the road and held his hands to his body. He was vaguely aware of the BMW roaring off but his mind was being overwhelmed by successive waves of pain that shot up through his arms and burst like starshells inside his head. Someone, somewhere, was asking what all the noise had been about. Another demanded that an ambulance be called. Yet someone else was telling neighbours not to get involved.
No one approached him directly. This was Kansas City suburbia where the real world never came to call. Drama was the stuff of television, always held at a comfortable distance. But now, there was an injured man lying in the street, beside an empty car with its driver's door swung open.
Macandrew managed to prop himself up a little using his elbows but the pain in his hands was so bad that he feared he might pass out. His vision was being blurred by waves of red mist. 'Can somebody help me please,' he croaked.
There was no response.
'Is anyone there?'
From a distance, a man asked cautiously, 'What's your problem, buddy?'
'My hands are bust, I need help.'
'How'd that happen then?' asked the voice.
Macandrew added despair to his agony. He took a succession of deep breaths. 'Would you please get Dr Karen Bliss for me. She lives in apartment 32, number thirty-seven.'
'Karen Bliss.'
'Yes, Dr Karen Bliss. Tell her it's John Macandrew.'
'Macandrew,' repeated the man without expression.
Macandrew could feel tears of frustration well up in his eyes. Just how far back on the evolutionary trail was this bozo stranded? A few base-pairs less and he’d be a palm tree and where the fuck were all the other people? Had they all gone back indoors? 'Jesus,' he murmured. 'Land of the free . . . home of the brave . . .'
'Number thirty-seven. Right?'
'Jesus.'
Macandrew was losing strength fast. The terrible pain had sapped every ounce of energy from him and he felt unconsciousness beckon, promising him sleep and blessed release from the pain. His head lolled against the side of his car, and then he heard high heels clicking towards him.
'God Almighty, Mac, what happened?' asked Karen Bliss.
'Two guys . . . they jumped me . . . jammed my hands in the car door.'
Karen made to examine his hands but the mere thought of it made him cry out.
'Okay, Mac, Relax. I'll drive you to the Med Centre. It'll be quicker than calling an ambulance. I’ll just get Jeff.'
Macandrew passed out on the journey.
When he came round, Saul Klinsman was in the room. He was talking to a nurse but stopped when he saw that he was awake. 'You're back with us,' he said.
The fuzzy feeling in Macandrew's head told him that he had been given a powerful analgesic but he had no trouble remembering what had happened. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were bandaged. 'How bad?' he asked.
Klinsman came and sat down beside him. He said, 'I'm not going to bullshit you, Mac; they're a mess. For a plumber, they'd be a mess; for a mailman, they'd be a mess; for a surgeon . . . they could be a serious mess.'
The comment made Macandrew attempt to flex his fingers. He was rewarded by needles shooting up through his arms. He grimaced and asked, 'A career-ending mess?'
Klinsman shrugged his shoulders. 'Frankly, I don't know. It's too soon to say. Either way you're going to need a bunch of surgery on them.'
'Thanks for levelling with me,' said Macandrew.
'Did you see the bastards who did this?'
'Sure but they were just the hired hands. We both know who was behind it.'
'That little bastard Francini; the cops have got to nail him for this.'
'Leave
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