Falling Down Part II

August 6, 2009

Read Part I Here

The blood oozing around the knife blade in my arm keeps distracting me. I shrug my trench coat off with a bit of a wince and carefully tear the hole in my shirt wider. It isn’t much of a knife, just a little pen blade sort of thing. Seems to have missed anything important, but I just know it’s going to bleed like hell. I sigh and give the glove box a good wack with my good hand and it falls open. The first aid kit barely fits, but it has been handy to keep around. I toss it into the passengers seat and flick it open. A shot of borboun for me from a small bottle, follow by a splash of rubbing alcohol for the wound and the tweezers. Sure as hell aint using my drinking alcohol to clean up if I don’t have to.

I manage to get a good grip on the end of the knife and take a moment to start breathing steady. I give it a good yank on the fourth intake which very quickly turns into a string of curses. I need stitches. Instead, I squeeze the wound together and stick a butterfly bandage on it. I’d use the little tube of superglue if I had an extra arm.

I wrap a bit of gauze around the arm for good measure and tape it down. My fingers can still wiggle and the little stabs of pain are a definite improvement. I toss the first aid kit back into the glove box and sit back with a sigh, snatching up the notebook page again. It probably wouldn’t hurt to clean up more, but at the same time I really don’t know how much time I have. It has  been a much louder night then I normally like to have.

The notes on the paper don’t make me any happier even after the quick patch job on my arm, but I can focus more on what I’m seeing. Francis Cordell was the sort of man that everyone knew was up to his eyeballs in sleeze, but managed to avoid being implicated in anything at all. It also meant that getting at him without having to gun down a small army wasn’t going to be easy.

I took a moment to reload my revolver to capacity and snapped it shut. I really wasn’t equiped for a blood bath. That and Francis was probably smart enough to catch wind of all the noise. Despite that, I find myself starting up the car and wheeling across town toward the penthouse address in the note. Maybe I can come up with some sort of crazy plan that wont get me killed until I toss Francis out a window. Either way, I’m not backing down now.

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