Blind Tiger
“How did this happen?” She was afraid that Irv had been assaulted at the still. What of Ernie?
Irv made a limp motion with his hand, ceding the explanation to Thatcher, who asked her, “Do you know about Lefty’s?”
She gave a brusque nod.
“The back room?”
“I’ve heard about it.”
“Well, the sheriff raided it tonight. It was bedlam. Someone started shooting.”
“At Irv?”
Although his eyes remained closed, Irv answered, “No.”
Laurel looked to Thatcher for confirmation. He said, “I don’t know for sure, but I think it was random. He caught a wild shot. I got him out of there quick as I could.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Hutton. Thank you for seeing to him, but you don’t have to stay. I’ll take over from here.”
“You’ll need help.”
“I’ll manage.”
“I don’t think the bullet is still in there, but the wound needs to be cleaned out. Have you ever dug around in a bullet hole?”
The thought of it made her queasy. She gave a tight shake of her head.
“It’s nasty business,” he said, “and through some of it, he’ll probably have to be held down.”
Laurel was still clutching Irv’s hand, though his had gone slack. His face was ashen. She understood that Mr. Hutton was right. Giving in to him smarted, but it wasn’t only her pride at stake here. Irv’s life was at risk. “All right. I accept your offer to help.”
“Good.”
She swiveled her head to look up at him. “But I don’t like it.”
“I know. You don’t want to be beholden.” His gaze stayed steady on hers for several beats, then he turned his attention to Irv. “Let’s get him out of his shirt.”
The cloth had turned stiff with drying blood, front and back. Whenever they had to readjust his position to work his arms free of the sleeves, he hissed through clenched teeth. When the garment was off, Laurel wadded it up and tossed it into a corner.
“This isn’t going to be pretty,” Thatcher said.
He lifted Irv’s left arm and removed a balled-up shirt from his armpit. It was more blood-soaked tha
n Irv’s had been. “Yours?” she asked, as she sent it the way of the other.
“It was the only thing I had handy.” He gave his shirt no heed as he assessed the raw, gaping wound. “This is where the bullet came out.”
“And went in where?”
“On the back of his arm. Help me roll him over.”
Following his directions, she went around to the other side of the bed and helped him turn Irv toward her. Her father-in-law wasn’t too drunk to spew some colorful expletives.
“Sorry,” Thatcher said to him. “Bullet went straight through a fleshy part of your arm. Best I can tell, it missed bones. All told, you’re lucky.”
“Told ya it weren’t gonna be bad. But right now, I ain’t feelin’ so lucky,” Irv grumbled. “Where’s the whiskey at?”
* * *