Bad Moon Rising. Джонатан Мэйберри

that end of things. Those guys belong to me.”

      “You mean they belong to the Man,” Vic said, a warning edge in his voice.

      Ruger smiled. “That’s what I meant.”

      (2)

      Crow heard someone call his name and looked up from the hallway water fountain to see Saul Weinstock coming out of the elevator, his clothes sweat-stained and soiled and his face as gray as five-day-old steak. Crow stepped forward, offering his hand, but Weinstock clamped a hand around his bicep, spun him, and dragged him back down the hall to Val’s room. “We have to talk…right now.”

      Once they were inside Crow pulled his arm free. “I’ve been trying to get to you all night. How’s Val?”

      “She’s fine, she’s fine…look there’s something else I have to—”

      Crow put his palm flat on Weinstock’s chest and gave him the smallest of pushes—not hard, but hard enough. “Saul…tell me about Val. Now.”

      Weinstock blinked in confusion for a moment, then his face cleared. “Right, sorry, man…you can’t imagine the kind of night I’ve had. Can I at least give you the short version?”

      “Shortish, but tell me something before the big vein in my head pops.”

      “All right, all right…Val has a fracture of the medial wall of the orbit and a mild concussion. We did a CT scan and there’s no evidence of a subdural hematoma and though there is some damage to the maxillary sinus there’s been no blowout injury—which is a fairly common result of the kind of injury she sustained.” He looked at his watch. “I have a neurologist coming in at nine this morning to do a more complete workup. Val’s probably going to have headaches for a while, some loss of balance, double vision, maybe some short-term memory loss. We’ve been worried about retinal detachment, but it’s looking better, though we’re still waiting on that report from Dr. Barrett. I told them to page me the second he’s done with her, and they’ll be bringing her up here. Should be pretty soon. If the retina’s good, then there may not even be any vision loss. Considering the trauma she’s had, she’s got luck on her side.”

      “Luck’s relative,” Crow said. “You told Sarah that Terry was lucky.”

      Weinstock looked pained. “Yeah, well, around here any time a doctor gets to give news that’s not worst-case scenario ‘luck’ is a good word to use. Believe me, we don’t get to use it enough. But I hear what you’re saying, what with Mark and Connie and all.”

      Crow gripped Weinstock’s sleeve. “What about the baby? I’ve been terrified to even ask. She didn’t…lose it?”

      Weinstock brightened. “No, thank God. For a slender woman Val has the constitution of a bison. We ran every test in the book and even made up a few new ones, and as far as our OB resident is concerned everything is looking good. Even so, Gail Somerfield will be here later this morning and there’s no better OB-GYN in the state. I love Val, and I’ll be damned if after all that’s happened I will let anything happen to her or her baby.” He paused and gave Crow a warm smile. “Your baby.”

      Crow closed his eyes and a great dark wave of tension seemed to roll out of him.

      “So, yes—lucky in that regard,” Weinstock said, “but there’s still everything that went on at the farm last night. You’ll have to really be there for her, buddy. More than ever, what with Mark and Connie and all…”

      “I know. About Connie…did she suffer much?”

      “I doubt she was even aware of anything from the time she was attacked.”

      “God. I just can’t believe this. It’s like Ruger and Boyd had some kind of vendetta going. Why them, though?”

      Weinstock shook his head. “Who the hell knows what goes on in minds like that?”

      “Is there anything new on Terry?”

      “Not much. They moved him out of surgery and into ICU but—”

      “Are you talking about Mayor Wolfe?” a voice asked.

      Weinstock stopped and wheeled around to where Newton was struggling to sit up in the chair by the window. The little reporter blinked like a turtle and fisted sleep out of his eyes.

      “You!” Weinstock said, pointing a finger at him. “Whoever you are, get out.”

      “Whoa,” Crow said, stepping between them. “Ease up, Saul—Newton’s a reporter. You know him, the guy that broke the Ruger story.”

      Weinstock inhaled through his nose. “In that case get the hell out. And I mean now.”

      “Hold on, Newt’s with me,” Crow said, waving Newton back to his seat.

      Weinstock’s face was alight with anger. “Crow…there are some things I want to tell you that I’m sure you’re not going to want him to hear. Trust me on this.”

      “Don’t be too sure. A lot of stuff happened yesterday and Newt was with me. You can speak openly.”

      “No way…not in front of a reporter.”

      “Saul, I don’t think there’s anything you can tell me that he won’t be ready to hear.”

      “No.” This time it was Newton who said it.

      Crow and Weinstock both looked at him. “Hey, Newt, you can’t bail out on me now.”

      “Crow…honestly, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I haven’t even gotten my head wrapped around what we saw yesterday. I need to stop thinking about this. It’s all too…” He stopped and just stood there, small and defeated, hands jammed defensively into his pockets.

      Weinstock arched an eyebrow at Crow, who sighed. “S’okay, dude. I guess I didn’t give you a lot of time to prepare for this, and what we went through yesterday…well, I’m just glad I had a friend with me.”

      Newton looked at him in surprise, his eyes searching Crow’s face for the lie, but not finding it. “Thanks,” he mumbled, his eyes wet.

      “Why don’t you go home, get some sleep, and meet me back here later today? Try to put this stuff out of your mind for a while.”

      Newton smiled at the absurdity of the concept. “What do you think the chances are that I’ll ever be able to do that?” He sketched a wave, picked up his soiled jacket, and shambled out of the room.

      “Poor bastard,” Crow said. “He’s a pretty good guy, Saul. A little fussy at first, but he kind of stepped up. It’s just that yesterday was…well, when I tell you the whole thing you’ll understand.”

      Crow sat down on the edge of the bed and Weinstock dragged the chair over. For a full minute neither said a word, their eyes meeting for a second at a time and falling away. Crow leaned on his forearms and stared at the floor between his hiking boots; Weinstock leaned back and studied the blankness of the speckled acoustic ceiling tiles.

      After a while Crow took a breath. “You want to start?”

      Weinstock barked an ugly little laugh. “Not really.”

      “Me neither.”

      The tide of silence washed back and forth between them for a while before Weinstock finally said, “The problem is, now that I’m right up to it I don’t know how to start.”

      “There’s that.” Crow chewed his lip for a second. “On the other hand, brother, do you have the same feeling I have that we both want to say the same thing but are just too damn scared about how we’ll each react?”

      Weinstock stopped looking at the ceiling. “No, but that sounds encouraging.”

      “There’s a word that’s in my head here, Saul, and I wonder if you’re thinking about the same word.”

      There was another