Chapter 18: The Kitchen Table

"Table," I said. "Clear it. Now."

Luca swept the plates off the kitchen table with one arm.

Two guards came through the door with their guns out, and I pointed at the garden.

"Go find who did that. Don't come back until you have him."

They went.

Teo sat against the cabinet with his hand on his chest, and the red was spreading between his fingers.

"Doc," he said. "I think I got shot."

"You did."

"In my own kitchen."

"Yes. Stop talking."

"It's a good kitchen."

"Teo."

Luca got an arm around him and lifted, and Teo came up onto the table with a grunt.

I cut his shirt open with the kitchen shears.

The hole sat low on the left side of his chest, under the nipple, small and neat.

Every breath he took made a wet whistle.

I put my ear to his ribs and heard nothing on the left.

"His lung is down," I said. "There's blood around it. If I don't let it out he suffocates in about ten minutes."

"Then call an ambulance," Luca said.

"Every hospital in this borough answers to your sister's captain. Teo says no, and so do I."

"I say no," Teo wheezed. "Boss. Please."

"I need a knife, a very clean tube, vodka, and a good light," I said. "And two hands that don't shake."

"Mine shake," Luca said.

"Then hold the light and keep them still."

He took the lamp off the counter without another word.

Teo's coffee machine had a silicone hose.

I pulled it out and cut a length with the shears, and Luca poured vodka over it, over the paring knife, and over my hands.

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