Twisted City

"What're you waiting for?" he said. "Dig."

I continued staring at him.

"Come on, stop bullshitting around," Ke

"Maybe we should go someplace else," I said, glancing toward the homeless guy.

"What, that fuckin' bum?" Ke

The homeless guy stirred, his head jerking a couple of times.

"All right, all right," Ke

He walked along the path, back toward Avenue B, and I followed him. The path was well lit by a small lamppost.

"This way," I said.

I veered off the path, through an opening in the short fence, onto an area of dirt and grass.

"What the fuck?" Ke

I kept walking. Looking over my shoulder slightly, I saw that Ke

"Are we done walkin' now, Moses?" Ke

"Who's that?" I said.

When Ke

"You fuckin' crazy?" he said in a gargled, muffled voice. "I got the pictures, I got the»

I forced him back against a tree and squeezed harder. I wasn't letting go this time; I'd keep squeezing for as long as I had to. My nails were digging into his throat, and I figured it couldn't take much longer, maybe five or ten more seconds. Then Ke

"Let go," Ke

I twisted his head further, waiting for his neck to break, and then I heard the shot and felt the excruciating pain in my stomach. Ke

"Fuckin' moron," he said. "What the fuck's wrong with you, you dick?"

He reached into my pocket and took the money out of my wallet, and then he stood up all the way and ran.

I tried to go after him, but when I got up onto my knees, I crumpled right back down onto my side. My stomach killed, as if the bullet were still working its way inside me. I felt the warm, wet area where the pain was centered; then I looked at my bloody hands.

I lay still, with my face pressed against the dirt, waiting to die. It was hard to breathe and I was too weak to get up, so I knew it would happen soon. I was very dizzy and I was having flashbacks. I was five years old and Barbara was seven, but she looked younger. We were playing in the snow in Aunt Helen's backyard. We were laughing, ru

A MAN WITH a thick gray mustache and cigarette-stained teeth said, "I saw his eyes open; I saw 'em open."

A woman next to the man was doing something to my stomach. Something was over my face, and my throat killed.

I didn't know where I was. I tried to scream, but I couldn't. I was fucking freezing.

I woke up, still very weak. I turned my head to the right and saw the tubes or IVs or whatever was co

A nurse appeared over me and said, smiling, "Look who's awake."

I couldn't speak.

"This'll make you feel better," she said. A few minutes later I was dreaming again.

The next time I opened my eyes I was angry because my throat still killed. I pressed the call button on the string next to my bed, and a Haitian or West Indian nurse came. I lifted my hand toward my mouth, as if lifting a cup to drink.

"Sorry, you won't be able to drink for a while longer. Let me check your stitches."

The nurse lifted my gown and examined my stomach area.

"Looking good," she said.

She said that a doctor was going to see me soon, and she left the room.

I stared at the TV hanging over my bed, which was blasting CNN. About an hour later, a ski

I didn't feel like having to talk to this asshole, but I figured if I answered his questions he'd leave me alone sooner. I nodded slowly.

"You're a very lucky man," he said. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

I nodded again.

"That's good," he said, "that's very good. Do you remember how it happened?"

I changed my mind I didn't feel like cooperating. I shook my head.

"You don't know how it happened?"

I nodded.

"Ah, so you know how it happened, you just don't know who did it to you."

I looked away, shaking my head.

"Well, your injury was quite severe," the doctor went on. "You lost quite a bit of blood, and the EMS workers said you didn't have a pulse when they arrived at the scene. You had two transfusions and seem to have stabilized, although your spleen was ruptured and you sustained a serious stomach injury. Physically, you're doing much better, but you suffered a period of anoxia, a cutoff of blood flow to the brain, the effects of which we'll need to monitor. But, I have to say, you're a lucky man, Mr. Miller. If that homeless man didn't find you and call for help, you probably no, you definitely wouldn't7ve made it."

I remembered seeing the homeless man lifting me up and dragging me out of the park. I'd been standing off to the side with Barbara, watching it all happen.

"By the way," the doctor continued, "there're quite a large number of reporters downstairs. I had to comment on your condition, but I'm trying to respect your privacy as much as possible. There's also a Detective Romero who wants to speak with you, but I told him that wouldn't be possible until we remove you from the respirator, which should be later today."

I tried to ask the doctor if I'd been legally dead, but with the tube in my mouth I couldn't speak.

"Don't waste your energy," the doctor said. "Just get some rest."

That night, after I was taken off the respirator, Detective Romero insisted on questioning me. He pulled up a chair next to my bed, but I looked away, refusing to make eye contact.

"How you feeling?" he asked.

I continued staring away.