Kurt looked at his expression, then said, “What happened?” He had his fists at his sides, he looked tensed to run. Alan felt that he was waiting for an order.
“He got away.”
“How?”
Alan shook his head. “Can you help me get dressed? I don’t think I can get a shirt on by myself.”
They went to the Greek’s, waiting out front on the curb for the old man to show up and unchain the chairs and drag them out around the table. He served them tall coffees and omelets sleepily, and they ate in silence, too tired to talk.
“Let me take you to the doctor?” Kurt asked, nodding at the bandage that bulged under his shirt.
“No,” Alan said. “I’m a fast healer.”
Kurt rubbed at his calf and winced. “He broke the skin,” he said.
“You got all your shots?”
“Hell yeah. Too much crap in the dumpsters. I once found a styro cooler of smashed blood vials in a Red Cross trash.”