Sellers said, “Don’t bother. If there’s any evidence I’ll take charge of it.”
I said, “We don’t want to get any blood on it, Sergeant. You’re bleeding from that wound in your hand. We want to keep the blood that’s on there as evidence.”
He glared at me and said, “I’m not buying any more of your schemes, Donald. You’re going to Headquarters. You’re going to be booked. That’s what I should have done with you in the first place. And then, I’m going to settle an account with those two women.”
“Sure,” I said. “Newspaper reporters will be around you thick as flies: They’ll want to know all about the story of how you got shot.”
“Okay, I’ll tell them.”
I said, “Bertha saved your life. She pushed you out of the line of fire.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“About Bertha saving your life,” I said. “And if you think that’s going to look well in print, just…”
“Bertha didn’t save my life,” he yelled. “She gave me a shove that had me off balance when that hatchet-faced number took a pop at me. Bertha, if you ever lay your hands on me again, I don’t care if you are a woman, I’ll bust your damn jaw.”
“Just try it,” Bertha said, belligerently, and then added, “that is, if you feel lucky.”