"Don't be brutal," said Lucienne, backing away.
"I'm not brutal," Jesús objected. "People who don't know anything about surgery always accuse me of being brutal. Hmm, the probe is already underneath the bullet. It's not so deep. I'll wiggle the thing out in a jiffy ... now, a towel, please. Madre de Dios, no, don't tell me I'm brutal; it would be brutal to leave the bullet in...."
Raul gasped.
"Whose bullet is it?" Jesús asked. "A friend of yours, maybe."
"Pedro Chávez," said Manuel, rolling and lighting a cigarette, wanting to give it to Raul.
"Bad chap, that Pedro. The rurales should kill him," said Jesús, and he sucked through his stained teeth for the bleeding annoyed him. His gamecock head bobbed; his comb of hair leaned to one side; he grunted and pushed.
Lucienne held another glass of tequila for Raul; she wanted to run because she could no longer look.
"Ah," said Raul, blacking out.
"Almost two hundred people were killed in the cathedral," Jesús went on, speaking of the Colima church. "Funeral ... that stupid rich Navarro died and everybody went to the funeral and the roof caved in on the people ... hmm, bad, very bad."
"Is it bad, Raul?" asked Lucienne.