I didn't fall down. I stumbled across the room on shaky pins, a wounded buffalo, bouncing off cabinets. Roger was standing to my left, my right, and straight in front. I took a drunk's swing at the guy in front but it wasn't him. He pushed me to the floor. I hooked an arm behind his knee and brought him down on top of me. On a good day, I could bench press him twenty times, then throw him from short to first. This wasn't a good day. He was back up and I was on one knee like a fighter taking the eight-count.
Then I felt the jab in my upper arm. Deja vu, his thumb pushing the plunger on a hypodermic. I swatted at it and missed. He emptied it into me and I tore away from him, the needle still stuck in me, the world's largest voodoo doll.
I came at him again and took a swing in slow motion, my arms bulky girders. I didn't hit him and he didn't hit me. I just sat down at the end of the punch, then rolled onto my side, my face resting on the cool, clean tile. Then, just like in the movies, I said, oooh, and went to sleep.
My mouth was dry and my head was filled with barking dogs. I was cold. My face was still on the tile. It could have been hours or days. It must have been hours. Roger was sitting in a swivel chair next to me, splotches of plaster in his hair, on his face, on his gown. From the floor, I could see only the bottoms of Melanie Corrigan's bare feet sticking out of the casts. Nice feet, finely arched, clean dainty lady feet.
The feet weren't moving. I didn't need to see the rest.
"I'll help you up," Roger said hoarsely. "Don't worry about the Pentothal. You'll just be groggy for a while."
I tried to stand but he had to boost me. If he wanted to, he could finish me right there. I finally looked toward the table. The face gone, wrapped from forehead to chin, a mummy. Only the ends of her hair stuck out from beneath the plaster.
I sagged against a metal cabinet. Roger said, "You didn't mean it last night, did you, Jake?"
"Mean what?" My voice was thick; my head weighed a ton.
"That you're no longer my lawyer or my friend." "What difference does it make?"
He swiveled in the chair to face me, his eyes dancing to a silent tune.
"Because I need you, Jake."
"Now? You need me now. What for?"
"To prove it, Jake. That I'm one of the good guys."