Shakespeares Champion Page 0,82

crazy quilt. The wound in my thigh, though not serious, added its own note to my symphony of pain, as did the slice in my arm.

I was in a private room, courtesy of Howell Winthrop, Jr., Carrie told me when I demanded to go home. When I realized someone else was paying for it, I decided to rest while I could. He was paying for Jack's room next door, too. Jack came in during that horrible morning, when even the medication that made me mentally dull could not smother the hurt.

When I saw him in the doorway, tears began oozing from the corners of my eyes, running down the side of my face to soak my pillow.

"I didn't mean to have that effect on you," he said. His voice was husky, but stronger.

I raised a hand, and he shuffled slowly to the bed and wrapped his own around it. His hand felt warm and hard and steady.

"You should sit," I said, and my own voice sounded distant and thick.

"Got you drugged, huh?"

"Yes." Nodding hurt more than speaking. "How'd they get you, Jack?"

"They found the bug," he said simply. "Jim spilled a Coke in the lounge, and in the process of mopping up the mess, he found it. Jim called old Mr. Winthrop. He advised them to watch from concealment and see who came to extract the tape; and that was me. They had to consult with each other for a while. They decided they could find out who hired me if they put me through the wringer. Cleve and Jim thought all along it was Howell, but the others voted for something federal. They thought Mookie was federal, too. They thought about going to get her, bring her along to join the party. Said she'd been in the store too much to be natural. Lucky for me they didn't. Why did you think of calling her? Who the hell is she?"

I tried to explain Mookie to him without revealing any of her secrets. I am not sure I managed, but Jack knew I worked for her, that she had a personal stake in uncovering our fledgling white supremacy group, and that I had known she could shoot. Jack held my hand for some time, rubbing it gently as he thought, and then suddenly he said, "When he knocked you down, when you hit the shelf and the floor - and I swear to God, Lily, you bounced - I thought he'd killed you."

"You went crazy," I observed.

He smiled a little. "Yes, I did. When you could stand, and you could walk - sort of - I knew you'd be okay. Probably. And after a look at Tom David, I knew he wasn't a threat to you..."

"So you left."

"Hunting." He was not apologetic. He'd had to pursue the man who had degraded him. I, of all people, could understand that.

"Who's dead?" Carrie had refused to talk about it.

"Tom David. Jim Box."

"That's all?"

"I wanted Darcy to die, but I didn't hit him that final time that would have settled it. His jaw is broken, though. The cops were there by then, for one thing." Jack sank into the chair, and thoughtfully punched the button to lower my bed so I could see him more easily.

"How come?"

"Bobo called them, when he went into the store after all the shooting started. And he was trying to find his grandfather. The old man had armed himself, and Bobo managed to track him down just in time."

I remembered Bobo's face as he'd lifted his grandfather and carried him off. A few more tears oozed down my face. I wanted to know what would happen to old Mr. Winthrop, but it could wait. Roasting in hell came to mind as fitting. "Mookie's alive?" I had belatedly realized her name was not on the dead list.

Jack closed his eyes. "She's just hanging on. She wants to talk to you."

"Oh, no." I felt so washed out, and washed up, I couldn't stand the thought of one more confession. "She's really not going to make it?"

"The arrow went right through. You saw."

"I was hoping I made it up." I looked away, at the curtained window.

Jack kept holding my hand, waiting for me to make up my mind.

"So Cleve didn't die?" I was stalling.

"He has a fractured skull. Much worse than your concussion."

"Not possible. Okay, get a nurse or two to load me in a chair."

After a lip-biting interval, I was being pushed into Mookie's room. There were blinking machines, and