middle knuckle. It was black and blue, twice its normal size, and less than half its length. Neat black stitches marched across the top, closing what would have been a gaping wound. I flexed my fingers again, and oddly, my horror faded. The stitched-up stump reminded me of a fat, purple-skinned monster with stringy black hair. But I had nine other fingers, and I could still play. I would have to adjust the chords, and maybe skip a few notes until I got the feel of it. But I could still play.
“Benny?”
“Esther?”
I tried to turn my head so I could see her, but she was there, looming above me.
“Oh, Benny,” she said, and she sounded like she was crying. Or maybe that was me. The salt made my eyes sting, and I stopped trying to see.
“Are you okay?” I asked. The words came out a garbled grunt, but she understood.
“I’m okay. We’re all okay.”
“Someone took my ring, Baby Ruth.”
“I know.” She kissed my good hand, and I ran my thumb over her petal lips.
“But we’re still getting married. And I can still play.”
“Mr. Lament?” Two plainclothes detectives stood next to my hospital bed. They had their badges out, held near my face so I could see them, and I did my best to focus. The pain in my head wasn’t much better, but the fur on my tongue demanded a drink.
“I need some water,” I croaked. A nurse was suddenly there, adjusting my pillows and cranking my bed into a more upright position. She put a straw to my lips, and I drank until the water was gone, though she urged me to go slow.
You’re so beautiful, Baby Ruth. I just want to make it last.
“Where’s Esther?” I said.
“Are you referring to Esther Mine, Mr. Lament?” one of the detectives asked.
“Yes. I am.”
“Negro patients are kept in another wing of the hospital, Mr. Lament,” the nurse said with an apologetic smile.
“She’s a patient?” I gasped.
“No . . . no. She’s just . . . we’re only . . . ,” she stuttered. “We only allow one visitor at a time. We only let family come back when a patient is . . . recovering. She’s in the waiting room with the others.”
“You let both of them come back.” I pointed at the two cops. The nurse blushed and shot the detectives a look.
“Yes . . . well. I didn’t have much choice in the matter.”
“I want to see her,” I demanded.
“I’ll go tell her you’re awake,” she promised, and left me with the two detectives. It was dark beyond the small window in my hospital room.
“What day is it?” I asked.
“Tuesday. December twenty-seventh,” the thinner detective answered. I couldn’t remember their names. He looked at his watch. “Just after six o’clock.”
“We know you aren’t one hundred percent, Mr. Lament. But we’ve got four dead bodies in the morgue, and we need a statement,” the heavyset detective said.
Four dead bodies.
“Four dead bodies?” I asked, flabbergasted. “Who?”
“Maybe you can help us with that.”
Help them with what?
“Who?” I insisted again, more urgent.
“Can you tell us what happened last night?” the detective pressed.
“I don’t know what happened. Who died?”
“Do you remember being attacked, Mr. Lament?”
“No.”
“We need you to tell us everything you remember.”
“We played a show at the Fox.”
“Yes. Do you remember anything after that?”
I remembered Bo Johnson, but I wasn’t going to tell them that.
“I went outside for a smoke. We had another show at nine. I guess I missed that one.” We missed the meeting with Bo Johnson too. Midnight at the old clock tower. I hadn’t told Esther. But someone had died. Four bodies.
“Is Esther okay?” Maybe I’d just dreamed her. “I need to make sure she and her brothers are okay. Then I’ll talk to you,” I said.
“We need to talk to you now, Mr. Lament. Can you tell us what happened when you went out for a smoke?”
I needed my clothes, and I needed to get the hell out of there. They must have given me some morphine. It was wearing off, and I felt terrible, but I could deal with the pain if I could just see if Esther and her brothers were okay. I needed to get out of here.
“Mr. Lament?”
“I walked a little. Just to unwind. Someone hit me on the back of the head. I’m missing my goddamn finger, and my girlfriend is in the Negro wing of the hospital. What the hell is the Negro wing?” I recognized that I was being belligerent.
But I