83. Chapter 83
It didn’t matter how many times she found him in unexpected places, seeing the young Jason Young sent a jolt through Lindsey’s body.
Jase reached for the picture on the wall.
With plenty of grunting and groaning making Lindsey think she should call Luke for his medical opinion, Graham fished his phone from his pocket.
“No service,” he said. “Jase, is there a phone on the desk? Jase?”
He wasn’t listening. He was studying the glossy four-by-six of Jason Young Sr. beside a younger version of Saul and a woman with long, black hair.
“He’s got to have a phone here,” Graham said. “We need to call the cops.”
The shop door closed behind Saul, sending tiny shards of glass to the floor.
“No cops,” he said.
“Yes, cops. We were just shot at.”
“Sorry about that. Some people think this is still the Wild West,” Saul said. “I have good news. The damage to your ride is minimal and purely cosmetic. Give me a few days and I’ll have it fixed up.”
“You’ve been shot,“ Graham pointed out. “You need an ambulance.”
“I’ve had worse,” Saul said, turning to Jase. “I see you found my wall of fame.”
Lindsey noticed the other pictures on the wall were an eclectic mix of actors and musicians, some smiling, others flashing peace signs or middle fingers or making faces for the camera. She was pretty sure she recognized at least one member of Aerosmith.
“Did you—” Jase held up the picture of his dad. “Did you know him?”
“’Course I knew him,” Saul said. “He means a heck of a lot more to me than any celebrity.”
“Me too,” Jase said. “He’s my dad. Our dad.”
Saul swayed on his feet. “No freaking way.” He sized Jase up for a resemblance. “What’s your name, son?”
“Jase. Jason Young Junior.”
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
“And this is my brother.”
Graham appeared between Saul and Jase, fuming.
“Phone,” Graham said. “Now.”
“Hold on a second, son,” Saul said.
Jase held the picture out for his brother. “Look at this.”
Graham pushed Jase’s hand away and lifted his chin at Saul. “We are calling the cops and an ambulance.”
“Let’s not get all worked up over a couple of bullets,” Saul said.
“A couple of bullets? That wasn’t just a couple of bullets.”
“Saul?” Lindsey asked.
His face had gone as white as his moustache and his eyes glazed over a second before he tipped forward into Graham’s arms.
“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Graham said under the tall man’s weight. “Little help?”
Jase helped Graham lower Saul to the floor. He blinked at the brothers as if he didn’t know who they were or what he was doing on his back.
“You’ll never take me alive,” he mumbled.
Lindsey knelt by his bloody arm and untied the soaked rag. Saul’s glassy eyes turned feral, and he tried pushing himself up.
“It’s okay,” she told him. “I’m just going to check you out.”
Saul shook his head a few times and seemed to remember what happened.
“It’s through,” he said.
“What?” Lindsey asked.
“It’s a through and through,” he corrected.
She lifted his arm and checked the back. “It’s not, Saul. The bullet is still in there.”
Her dad had made sure his kids knew how to step up in a crisis beyond basic first aid. She could administer CPR and apply a decent tourniquet, but removing bullets or other objects from the human body hadn’t quite made it into her father’s tutorials.
Saul blinked a few times and managed to sit up, leaning on his bent knees.
“Okay, I need a belt and a knife and a can of soda,” Lindsey directed. When no one moved to procure them, she said, “Graham, belt. Jase, soda. Saul, do you have a pocket knife?”
“What are you, MacGyver?” Graham asked. “Why do you need my belt?”
“To keep him from bleeding out.”
“It’s okay, honey, I’m not dying,” Saul insisted.
Lindsey motioned to the soda machine on the wall behind them.
“Jase, soda,” she ordered again.
“Yeah, okay,” he said.
“It opens at the side,” Saul told him.
Jase stood, yanked the machine open, and popped the top on a fresh can. He handed it to Lindsey and she put it to Saul’s lips.
“Drink this,” Lindsey said. She took the belt Graham begrudgingly offered. “Now sit behind him in case he falls.”
“I’m fine,” Saul argued. Graham sat behind him anyway.
“You’re not fine,” Lindsey said. “You need medical attention.”
“You a doctor?” Saul asked.
“My dad and brother are.”
Jase pulled a folding knife from his own pocket. “Are you removing the bullet?”
“What? God no,” Lindsey said. “I need you to make a hole in Graham’s belt. We’re going to fit it around Saul’s arm and it needs to be tight.”
“I’ve got a sewing kit in back, if you’re any good with a needle to patch me up,” Saul said.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Lindsey said. “You’re getting a tourniquet to hopefully save your arm and your life.”
“Flesh wound,” Saul muttered, his eyes closing and his weight falling back against Graham.
Jase worked a small hole into Graham’s belt and Lindsey fastened it above the wound. Saul’s eyes burst open with her final tug to tighten it.
“Son of a biscuit,” he exclaimed. “Your bedside manner needs work, young lady.”
“I told you I’m not a doctor.”
“What about you?” Saul dragged his eyes up to Jase. “I bet you’ve sewn up a few bullet holes.”
“I haven’t, actually,” Jase said. “And I’d be pretty lousy at getting one out.”
“We need a phone, Saul,” Lindsey said. “We need to get you help.”
“Aw, heck.” He dropped his head. “I can’t do cops, but I know someone who can help.”