A flashlight in the darkness, the glare momentarily blinding. "Hey, hey," Joe said. The other man said something unintelligible. "You okay?" The other man groaned. "What happened? How'd you end up in here?" "The fuckin' cop was a fucking cop. Tried to kill me. I got out, tried to crawl home. He shot me. Then some kids. Shot the shit out of them. I tried to make my way home and they got me. The fuckin' cop shot me, okay?" He lifted the blanket covering his leg. A bandage was attached to his side. "Don't know what he used. Don't fucking know." Joe said, "Where's your car?" "They fuckin' took it. Fucking cocksuckers." Joe took the man's hand in his and squeezed it. "We'll figure something out." Joe released the man's hand. The man grunted and turned to his side. "You need to rest." "You ain't seen my fuckin' hand, right? Right?" "Right." "I got shit for brains. I got fuckin' holes in my fuckin' hand, so it don't make any difference. There ain't no cure for that." Joe didn't know how to respond to that. The man took a handkerchief from his pocket and, pressing it over his mouth, began to speak with his hand pressed against his side. "What's your name?" "Vince." "Hey, Vince, listen to me. I'm going to get you out of here. I want you to listen to me, okay?" "Don't fuckin' know why I listen to you." "I'm going to try and do that." Joe watched the man nod his head. He was unsure of what to do next. He tried to think of what he might try to do for other people. What he had done for those children. That didn't help him find the answer. He wished he knew more about the man. He knew nothing about Vince. Who the man was before he had been shot. Did he have a family? Children? He didn't think Vince had any family to speak of. "I'm going to find you something to eat. We'll get you some food and get you cleaned up." The man looked up. "Got any more of those bullets?" "Yeah, some. I got some in my bag." Joe got up and retrieved the bag from beneath his desk. He looked around the office. His office. He remembered a cupboard. He could pull a chair out and prop the door open with it. "What's your name?" "Joe." "Hey, Joe, that better not be some con." "No, it's not." "No more fuckin' lies, all right?" "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I haven't lied to you." "That's great. What the fuck's your name?" "Joe." "Joe what?" "Joe . . . Joe." "That's it? Joe?" "Joe Joe. Joe Joe Smith." The man lay back down. Joe felt another sharp stab of pain, and tears sprang to his eyes. "I'm Joe Joe." "That better be it, right?" "Yeah." "I'm gonna need you to get me out of here, Joe Joe." "Yeah." "There's a couple of . . ." The man had to stop and rest. "Two what?" "Some fuckin' guns. Can you get me one of them?" "Yeah." "Okay." "You know who did this to you?" "Yeah." "What was it?" "Guy from the fuckin' precinct." "Who was he?" "He wasn't just one guy. He had a whole fuckin' crew. It's all his fuckin' fuckin' fault." Joe tried to think of something to say. "I'll get the guns." "Where'd you say you were?" "Downstairs." "Yeah, sure. 'Course you are." He closed his eyes. Joe got up and went downstairs. He retrieved the two guns, got back into the office and handed the man one. He sat down and handed the man the other gun. The man kept one and handed the other back to Joe. He said, "We better get going." Joe stood. He picked up his bag and took the man's other hand. He pulled on him until the man got up. He helped him across the floor. He took him to the door. "We don't have a fuckin' wheelchair?" Joe said, "I'll bring one back with me. You come back and see me. Bring a few of those guys." "Right." "Joe Joe," the man said. "Yeah?" "You ever need anything." "Yeah." "Got any dough?" Joe shook his head. "No." "Okay." "I'll see you, Joe Joe." "Yeah. Don't fuck up the fuckin' wheelchair." "I'll be careful." "I mean it, Joe Joe. Don't fuck it up. And take care of my fuckin' hand, okay?" "Yeah." " 'Cause if you don't, I'm going to go fuck up your fuckin' dick, you hear?" "You do what you gotta do." "Fuckin' right." Joe pushed the wheelchair out the door. The man got into it and turned to face the doorway. The man said, "Fuck 'em all." Joe closed the door. He turned around. He was in a strange and empty room. On the floor, a small heap of blood. No chair. No desk. He had done this before. He had been in this situation before. People were in danger and he needed to get them out. He got his bag. He locked the door and went downstairs and loaded the guns. He pulled the car around. He sat in the driver's seat, breathing heavily. He turned the key in the ignition. He sat for a while, until he got the keys in the ignition. Then he pulled the car away from the building and drove off. * * * There was a piece of paper taped to his desk. A Post-it note. Someone had attached it to his desk. The name on it was unfamiliar. The only way he could make out what it said was by holding the paper up to the light. He did not read it. His fingers gripped the edges of the piece of paper. He looked out the window. He was sitting in a car that he owned. He had to get out of it and enter another car. There were keys to it on the front desk. It didn't belong to him. He had to drive it to his office. He had to drive to his office. He had to get out of the car. He had to get out of the car. He had to drive to his office. He had to drive to his office. He had to. Joe looked up. On the window, he had written: The most precious cargo. He had forgotten about the note. The most precious cargo. [CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE The Cure](contents.xhtml#ch_69) "So I told my wife. I think she said, 'Fuck you, you bastard,' " Vincent said. "Right?" Joe didn't say anything. Vince turned in his seat. He watched Joe. "Fuck you. Right?" Joe didn't say anything. Vince closed his eyes. He was still hurting. He hoped he wasn't getting a fever. He was sure he was getting a fever. He could feel it. He felt hot, maybe because he was hot inside. "Hey," Vincent said. "Hey. Fuckin' cold bitch, right?" Joe had to say something. "No. I'm pretty sure that's a lie." Joe had never talked to anyone like this. "Oh yeah. Right." Vince opened his eyes. "Fuck you," he said. "Right?" Joe shrugged. "Yeah, fuck you." Joe was silent. "Fuck you. Right?" Vince didn't say anything. Vincent shifted. He was moving his arm to get a better angle. He said, "I mean, fuck you." Joe didn't respond. "Fuckin' bitch, right?" "What?" "You wanna tell the nice man