I’ve only seen a bloodbath on that scale once before.
On the yacht.
Connor parks in the spot.
I stare at him, trying to see if he’ll acknowledge the significance of us parking here, but he steps out and goes around the car to get my door. I see him wince. I’m sure his hands hurt from hitting that man’s head.
An ambulance pulls into the ER. Connor’s watching the situation as I watch him. Strong, swollen jaw, prominent Adam’s apple, perfectly straight bloody nose.
He looks down at me.
I’m staring.
“What?” he asks.
“You shouldn’t park here.”
“Why not?”
“This is where you parked when you almost died.”
“Where I parked has nothing to do with dying.”
“That’s not true. If you had parked elsewhere, the timing would’ve been different. The car that rammed the salon would’ve missed you guys.”
“They’d have shot at us when we left.”
“Still, it’s bad luck.”
“I’ll explain. The statistical likelihood of my near-death experience happening in the same place is unlikely. There’s no such thing as bad luck.”
“Sure there is.”
“That’s just poetry. It’s best if I don’t go inside.”
“Wait, what?”
He points at the ER. “In there.”
I step out and tug his elbow. “Come on. Don’t be scared. It’s just a hospital.”
Connor smirks. “I’m not afraid.”
“You sure?” I start to cross the street.
He jogs until he catches up. “I’m sure.”
“Maybe you’re afraid of bad luck after all, and you won’t admit it.”
“If I were afraid of bad luck, I’d have shot you already.”
On the sidewalk, I stop dead in my tracks. “What?”
“What?” he parrots.
“Why would you say something like that?”
“Because it’s true. If I were afraid of bad luck, I’d have shot you already.” He points at the parking lot. “I remember you were still pregnant and waiting to cross the street. I stopped for you, then waited until you left in a rented gray Joxil with the license plate SL245990. Dina told me not to be nasty when I called youMamma. You started the chain of events that led to me ending up under the rubble, and then you sedated me, which you didn’t know doesn’t work on me, so you could put a muzzle over my face. Would you say I have bad luck or is any of what happened to me partly your doing, the chief of police’s doing, or my doing? Are we all going to walk around pretending we have no control over ourselves and it’s all bad and good luck?”