Air was still freezing outside, but the heat of another body slumped against mine made me forget about that as I hurried along the sidewalk, with my 'partner' doing her best to keep up. I don't even look at her even as I half-growled, "No chance. Too far. It'd be over for her before we get there."
We went pass through several more broken down homes, as our heels clucked against cracked pavements that held this vermin-infested city together like familiar lovers. Young druggie weighed twice her mass at this point as she lost consciousness.
My mind raced for possible routes ahead. Closest hospital six more blocks. Vet clinic further more. Never amazes me anymore how out of reach the necessities of civilization seem to look from this side of town. No wonder people act like savages in the wild. Dwindling resources, with no semblance of law, and the only justice served was found at the sharp point of a blade or the barrel of a gun.
Hooligans and whores watched us with amused disdain while we carried the drugged up-teen, and none rushed to help, more content to observe like bystanders. I turned to Sally's kid and told her, "Better be fine getting hands dirty. If you wanna save little Laurel here."
My words wouldn't be a revelation to her until we crossed through a small bridge leading to the commerce part of town. I remember the place we're going to quite well, but I wasted no time explaining and simply got us there.
The dress shop had a backdoor no one ever uses save the owner. There's a latch there that was easy enough to get through, without raising any alarms. I tried to be gentle when I put down the bleeding girl so my partner' could hold her for a moment while I tinker around with the latch and lock.
Took me less than fifteen seconds. Not my best record, but it has been five years since I worked here for minimum wages in cursed Harlem.
I barged in and searched through the cabinets where I remember he kept the first aid. Old boss was a neat freak and all-around germaphobe who stacked medical supplies for any emergency you can think of. It's how I found enough gauze and tape and some assortment of ointments and creams.
No disinfectant though. What bad timing.
"Lay her down that table," I pointed at a work station that was occupied with a few folded garments. "Make sure to keep the bleeding to a minimal."
I tossed her the gauze and thicker fabrics that she could use. I don't trust her just yet, but no one else was here, and I could only hope Sally's training included medical emergencies.
When I came around I had an unopened bottle of vodka, five rolls of thread, and three 120/20 universal needles used mainly in sewing machines. I wasted no time dipping them in alcohol.
I don't say a word as I inspect the wound. Not deep enough to hit any major artery but the stitching would need to be done twice, even thrice to be safe. I've sutured stab wounds before, mostly mine and for a few nameless thugs in the past I deemed were worth patching up. Those were the days.
"Have her drink this," I gave the little miss the vodka bottle, "Small sips, every time she comes around. Keep her from waking up neighbors."
I'd have given the pup some heroin for the pain that will come, but that's what got her in this mess to begin with.
"Pour some of the thing on the wound first."
As I waited for her to follow my instruction, I replaced my normal gloves with surgical ones and then went to work.
