Irish Eyes Read Online Free PDF Page A

needed to do something, cover him with something, do something besides hold my jacket to the hole in his skull.
    “I was outside in the car. We were here maybe five minutes. I heard the gunshots, and she came running out saying he’d been shot. God. What’s taking so long for that ambulance?”
    “He coulda killed Faheem,” the clerk cried. “I was holding him up, showing him to Bucky, when the dude ran in. But he acted like we wasn’t even here. Didn’t say nothin’. Just put this little bitty gun up beside Bucky’s ear and shot. Bam. Bucky fell down and Faheem, he started screaming. I was screaming too.And the dude leaned over, bam, shot Bucky again. And then he ran out. I hit the panic button like Pete said.”
    Outside, over the din of the other sirens and Faheem’s angry wails, I heard the deep
whoop-whoop
of an approaching ambulance.
    The first paramedic in the door was a woman with frizzy red hair. She pushed a stretcher loaded with what looked like red plastic toolboxes. Right behind her came her partner, a lanky young white kid in his early twenties, yelling into a radio.
    “What’s the deal?” the woman demanded, lifting the tool kit off the stretcher. She snapped rubber gloves onto both hands. The kid did the same.
    “White male, late thirties, two apparent gunshot wounds anterior to left ear,” Durrence said. “We started CPR.”
    “He was talking,” I said eagerly. “Right before the officers got here. I called his name and he looked up at me. He said, ‘What’s up?’”
    “Okay, ma’am, you did good,” the woman said gently. “We’ll take over now.”
    More cops flooded into the room. There must have been a dozen, then twenty. The paramedics worked over Bucky. The kid inserted a breathing tube in his throat, then attached an ambu-bag to it, pumping it rhythmically. Another mask went over Bucky’s face, which had grown still and pale, and tubes connected him to a portable oxygen tank. His snowy white shirt and shamrock tie were covered with blood. His face was streaked with more blood.
    I stood up and walked away, dizzy and nauseous. I huddled in a corner, afraid to watch, unable to look away. Hurry, I whispered. For God’s sake, hurry.
    The clerk leaned over the counter in order to get a better view. “Oh no. Oh man. No. Bucky. Ooh. He gonna die?”
    I walked over and stood in front of her, blocking her view. My legs were shaking. It was so cold in here. I rubbed my hands over my forearms, trying to get my circulation going. “What’s your name?”
    “Deecie,” she whispered. “This is some shit. You know? I ain’t believin’ this shit.”
    “Deecie, I’m Callahan. How do you know Bucky?” I asked.
    “Why you think he come in here? He works here. Security guard. Me and him is tight. Bucky’s my homey.”
    I pointed toward the door. “What was Bucky doing when the shooter came in here?”
    “I already tol’ you. He was standin’ there. He wasn’t doing nothin’.”
    “Where does the outside door lead?”
    “Alley,” she said. “Runs back of the shopping center. And there’s a driveway, goes down to that road behind here. But I don’t be goin’ out there. It’s nasty. Pete, he told me to park my car there, but I told him I ain’t parking in that shit. Be rats and roaches and all kind of scary shit out there. Winos hanging around, wanting money or beer.”
    “After the guy ran out, did you hear a car, anything like that?”
    She shook her head. “I wasn’t studyin’ no car. Faheem was crying and I was crying and I wanted to get out of here, ‘case the dude came back.”
    I heard cases snapping shut behind me. “All right,” the woman said. “Let’s roll. Call the hospital.”
    The kid got on the radio again. “This is unit two-six. We’re en route with a victim, late thirties, possible gunshot wound to the head. Victim is unresponsive. He has a spontaneous heartbeat of one hundred, blood pressure is one hundred over seventy. He’s been intubated