12:09 a.m.

Gauze.

It was what I saw and what I was covered in. I knew I was in a hospital room and that I had been anesthetized. The walls were white, the bedding was white. I was in and out of a white-hazed consciousness. The gauze was just porous enough to let me glimpse the world. All my immediate memories were hazy white.

I recalled Bill Parker lifting me; the ambulance men wrapped me in white blankets and wore white coats. Parker told them to take me to Good Samaritan. A needle went in my arm. I came to on a white bed, dressed in gauze and floating in white.

My nose is broken—I heard a doctor say that. I know I’m wearing some sort of splint, like the ones Lee and Scotty wore after their fight. There’s a tube in my arm, feeding me fortified water. The metallic taste in my mouth reminds me of the taste of Dot Rothstein’s blood.

I fought as the Feds wrestled me out of the cell; it was the last thing I remember before the world turned white. The padded cell was white, my straitjacket was white. I spat blood in Ed Satterlee’s face—I recall that.

I have a mild concussion; I heard a nurse say that. I’ll be all right; I heard two doctors conferring. I’m not in the jail ward; I heard Bill Parker demand a private east-wing room. I’m a block away from the Pacific Dining Car and the world’s best steak sandwich. I can taste it through the blood taste in my mouth.

I intended to kill her. I made up my mind the moment she touched me. The decision did not shock me then; the decision does not shock me now. I was poised to kill her when the Feds stormed my cell.

She’s going to survive. I heard two nurses talking. She’s in surgery at Queen of Angels. A doctor is grafting her severed nose back onto her face.

Everything is white. All sensation is altered. Numbness subsumes pain, the floaty haze engulfs discomfort. Gauze is porous. Gauze allows me to pretend to sleep while I peek at the men who’ve come by to see me.

Lee came by, in his uniform. Scotty came by, in his brown wool suit and tartan bow tie. They came by separately; they sat on opposite sides of the bed and held my hands while they spoke to each other. They cracked jokes about their own broken noses. Scotty cried and wiped his face with my hazy white sheet. Lee said, “Holy shit, Bennett. She fucked up the Dotstress.”

Bill Parker frosted out a mayhem beef—Lee told Scotty that. Parker called Gene Biscailuz and talked turkey. Dot’s antics had been out of line for years now. Sheriff Gene kowtowed—no charges on Miss Lake.

Scotty said, “I wish I could have seen it.” Lee said, “Yeah. It had to be a better dustup than you and me.”

I started drifting off then. I recall talk of the Dining Car and “belt a few highballs.”

Gauze and white haze. Familiar scents. Brenda and Elmer came by. I smelled Brenda’s perfume and Elmer’s cigar.

Gauze and white haze. A nurse says, “Telephone, Captain.” William H. Parker says, “Thank you.”

Gauze and haze. Then, “It’s after midnight, Sergeant.” A pause and “Yes, I know I proposed the meeting.” Silence and “The rectory? Certainly, if His Eminence requests it.”

Gauze and white haze. Scents. His cigarette smoke and a hint of the rainstorm I willed. The wet wool of his uniform.

Gauze and white haze. He’s sitting beside the bed. Tell me things, William. Tell me who the big redhead is. Tell me what you want from her.

Gauze and white haze. He’s praying. His eyes are shut. His elbows are up on his knees. His fingers are laced and pressed to his forehead.

Gauze and white haze. I’m in, I’m out. Chair scrapes and footsteps, departing. A glimpse through the haze—but he’s gone.

I smelled the prairie. He left it here for me.