Consolation

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They were worried that the lady in the basement had seen the blood.

They had parked the car behind Jocko’s building, and then had come in through the back door, into the basement, carrying Jocko between them. There was a lady there, near the washing machines, but she was busy putting in detergent and they went right by her, hoping she’d think it was some guys bringing home a drunken buddy. She hardly looked at them as they went past her to the elevator. But now they were worrying she had maybe seen the blood.

Jocko was still bleeding.

The blood had slowed to a steady seep, but it was still coming from under the sleeve of his poplin windbreaker and dropping onto the floor of the elevator. There was no one in the elevator with them; they were grateful for that. They had driven past the front stoop of the building first, and had almost lost heart when they saw all those people sitting there on the steps talking; this was ten o’clock on a hot night in August, and nobody was eager to go upstairs to apartments like furnaces. It was Teddy who got the idea to drive around to the big, open parking lot behind the building, then go in the door to the basement. The sleeve of Jocko’s jacket was covered with blood, and his pants were covered with blood, and there was almost as much blood on Teddy and Colley from carrying him.

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