A continuation of Devil In Mexico, but the two can be read separately. With a gun shot to the knee, and a stab wound in the back, Jim and Sebastian are a little worse for wear.

Dead End Friends - Them Crooked Vultures

I know who you are,
Open the door and climb in.
Hold me real close, then do it again,
I ache for the touch of my dead end friends

You don't know yourself until you've pulled a knife out of your own back. You don't know how close your relationship is going to be with someone until you've performed dodgy home surgery on them with a knitting needle, pliers, and a bottle of whiskey. I learned a hell of a lot that night.

Never in a million years did I think that I would be in someone else's bathroom, trying to extract a bullet from the patella of a person passed out in a bathtub. I don't know what part he passed out at, but I suspect it may have been the bit where my hand slipped and the needle hit one of the ligaments. It would be a hell of a lot easier to go to hospital, for both of us, but it's not exactly an option when you're on the wrong side of the law.

I know I didn't have to stick around. I could have left the fucker there to die from sepsis or something, but I was just intrigued enough to stick around. The guy clearly had balls of steel to pull a trick on me like he did, knowing fully well he was going to get shot. I figured that if he had the brains to go with the balls, he could really make his mark on the world. From the apartment we were in, he had clearly made a name for himself in some way.

I called for the young kid that was hovering outside the door. All I know was that he was Moriarty's driver. He looked maybe 20 at the most. When he saw the amount of blood coming from us, he followed us up, "just in case", he reckons. He'd been there with me until the pliers came out, at which point he ditched the bucket of rags and water he was holding, and took to pacing the hallway outside instead, muttering to himself. If I didn't know what kind of men work these jobs, I would almost mistake it for concern. Completely useless for me, but it's the thought that counts. The kid came in when I called. I nodded at the bloody rags all over the floor. With a terrified expression, he took them to the basin to wash them.

"Squeamish?" I looked over my shoulder at him.

"N-no sir. Not usually."

"Then what's wrong with you, kid? I could use a bit more help over here."

"It's just…" The kid was wringing his hands. He practically had tears in his eyes. "The boss doesn't like blood in the house."

"You're fucking kidding, right? It's his blood!"

"Well, yeah. But he didn't put it there. You did."

"I'll deal with that when he's awake. Get over here and help me. I'm not sober enough to be doing this." I passed him the tools. He took a deep but shaky breath. He was legitimately terrified.

I dragged myself away from the side of the bathtub, and took a survey of the situation. I was up to my elbows in dried blood – who it belonged to, I have no idea- with more smeared down my face and neck from where I must have touched myself. There was also the slight problem of the wound on my lower back. My own bleeding had slowed, with my shirt drying up against it. I peeled the fabric away, and reached for the bottle of whiskey before deciding against it. I was already too far gone for this situation, I wasn't about to make it worse. So I grit my teeth, and make an attempt at gauze packing on my own wound. It was hard to tell how successful I was, with it being on my fucking back, but it would do for the night. I wrapped an elastic bandage around my waist, hoping it would do. I could feel my eyelids drooping. The room was spinning one way, and my brain was spinning the other. I put my head against the side of the bathtub, trying to focus.

"Sorry, kiddo. I don't think I'll be sticking this one out."

I put no thought into whether or not I would wake up the next morning. I didn't consider the maelstrom of rage that could erupt from Moriarty when he woke up. The only thought that kept repeating in my fading mind was "Is this where my life is going?"

I can tell
By that look in your eyes,
We're the same,
My dead end friends and I