"Chief Pope?" said a woman with an unfamiliar voice.
He said "Yes," but what came out was some sort of incoherent animal sound.
"Lie still, sir. Do you remember what happened?"
With infinite effort, he got out a recognizable "Uh-uh."
"You've been shot, sir."
His "Uh-uh!" was more forcible this time. He had been wearing a vest. A head shot would have killed him outright, and none of his extremities hurt as much as a bullet wound should.
A hand patted his.
"Easy, Will. Will, It's Fritz Howard. I was at dinner with Brenda when we got the call, and she asked me to ride in with you. Don't panic. Your eyes are swollen shut and you lost a couple of teeth, but they think you'll live."
"Of course he will," said the woman. Paramedic? Of course she was. He was barreling down the road in an ambulance with its siren screaming. In an ambulance, blind, with Brenda's husband. Maybe if he asked nicely the paramedic lady would let him die after all.
Or maybe not. Will still wanted to know what had happened.
"Wahg?" It was supposed to be "What?" but that was the best Will could do. Howard apparently understood, though.
"You took a fairly large rifle round to the back. The vest stopped it-must have come from some distance-but it knocked you down, and you took the door to the Crime Scene Unit to the face."
"Onh." Will was getting better at this. That "oh" had been almost understandable. "Geck... kesh...?"
"Did they catch the shooter? Not yet, but Brenda and her guys are there. She's stalking around the crime scene in a pink chiffon cocktail dress with your blood all over it."
"Besh?" The word might not be understandable, but his tone of alarm conveyed his meaning.
"Vests, yeah, they're all wearing their vests. They're being really careful. They're gonna catch this guy."
"We're coming into the hospital, Agent Howard," the woman said. "Can I ask you to make room for us to unload?"
"Right. I'll see you in a minute, Will."
Something squeezed his fingers, then moved away, and Will realized that he had spent the last few minutes holding Fritz Howard's hand.
Dying was looking like a more acceptable alternative all the time.