“Normally, I’d be happy to see an injured fighter up and about again. But I couldn’t remember a time when I wanted to be in the same house as a homicidal maniac who bore me a grudge. I spun around, expecting to find a gun staring me in the face, but Bob — the only name I had — was gone. I rushed downstairs, missing most of the steps, and on the way my hand collected a fat slug of blood from the bannister. At the bottom, I hardly paused to look around, but headed straight to the front door, which... was still open. As I stepped out onto the front porch, who should I meet but Bob, lying there, wondering if it had all been worth it, a feeling I’d had many times myself. I stared at him, fascinated, and could see that he was down for the count, so he was hardly likely to spring to his feet and start throttling me, no matter how willing the spirit. When he became aware of my presence he opened his eyes extra wide and gave me one of those looks your Aunty Maisie from Wangaratta gives you when she hasn’t seen you for the last two years.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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