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By the third day he hurts bad but he’s back in the world.

He understands he’s at Regional Hospital in Great Bend, and he’s going to be here at least a week, maybe ten days.

The bullet perforated his stomach.

He’s been repaired and sewed up, but Broder, the doctor in charge of his case, says if he tries to walk, even to the bathroom, he’s apt to open it up again.

“Be grateful it wasn’t a soft-nosed slug and a bigger caliber.

That would have done a lot of damage.

You’ll be on soft food for awhile.

I hope you like scrambled eggs and yogurt.”

Being in bed means the bedpan, but the indignity of that is mitigated by the fact that he’s been spared the catheter and colostomy bag.

He learns that Margie was allowed to see him early on because she claimed to be his wife, which wasn’t true.

Edgar Ball was allowed to see him because he claimed to be his lawyer, which was.

Ella Davis was also allowed in, because she was a KBI officer and because she said she had good news to share—very good.

And Jesse? That might have been a drug-induced hallucination, but Danny doesn’t believe it.

He thinks Jesse slipped in somehow, and took his hand.

At some point he’ll have to ask him.

Stevie doesn’t know, and that’s good.

It would upset him.

Danny will have to tell him at some point, but that’s for later.

Late in the afternoon of his fourth day at the hospital, he’s allowed to sit by the window in his room—two steps, supported by a pair of orderlies.

While he’s enjoying the feel of the sun on his face, Edgar Ball comes to see him again.

He sits on the bed and asks Danny how he feels.

“Not bad.

The dope is primo.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“That will strain my powers of condensation.

They’re only giving me twenty minutes.

Then they have to put you back to bed and irrigate you.” Ball grimaces.

“I don’t even want to know what that entails.”

“Davis told me they caught the guy who killed Yvonne Wicker, but I passed out before she could give me any details.

Start there.”

“His name is Andrew Iverson, no fixed address.

An itinerant Mr.

Fixit.

He was heading west, driving a little blue panel truck with ANDY I., PLUMBING AND HEATING on the side.

It showed up on video both in Arkansas City where Wicker last stayed and at the Gas-n-Go where she was last spotted.

He’s also on video in Great Bend, Manitou, and Cawker City.”

“Cawker’s close to Dart County, isn’t it?”

“Yes.

Wicker was probably dead in the back of his truck when he drove through there.

He was looking for a lonely spot to bury her.”

“And found one.”

“Iverson’s picture should be in the encyclopedia next to the entry for serial killers.

He drives, stops for awhile, does some business—cash only, he told the cops, because, he says, cash don’t tell.”

“You got this from Davis?”

“Yes.

We had a long talk.

She feels terrible about this whole business.”

She’s not the only one, Danny thinks.

“Iverson killed a girl in Illinois and another in Missouri.

Buried them in rural locations.

The cops have found one, they’re still looking for the other.

He picked up a fourth girl hitchhiking in Wyoming, outside a little town called Glenrock.

He pulled over on some country road and tried to rape her.

She had a knife in her boot.

While he was getting his pants down, she stabbed him four times.”

“Good for her,” Danny says.

He thinks of the dog that was chewing on Yvonne Wicker’s arm.

“Goddam good for her.”

“Davis says this was one tough chick.

She tumbled him out of the van, drove toward Casper until she had a cell signal, and called the police.

He wasn’t where the girl said he was, but they followed a blood trail to a nearby barn.

He was in a horse stall, passed out from blood loss.

Davis says he’s going to recover.”

“He confessed? She told me he confessed.

Unless I dreamed that part.”

“You didn’t.

Wounds hurt, as I think you know.

You got shot once.

Iverson got stabbed four times, once in the cheek, once in the shoulder, once in the side, and once in the leg.

He wanted painkillers.

The cops wanted information.

They both got what they wanted.”

“Davis told you all that?”

“She did, and asked me to tell you.

I think she’s afraid to face you again.”

“I get that, but I guess in the end she did her job.”

“She stood up to Jalbert, if that’s what you mean, but that’s a story for another day.

My twenty minutes are almost up.

Do you remember the charm bracelet the Wicker girl was wearing?”

Danny remembers.

He saw it twice, once in his dream and once in real life.

“Iverson had two of the charms in his kill-sack.

As trophies.

There was more stuff in there.

From the other two.”

“Where’s the kid that shot me?”

“Albert Wicker is in a Manitou motel with his folks.

He made bail.

Or rather, his parents did.

I know the lawyer who represented him at his arraignment.

He says the Wickers mortgaged their house to come up with the money.”

Danny thinks about that.

Daughter dead, son facing attempted murder charges, parents probably facing bankruptcy.

And I’m in the hospital with a hole in my stomach, Danny thinks.

The wandering plumber did a lot of damage, and that’s just the spreading circle of pain around the young woman Jalbert insisted on calling “poor Miss Yvonne.” Danny wishes the girl who got away, the fabled Last Girl, had stabbed Iverson in the balls for good measure.

“I don’t want to press charges,” Danny says.

Edgar Ball smiles.

“Am I surprised? I am not.

But it’s not entirely up to you.

Wicker will do some time, but considering the mitigating circumstances, it may not be much.”

A nurse pokes her head in the door.

“Sir, you need to let my good pal Danny rest.

Plus, he needs some services you won’t want to be around for.”

“Irrigation,” Danny says glumly.

“This doesn’t happen when someone gets shot on TV.”

“Five more minutes,” Ball says. “Please.”

“You can have three,” the nurse says, and leaves.

“I had a meeting with Don Tishman, who was technically in charge of the KBI investigation.

I laid out the facts of the matter concerning Jalbert, but felt it would be smart to withhold the name of the trooper who stopped you and looked for drugs.”

“For a smalltown lawyer who specializes in real estate contracts, you’ve been pretty busy.”

Danny means it lightly, almost as a joke, but Ball flushes and looks down at his hands.

“I should have tackled that kid.

I could have, he was totally focused on you.

Instead I went facedown in the dirt.”

Danny repeats that it’s not like TV.

Ball raises his head.

“Understood, but I don’t have to like it.

No man wants to think he’s a coward, especially one that rides a badass bike.”

“I wouldn’t call a Honda Gold Wing badass, Edgar.

A Harley Softail, that’s badass.”

“Be that as it may, we’ve reached an accommodation.

I think.

A few details still to be worked out, but… yes, it looks good.

In exchange for keeping quiet about Jalbert—who has indeed put in his retirement papers—you’re going to have your medical bills paid by the Sunflower State, and with a certain sum left over.

Not huge, but tidy.

Five figures.

It will get you relocated in Colorado, if you still decide to go.”

The nurse doesn’t just poke her head in this time.

She points at Ball.

“Not asking. Telling.”

“Going,” Ball says, and gets up.

“You could have your job back, you know.

Once you’re well enough to do it.”

“Good to know,” Danny says.

He has no intention of staying.

Someone threw a brick at his trailer.

Someone put shit in his mailbox.

Bill Dumfries basically told him, on behalf of the good people of Oak Grove, to get out of Dodge.

What weighs against those things is Darla Jean sitting in the dirt next to her dollhouse with tears rolling down her cheeks.

But he doesn’t think it weighs enough to tip the scales.

He has a brother in Colorado, and if getting shot does nothing else, it gives you insight into how short the time is you have to spend with your loved ones.

“All because of one dream,” he says bitterly.

“It didn’t even help catch the guy.”

“But think of the adventure you had.”

Danny shows him a middle finger.

“On that note,” Ball says, and takes his leave.