tight to a surprisingly strong Yoshi, I again wondered how Tom could be related to this insensitive man.
Yoshi seemed determined not to let Finn out of his sight. Hostility had filled the space between Tom and his brother and probably brought out the protective instincts of this little dog.
When he passed Bob, Tom said, “Gather whatever crap you brought with you and get out of my house. And don’t you dare land at Mom’s place.”
Bob, still smiling, said, “Look at your face, Tom. Seems like you had a can of whoop ass explode all over you and it’s got you pissed off.”
To his credit, Tom ignored Bob. He knew we had more pressing issues than an uninvited guest.
Tom dropped the backpack inside the door, put both hands on Finn’s shoulders and guided him to the black leather sofa. “Take a load off, kid. You look tired.”
“I got this headache, man.” He sat and pressed his hands against his temples. Yoshi jumped on the couch next to him and began licking at what sure did seem like blood on Finn’s hands.
I knelt in front of Finn, hoping he’d make eye contact. That would sure be a good sign. “Can I check if you’re bleeding somewhere?”
He looked straight at me for the first time, but he was still squinting. “Huh?”
Yoshi’s full attention remained on Finn. Tom sat on the edge of the sofa on Finn’s other side, leaving the dog where he was. “We want to see your hands, okay? You could have a cut somewhere.”
The side of Finn’s right hand was smeared with blood, too, but I couldn’t see a cut or a scrape anywhere.
I looked up at Tom. “We need to get Finn checked out by a doctor. His headache could be—”
“She’s right. The kid doesn’t look so hot,” Bob said. “Hope it doesn’t have anything to do with this.” Bob had opened Finn’s backpack and was pointing at something inside.
Uh-oh, I thought. Drugs? Drugs would explain Finn’s dazed behavior.
Tom said, “What makes you think you can mess with Finn’s stuff?”
“I don’t expect you to tell me what’s going on,” Bob said. “Figured I might find answers by myself. Is your former kid the reason you’re all beat up? The gun tells me maybe so.”
“Gun?” Worry filled Tom’s eyes as he looked at Finn. “You brought a gun with you?”
Finn started to shake his head but grimaced and stopped. “I don’t have a gun, Tom. All I’ve got is a headache.”
I stood. Finn was traveling alone, probably hitchhiking. Maybe he’d thought he needed a weapon. But now he couldn’t even recall bringing one with him.
I said, “Finn needs help. Maybe Marcy is off duty.” Marcy was a paramedic friend of ours. “She could check him out if you’re worried about taking him somewhere too… public.”
“Bet every paramedic in town is at the car wreck that just sent the cops racing out of here,” Bob said. “By the way, do I have you to thank for a visit from Mercy’s finest, Jillian?”
“Shut the hell up, Bob,” Tom said evenly. He seemed to be trying hard to be patient, but wasn’t succeeding. “This is none of your business.” He looked down at Finn. “You might need more than a paramedic.”
Tom walked over to where Bob was and, with his index finger looped through the trigger guard, he lifted a small gun from the backpack.
“Before we do anything else, I’ll lock this up.” He hurried past us through the small living room. I knew he kept a gun safe in his office.
Meanwhile, Finn was examining his hands, turning them over and back as if fascinated.
His behavior sure bothered me.
When Tom came back, I said, “He definitely needs to see a doctor.”
Tom nodded. “I’ll take him to the emergency room, say he’s a runaway. Maybe then I won’t have to give anyone his name.” He craned his neck so he could look at Finn’s face. “Can you forget your name for a while, son?”
Finn didn’t respond for several seconds. “There seems to be a few things I can’t remember. Guess I could lose my