Scott pointed
up the road. “Do you live alone?”
The guy
gasped again, tried to speak, whined even more intensely, and finally shook his
head no.
“Don’t
move, pal.” Scott patted the big guy’s shoulder. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
He sprinted
to the driveway that the Hummer had roared down, charged up to the house, and
pounded on the front door. “Hello, hello! Anybody home?”
“Go away
or I’ll call the police,” a frightened female voice yelled from the other side
of the door.
“Your
husband’s had a heart attack. He’s lying in the middle of the street.”
“I don’t
have a husband, I have a gun.”
“Hey,
lady, he came down your driveway.”
“Go away!
I’m calling the police.”
“Big guy!
Drives a Hummer?”
After a
short pause the woman said, “Les? Oh my God.” She opened the door. “He’s my
brother.”
“I’ve
called 911. Do you have a blanket?”
The
woman’s hands trembled. “What’s he doing out in the street? He was just . . . I
thought he was working in the garage.”
“That
blanket? We should keep him warm until the paramedics get here.”
“It’s
August!”
“Oh, right,
we’ll use it as a pillow, to keep him comfortable.”
She stared
at Scott in confusion. “But, how did this happen?”
“He got
excited about a spider on his sleeve.”
“What?”
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