A few minutes later, I felt his hand on my arm. He hauled me up out of the mud. He set me on my feet. I swayed there, blinking out through swollen eyes.
"Nice going, kid," Weiss said. "You held them. Nice going."
I nodded stupidly. I swiped a handful of blood and snot off my upper lip. Threw it down onto Damnation Street.
Weiss snorted. "You all right? Can you breathe?"
I tried it. I clutched my ribs. They hurt when I inhaled.
"Yeah," I gasped.
"You're all right," said Weiss.
I grunted. I massaged my jaw. It hurt when I tried to talk.
"You gonna be all right to drive?" he asked me.
I nodded again, wincing. I rubbed the back of my head. It hurt when I did nothing.
"All right," said Weiss. "Well, listen, drive the hell out of here. Don't stay in town. Head west, for Reno. Keep to the interstate. You gotta puke or pass out or something, pull over. First motel you see, go in and wash yourself up. Sleep it off. Go home."
I clutched my ribs and then my face and then my ribs again. I began to shuffle slowly toward my car.
Weiss took my arm, held me up, helped me along. "Don't worry," he said. "It'll feel much worse in the morning."
I laughed-then cried out in pain.
He opened the Hyundai's door. He lowered me into the seat behind the wheel. I sat there, staring. After a while I turned on the ignition. Then I sat there, staring some more.
Finally, when I could, I turned. I looked up at Weiss. He looked in at me through the window.
"All right?" he said. "Yeah," I said.
"Nice going, kid," he said again. "Get out of here."
I put the car in gear and drove away, heading for the interstate.
Weiss went on alone.