"Here, take this." Sophia passes Books a bottle of water and some painkillers. "And ignore him." She gestures over to Lloyd. "I should have left him behind when I had the chance."
"Real teamy of you lady—real teamy," Lloyd says.
Books knocks back a handful of pills. He runs his fingers over his face, feeling his stitches and cuts.
"Don't ask for a mirror," Sophia says.
"Yeah, your face is really fucked—like it's been shredded with one of those cheese graters," Lloyd tells him.
"Don't worry, Books, she's fixed you up real good. The lady's got miracle hands," Cutter says.
Books looks over at Sophia. "Thanks."
"It was nothing—I'm a vet," Sophia tells him. "It's what I do, mend dumb animals all day long."
"Dumb animals?" Cutter laughs. "Shit, Books, you'd better check you still got your balls attached—she might have neutered you."
"Cutter!" Sophia says.
"Yeah, what?"
"Please!"
Books glances down at his groin.
Sophia rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Rest easy, Books, you've got nothing to worry about."
Cutter laughs again. Books grins.
Sophia blushes. "Er—that kinda came out wrong."
Books and Sophia stare at each other for a few seconds. Sophia breaks his gaze.
"You coping okay?" Books probes.
"She fights like a fucking banshee," Cutter tells him.
"Really?"
"You're damn right. You should have seen her Books. That little Asian motherfucker never stood a chance."
"They were people, Cutter! We did what we had to do," Sophia chastises him. "It isn't something to be proud of, so let's move on."
"Yeah, Cutter, leave the poor little alpha female alone. You're embarrassing her in front of Books," Lloyd mocks.
"Next time I'm not counting to three, Lloyd."
"Bad joke, lady."
"So—how are you doing?" Books asks Sophia again.
"I'm here. I'm alive—that's as good as it gets for now until we know what's going on."
"Why don't you just ask your patient over there—maybe that bang on the head will refresh his memory." Lloyd glares at Books.
Books shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, that's so."
"Say, what's that smell around here?" Lloyd sniffs the air, "Oh, I know—it's bullshit!"
"The man's right, Books," Cutter says. "You don't learn shooting like that at Coney Island."
"Hey, Mack the Knife. Pot, kettle, black. On your marks—go?" Sophia scoffs.
Cutter unsheathes his combat knife. He spins it upwards. The blade's tip lands on the end of his index finger. He skillfully balances the upright steel shank. "You know what they say, guns for fun, steel for real."
"I've never heard that saying before," Lloyd says.
"I know, 'cause I just made it up, you fool."
