By then Foley had staggered to his feet and was ready to fight the son of a bitch who’d knocked him on his buns. He was belligerent, lashing out, fending off the paramedic who was offering first aid. With the blood oozing out of his nose and welling across his upper lip, he looked like a vampire interrupted in the course of a gory feast. The waitress brought him a plastic bag packed with ice and wrapped in a kitchen towel. Grimacing, she passed it to him and returned to the restaurant as quickly as possible. While his upper bridge had gone flying, his lower teeth had been forced through his lip. He held the ice pack to his mouth, the towel turning a saturated red. He declined medical attention, so the paramedics had no choice but to climb back in the ambulance and drive away. Foley slumped onto the wooden steps and leaned his head against the rail, talking to himself. Daisy bent over him. “Dad, listen to me. Would you listen? You need to see a doctor.”
