He closed his eyes slowly and waited for the nausea to pass. “You can barely stand,” Joey told him. “You're not gonna to be any help unless you’re planning to apprehend Lou Taranto by throwing up on him.” Her tone didn't hide the concern in her voice. “Nausea’s normal with concussion. It'll pass.” Carl straightened, reached for the closet door and saw his clothes inside. He stretched his arm for the hanger, then paused when his balance deserted him. Joey reached past him, retrieved his clothes and tossed them on the stiff white sheets on his hospital bed. “'Multiple concussions' was the term I heard them use. Besides, didn’t your boss just say they were doing everything that could be done?” “Yeah, but my boss is in worse shape than I am.” Harry had narrowly survived an attempt on his life. Someone had taken a shot at him, probably had mistaken him for Nick, since he'd been driving Nick’s car. The bullet grazed his head, and sent him careening off the road and down an embankment.
