Jake eyed him. “So how do you feel?” “Like mierda,” spoke his partner. Gomez’ clothes were ragged, smudged with dirt and soot. There were several plaskin bandages on his battered face, and his moustache was singed. “That’s a good sign.” Gomez looked up at the low ceiling of the parked medvan. “That was some explosion, amigo. It hit me like … Chihuahua!” He sat up on the exam table, just now remembering something. “Jill was in that goddamned hotel. Have they found her, Jake?” “I don’t think she was still there, Sid.” “Have they got the robot dogs sniffing the ruins yet?” “Just starting.” The two detectives were alone in this recovery compartment. The van was sitting near the small park, and police skyvans and emergency rescue vehicles were still arriving outside. Reaching over, Gomez caught hold of his partner’s arm. “Help me dismount from my slab, amigo” he requested. “I’m feeling a mite woozy.” “You’re supposed to recline for a while.”
