Jett gripped my arm again, hard.
Hondo’s hands slapped onto the top and his feet hit the wall at the same time. He stuck there like a spider. He pulled with his arms, gave a quick bounce-push with his feet and was on the roof in one smooth move.
“Ringling Brothers is looking for another act,” I called to him.
He worked the ladder over the edge and down to the alley, positioning the base about six feet from our wall, then he grabbed the rungs and pushed off, riding the ladder across the alley to our wall.
“Piece of cake,” Hondo said.
“Oh sure,” I said. He went down first and we followed, then we went to check on Magilla.
He was up on his feet, and staggering a little. A cut on his head leaked blood down the side of his face.
Jett said, “Bend down here,” as she tore off a piece of Hondo’s shirt.
“Hey,” Hondo said, then Jett gave him a look and he grinned. “Take all you want.”
Magilla bent down to her. She couldn’t see his face, but I was standing apart from her and Hondo.
Magilla’s eyes closed at her touch and hidden feelings he carried inside showed on his face. He made no move, and made sure his face was turned from them. But it was there, for no one to see but me, and with no way for him to hold it inside. The iron lock on the giant’s heart broke with a touch.
I moved beside Hondo and Jett to give him privacy. Jett finished and said, “It’ll hold until I can get some first aid things.” Then she hugged his massive neck.
When she let go Magilla kept his face hidden a moment, then stood up. He wouldn’t look at Jett, but I saw a wetness in his eyes.
His voice rumbled like thunder, “My Hummer’s four blocks south, in the warehouse district. I’ll get you out of here.”
We walked away one-two-one, with Magilla in the lead, then Hondo and Jett, and I brought up the rear. We made two steps before Jett stepped to Magilla’s back where the bloodstain showed and she said, “Stop.”
Magilla tried to turn but she said, “Stay still.” She lifted his shirt and looked at the dark, wet bullet hole above his hip. It leaked a watery mixture of blood and fluid that trailed down to his waistband where a grapefruit-sized wetness showed on the pants.
She said to Hondo, “Would you tear some more of your shirt for me?”
Magilla tried to turn as he said, “I’m all right.”
Jett pushed on his big shoulder the way a zoo handler pushes an elephant and said, “Stay still.”
I didn’t know a seven-foot tall behemoth could look meek, but he did. Hondo took off what was left of his shirt and gave it and his knife to Jett. Jett made short work of the shirt and handed the knife back to Hondo, who put it in his pocket.
I looked at my friend. Hondo’s torso was so defined it looked carved from ice. He saw me looking and said, “What?”
“Very Rambo,” I said.
One corner of Hondo’s mouth lifted, “Rambo wished he looked this good.”
“And that tall.”
“You know it.”
Jett finished and Magilla said in a soft voice, “Thank you.”
She laid her hand on his back and said, “Hey, I have to take care of my newest hero.”
Magilla’s ears turned red. “Let’s keep moving,” he said.
I wasn’t going to argue so I stayed in step and swiveled my head left, right and behind us, looking for John Wesley and his men. There were very few vehicles around and even fewer people. We walked between large storage warehouses, with half of them abandoned and showing broken windows and weeds growing in the cracks in the asphalt.
After three blocks of head swiveling I said, “I may have to go to a chiropractor after this.”