Wild Thing: A Novel by Josh Bazell

reason—they’ll have to stay and defend it. Or at the very least split up.
    “Hey,” I say to the kid in the back. “You awake?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Where’s the nearest hospital?”
    “I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
    “That wasn’t the question. Where is it?”
    “Ely. But my doctor’s right near here.”
    “Forget it. Unless he’s got a CT scanner in his office, he’s just going to send you to a hospital anyway.”
    “He does have a CT scanner in his office.”
    “Not too likely.”
    “Dude, I know what a CT scanner is,” the kid says. “It takes a bunch of X-rays in a row. Like cross-sections. My half-brother got a million of them.”
    “Why?”
    “He had a brain tumor.”
    “And he got scanned
here?
”
    “Yeah.”
    I think about it. Ely, where Violet and I are supposed to spend tonight in a hotel, is half an hour farther up Route 53.
    “Fine,” I say. “Where’s your doctor?”
    The kid sits up enough to see out the windshield. “Turn left right now.”
    “Hold on to something,” I say. “And give me some lead time.” I try the emergency brake again through the turn. It still doesn’t do anything.
    “Go as far as you can, then turn right,” the kid says. “It’ll be a dead end.”
    “In front of that big brick building?”
    “Yeah.”
    “We also need to call the police,” Violet says.
    “Aw, come on, lady!” the kid says.
    My sentiments exactly. “You don’t want us to?” I say to the kid.
    “No fucking way.”
    I sigh. “Fine.”
    “What?”
Violet says.
    “I think we should respect the kid’s wishes. Besides, we don’t really know what would have happened if I hadn’t butted in.”
    “They would have beaten him to death.”
    “Nah. It looked like they were pretty much finishing up.” I catch the kid looking suspiciously at me in the rearview.
    “They tried to shoot us,” Violet says.
    “Shoot
near
us. What
is
that building?”
    “It’s the old mine factory,” the kid says.
    I don’t know what that means. It’s impressive, though: red brick and iron, left for the weeds.
    “What’s your name?” I say.
    “Dylan.”
    “Dylan, what day of the week is it?”
    “Fuck should I know?”
    “It’s Thursday. Remember that. I’m going to ask you again in a few minutes. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “Got any medical conditions?”
    “Yeah. I just got the shit kicked out of me.”
    “Other than that.”
    “No.”
    “You really don’t think we should call the police?” Violet says to me.
    “Dylan? What do you think?”
    “Seriously: no fucking way. They’d just make things worse.”
    I look at Violet and shrug. Ask Dylan if he takes any medications.
    “No.”
    Even from up front I can smell the ammonia evaporating out of the blood that’s all over him. May explain his aversion to cops.
    I say “You know, where I come from, the people on meth beat up the people
not
on meth, not the other way around.”
    “Maybe I should move there.”
    “Maybe you should. How much are you using?”
    “I’m not ‘using.’ I’ve done meth twice. Once last night and once a couple of hours ago.”
    “Is that why those guys were kicking the shit out of you?”
    “I’m not a mind reader, dude.”
    “I’ll take that as a yes. Got any allergies?”
    “Yeah. To people kicking the shit out of me.”
    “You know, I’m beginning to see why that happens.”
    “Lionel!” Violet says. “Dylan, I’m Violet, and this is Lionel. I still think you should consider going to the police.”
    “Your name is
Lionel?
” the kid says to me.
    “What about it?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Okay, then. Turn here or go straight?”
    “Straight.” Past a row of aluminum-sided houses with various amounts of sky-blue tarping on their roofs. Not the first such row we’ve seen.
    “Dylan, what’s up with Debbie the waitress?” I say.
    “How should I know?”
    “And what does she have against Reggie Trager?”
    “I don’t know who that is.”
    “You’re going to