I cradled my arm against my body. Sighed. "Did you really have to shoot me?" I asked Arturo, the oldest of the Amatucci children.
"Yeah. I did. You should be glad that I only winged you. Now explain. In great detail." He waved me over from the kitchen island to sit in one of the chairs.
"Could you at least put some damn clothes on? Interrogations with a naked dude should be listed under cruel and unusual." I sat down. Ripped a pillow case off the seemingly million throw pillows strewn around the loft. Fashioning a crude tourniquet, I staunched the blood flow in my arm while Turo got some clothes on.
He was back out in the open concept living and dining area, his woman next to him.
"What the f**k, Foster? You didn't get any p***y tonight, so you decided to crash everyone's parade?" N
