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Tears and snot run down my face My er

‘You’re right, Nikita, she can’t, but I can’

My eyes fly open, but the words have barely tiister in my dazed, confused brain before I see my father topple over with a small hole in his forehead How quick and silent his death, but I didn’t shoot Papa!

My head swings around and my mouth drops open in shock

‘You’re … alive!’

Thirty-seven

Jack Irish

Two Days Before

When I lean over the rip hter There is still surprising strength in his grip

‘Who are you?’ he asks

‘I’m a doctor’

He lets go of rips ently

Then his eyes dim and he starts to lose consciousness I rip his blood soaked shirt open and see the gash It’s pretty bad Blood is seeping out like a hot water spring I also don’t miss all the tattoos that immediately identify him as someone from the Russianhiround towards us His face is contorted with pain and his leg is broken Behind hi