“How's your scratch, Henri?" I asked.He snorted and leaned against the dresser. "You mean the shotgun blast in my side? It's wonderful. I have about eighty pellet-size scars to show for it.""Dude," Dub said, plopping down in one of the chairs, "Who gets shot with their own gun? Embarrassing, if you ask me."Henri gave Dub's chair a hard shove with his foot. Dub laughed, and Henri rolled his eyes.”