Sal took the glare as a sign of submission, pleased.
The trip to the bathroom was quick. Of all the bad ass things in the house, the fucking bathrooms had little Dixie cups with fish printed on them. If that wasn't emasculating, he didn't know what was.
He returned quickly enough, placing the cup on the blood-soaked dresser next to the bed. The head on the nearest bedpost kept staring at Henry and his closed eyes. Sal considered how tacky it looked.
"Drink the water. You're no good to me dead."
Having spent over half his life completely involved with guns, Sal knew how to bandage a gunshot wound. He had several of his own from his younger, careless days. There'd been a lot of blood lost from his leg and head. Something'd have to be done to clean it up.