The tone carried enough authority that, for a second, George obeyed the command. It was kind of gallant, but maybe she only thought that because he sounded British, and the only experience with British guys she had were bad TV dramas where they were either charming and swept the female leads off their feet, or evil and twirling a mustache.
Then the bullet fell out and she remembered that she was dead.
"Oh, no, no." She tossed the bullet into the gutter, where it rolled down a storm drain while he was distracted by the body. "It just sort of...grazed me. I'm fine. I'll just be, you know. How's the other guy?"
"Shit, man. I'm think I'm dead." Rodney Brenson's soul said beside her. He was surprisingly quick on the uptake for a punk.