Tyree's fist struck the cot rail twice.
Waddell had one hand on the laundry return valve and the other around a pair of tongs. The knocks came through his boots before he turned. Canvas still pinned Tyree's forearm beneath the damp blanket. His knuckles had found the rail by dragging the whole cot sideways.
Through the north service door came three blows, the first bending its chain plate inward and the next shaking plaster from the frame. On the third, return pipes knocked against their wall brackets.
Tyree looked down at his trapped hand. "The old count never started, so those five beats are gone."
Waddell set the tongs on the floor. "Keep the buckle closed because your hand just sent the opening."
"I was planning to remain tied until my fingers stop taking outside work."
