Dewey spends Christmas at his daughter's,

his leg is healing, slowly.

He wasn't shot as thought, at least not directly,

but a ricochet glancing off the brick, entering

his leg already flattened,

ripping into his femoral artery.

It was a mess, and a drive-by, not meant for him.

It is, after all, Chicago.

Jackson is back in Corpus, this thing with Rebecca

is proving wholesome for both of them, neither prone

to wholesomeness by nature.

So the year is ending for the brothers, nothing accomplished—

the bad guys are still bad, but there is money in the bank

and no one died, which seems, to them, all to the good.