"Ha fucking ha," he grumbles as she clambers out of the car and makes her way around. "Let me think. I know someone." Right? There's someone in Tel Aviv, he's pretty sure. He just has to go through a mental rolodex of names and numbers and it's the adrenaline or something, but he's finding it hard to do that right this second.

--He shifts slightly, realizing abruptly she's waiting for him to get out of the bloody car. Charlie catches the frame of the car and starts to hoist himself up to his feet and then sags slightly. Scrabbles to reaffirm his grip as his head spins. "Fuck," because his shirt pulls against his side and that stings. Once his center of gravity settles, he finds himself still sitting in the front seat, feet in the street. "Sorry, m'head's swimming."