Ch. 14 – Trauma Center

“Get those guns out of my face, will ya? And help me take your man to the operating room.” Tony waited until the White Leopards watching him backed away and holstered their guns before he got out of his chair. “We don’t have a stretcher on hand right now, just pick the chair up gently. Derrick, help me pick him up.” Tony gestured at the nearest gangster. “You too, get on the other side.” The gangster jumped up and ran over, casting a worried glance at the elderly man.

All the White Leopards looked worried, actually. Derrick made eye contact with a few of the haggard gangsters before ducking his head and rushing over to the elderly man in the suit. The stench of blood and rain-soaked clothing was overpowering. The man had strips of cloth—seemingly the torn pieces of a dress shirt—tied around his head, abdomen, and calf. They had evidently tried to stop the bleeding with whatever they had on hand, but with injuries like these, it wasn’t enough. The man clearly had more than one large gunshot wound, even from a brief look.

“So I’m the unlucky bastard,” Tony said, looking the elderly man over before supporting his head and preparing to lift the chair. “You can’t go to a real hospital, cause he’s wanted, right? And so you show up to my shop in the middle of a storm and bust the door down. He must be a fucking important man. You all got in a gunfight?”

“They started shooting at us first. You’re our only option,” the young man in the suit said. What a bunch of assholes. The White Leopards never fought for a good reason; if they got shot up, it was most likely their own fault. What hurt the most was when they feuded with invading gangs, shooting up the streets and killing pedestrians and store owners, and then called it ‘defending the neighborhood.’

“He’s breathing, he’s breathing. Don’t jostle him, we need to keep his airway open. Is he on any medications? Oh who the fuck am I kidding, do any of you know?”

The young man in the suit blanched and shook his head.

The elderly man coughed, a dreadful, wet cough, as they lifted him up, and brought him over to the operating table, the footsteps of several White Leopards not far behind them.

“Hey, what you are doing! Stay out of the operating room!” Tony yelled.

“Just do your job, you won’t notice us.”

“Listen buddy—”

They set the elderly man on the table, and Tony went to the supply closet.

“Derrick, go gown up and snip his clothes off. And you! I’m telling you, you all can’t be here. Get your boys back to the shop, or I’ll get nervous and mess up. You want him to live or what?”

Washed hands, check

Surgical mask, check.

Surgical cap, check.

The White Leopard growled and barked. “I can’t let him out of my sight. They’ll kill me! They’ll fucking kill me. And you better save him, or I’ll—”

Safety glasses, check.

Surgical gown, check

“Then sit in the corner and don’t move. Everyone else, OUT.”

This was the first time in a while Derrick had gowned up so fast. Hack Alley wasn’t a real hospital, but the desperate and needy inevitably found their way here: those who couldn’t afford a hospital, or wouldn’t make it to the nearest one in time. But Tony took them all in, he was that sort of man. Good thing, too, or Derrick would’ve died on the streets that day. If only Tony was a bit more flexible; the world could do with a few less White Leopards, if he refused to help them. Not that they had much choice now, though, when they were just being held at gunpoint.

The young man in the suit yelled at the other White Leopards to get out of the operating room, and stomped back to the shop, presumably to find a chair.

Derrick had just started snipping the man’s clothes off when Tony came back to the table, his surgical gown half-on. He set a tray of tools down on the cart next to the operating table with a thump, and then held out his hands, which were still half hidden in the sleeves of his gown.

“Derrick, gloves.”

Derrick stretched a pair of gloves over Tony’s hands, making sure they snapped over the sleeves, to fully cover Tony’s arms, protecting him from bodily fluids and excretions, and protecting the patient from the microorganisms on Tony’s skin.

“Go ahead and tie me up,” Tony said, turning around.

Derrick wrapped the two sides of the open end of the gown across Tony’s back, fastening the top part with velcro, and tying the long straps on each side to secure the gown in place. Tony then did the same for Derrick’s gown.

There were only two of them: Tony and Derrick. Real hospitals had whole teams of people to assess and care for the patient. They had to do things differently, and imperfectly.

Hopefully, it was enough to save the man’s life, or they might be on the wrong end of a White Leopard’s gun.