Page 10 of Tesoro: Mayhem Makers

“I did,” Dr. Raymond answers as he charges down the hall. “Get used to it, Barns. You’ll be calling her doctor soon.”

I don’t have time to be astonished as the red flashing lights nullify the five minute warning. Seconds later, the automatic doors slide open as two paramedics push a gurney inside. I recognize the first guy, John, a real flirt, but smart as hell.

“You heard Romano, let’s move people.”

Gripping the ends of my stethoscope around my neck, I take off in a run toward the paramedics.

“Thirty year old Hispanic male, shot once in the leg.”

Moving my attention to the man lying on the gurney, I scan him from head to toe, my gaze pausing twice as I notice the blood stain on his jeans, and the Roman numerals tattooed on his neck.

“You want a taste of this, puta?”

Ignoring his rudeness, “Trauma one.” I tell the paramedics, pointing to the room on the left. This man isn't the first to call me a whore, or the first member of the cartel I’ve dealt with.

“There are two more rigs coming,” John tells me as he pushes the first victim into the room.

Moving toward the door, a man steps in front of me, holding his finger into the air. “I was here before that guy, I demand to be seen.”

Snapping my head back, I look at the finger. There is the slightest amount of redness at the top and what looks like a splinter in the center.

Shrugging, I take his finger, twisting it back and forth, trying to decide the best approach.

“I want the best surgical team you…” He trails off as I slide my fingernail below the tiny sliver, applying enough pressure to push it to the surface.

“Ouch!” He shouts as the sliver of wood emerges from his skin before falling to the floor. “I will sue you and this hospital.”

“Be my guest,” I drop his hand. “ Just know, when I'm standing in front of the judge, I will make sure to tell the family of the guy you just cut off you may have been responsible for his death. Given who he is,” I glance over my shoulder at the cartel guy screaming and making threats. “His family will want to handle things, if you know what I mean.”

Moving around the man, I press the button to hold the door open as the next ambulance pulls up.

“Twenty eight year old male, multiple gunshots to the chest.” My heartbeat quickens as Charlie, one of the few paramedics I’d consider breaking my no dating rule for, rattles off information. “Vitals are steady, but he was unconscious when we arrived.”

Rounding the back of the ambulance, I wait as they pull the gurney from the rig. My breath catches as I recognize the victim as one of the men from the hotel.

“Do whatever you have to, doc.” A voice pleads from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see it is the older man who was walking beside my gunshot victim.

Nodding, I noticed Dr. Raymond rushed toward me. “What have we here, Romano?” Relief washes over me as he pulls his stethoscope from his lab jacket.

“Multiple gunshots to the chest—” I begin, before Dr. Raymond cuts me off.

“Trauma Three!” He shouts, barking out additional orders for lab tests and x-rays. I know I should follow him, but as I take a step toward him, another ambulance pulls up, a police car following close behind.

“Not you, Kate,” Vinney emerges from the car. “This one is too dangerous.” He shakes his head as he approaches the back of the ambulance.

“I appreciate the concern, Vinney, but—” My decline of his chivalry is halted by the sound of a fight inside the ER. Several cops rushed past me as I hear the call for security.

“Gunshot to the shoulder.” Evelyn, one of my favorite paramedics, says, as she reaches for the handle of the ambulance. “Vitals are good, and the exit wound is clean. A few stitches and a tetanus shot.” She smiles as she opens the door. “But what do I know, you’re the doctor.”

I’m prepared to argue with her when the doors open revealing the man from the hotel sitting on the gurney. His clothes are covered in blood which fuels my movements as I spring into the back of the rig.

“I’m fine,” he waves me off. “The blood isn't mine.” His voice is even deeper than before, a sharper edge which stirs something inside of me.

“Can I see for myself?” I say with more courage than I possess. “Your adren?—”

Reaching up, the man rips his shirt down the middle, revealing a well-toned chest. “Fucking bullet grazed me, so you can keep your needles for Chuy.” He nods toward the hospital door.

Surveying the wound on his arm, I find he is mostly correct. “Well, you’re right about the bullet, but I’m sorry to say you could use at least a handful of stitches.”

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