Page 16 of Tesoro: Mayhem Makers

“I overslept this morning and haven’t had any coffee yet. What is your excuse?” Banter is my love language, a fact most of my coworkers are aware of. Glancing around the room, I notice the chair in the corner is empty.

“Where did the VIP guest disappear to?”

Porter shrugs his shoulders as he tosses the empty bag into the trash. “The one with the salt and pepper hair left around midnight. The brother got a call a few hours ago and left shortly after.”

A call from the wife, I thought to myself as I logged into the computer. Maybe he’s meeting her for breakfast, or a morning quickie. Perhaps she was the one who purchased the watch, a little buy one to give and another to keep.

“Neurology is due to assess him this morning.” Having a neurology consult on an unconscious patient was standard procedure. Considering the number of professionals in the building, I'm surprised they didn’t come up last night.

“Hey, I’m headed to the cafeteria for some food. Want me to grab a coffee for you?”

Wrinkling up my nose, “Thanks, but I’d rather drink water from a storm drain.” I made the mistake of drinking coffee from the cafeteria once, took three days to recover from it.

“I could walk over to Daily Grind if you’d like.”

Before I could decline, Adam walked into the room, stethoscope in hand and a scowl on his face, followed by an equally disgruntled looking Dr. Mallace. I’d heard through the rumor mill Adam had been placed with Dr. Mallace in a final chance for the both of them. Adam with his wandering dick and Dr. Mallace for creating a hostile work environment.

“Assessment, Gleeson.” Dr. Mallace barked from the foot of the bed, his focus trained on the screen of his tablet. While his bedside manner lacked severely, his neurological skills did not.

I tried to ignore Adam as he stumbled through his report, keeping my attention on the screen of the computer, treating both of them as if they weren't there.

“Would have saved us the trouble if he’d just died on the street like the other lowlifes.”

My body stiffened as I replayed what Dr. Mallace mumbled. Raising my gaze from the screen to his balding head, anger bubbling inside me.

“Statistically speaking, he can hear you,DoctorMallace.” Emphasizing the word.

“What do I care what this criminal can hear or not?”

“Well, right now he is our patient. Neither one of us was there when he was shot, for all we know he could have been trying to save someone’s life.”

“Take off those rose colored glassesNurseKate.” Mallace spit my title as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Men like this never do anything for the benefit of others.”

Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest. “Well, I will be sure and add that to my email to the Chief of Staff and Patient Advocacy, I'm sure they will want to hear how our unconscious patients are being treated.”

Dr. Mallace tucks his tablet under his arm before motioning for Adam to head for the door. I wait long enough for the elevator to close before turning toward Angelo.

“You’ll have to forgive Dr. Mallace. He can’t help but be an asshole with two ex-wives and a girlfriend who is only with him for what he can buy her.” Reaching over, I take a washcloth and run it under hot water. I have no idea the last time Angelo had a shower, however if I were in his place, I would hope the nurse taking care of me would at least wash my face and hands.

“Just between us,” I whisper as I run the washcloth over his chin. “I hear from Tiffani, who would definitely know, he has a tiny dick.”

A part of me wishes Angelo would open his eyes and laugh, however, as I continue to wipe his visible skin, his eyes remain closed and breathing steady.

An audible gasp pulls me from my study questions to the now crowded nurses station. Several staff members stand watching something on the television in the lone empty room.

Standing from my chair, I give Angelo a quick check, noting zero change in his vitals before stepping from the room.

“What’s going on?” I questioned, only to receive a collective, “Shhh.”

Following their gaze, I see what looks like a warehouse on fire. Water sprays from the ladder of a firetruck, smoke billowing into the sky.

Making my way to the counter, a chill runs down my spine as the news anchor announces it as the fourth warehouse fire this morning.

“It’s either insurance, or someone pissed off someone they shouldn’t have.”

My mind flashes back to the encounter in the ER between Dante and Chuy. Could this be related?

“I have a delivery for Kate Romano.”

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