“Dr. Taylor, this is Russ.” He gestures to the glassy eyed man.
Russ gets a sloppy, drunk smile on his face and straightens in the chair. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Taylor.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
“When Roman said he was hiring a new doctor, I pictured an old, fat guy, but you’re a delightful surprise.”
Irritation flickers in Roman’s eyes. “Enough with the small talk. It’s the middle of the night and we’re all tired. Just show her your fucking leg so we can get out of here.”
“You got it, boss.” Russ stands up, struggling to work his jeans up over his knee as Roman steps a few feet away to talk to Dante. Even at a distance, I still feel the weight of his stare on me as I work.
“Why don’t we put this away for now, too?” I suggest, sliding the whiskey out of his reach as he sits back down.
“Aw come on. It’s a cheap painkiller.”
“It’s also thinning out your blood, which will make it harder for me to stop the bleeding and stitch you up.”
“Oh, beautyandbrains. Yes, ma’am.” He chuckles, leaning back in the chair as I put on some gloves. He props his leg up on the table so I have a better view.
For the most part, the cut has stopped bleeding, but it’s nasty. Dirty, jagged, and about five inches long, right across the inside of Russ’s knee. “How did you say you got this?”
“The guy I was delivering to tonight,” Russ says. “Didn’t like the price, I guess. Guy’s lucky he got any piece of me at all before I put the bullet through his head. Chicks dig scars, anyway, right?”
He shoots me a skeevy wink that makes my skin crawl.
I know next to nothing about the type of things these guys are into, but I know wounds, and his story doesn’t add up. Blades usually cut clean, especially if Russ was swiped the way he said he was. The wound is so jagged it looks more like the skin tore.
“Do you still have the knife?” I ask.
Russ tosses it up onto the counter, and the shiny metal glistens in the harsh factory lighting. It’s clean, not a single drop of blood on it, which doesn’t make sense for how grimy and dirty the wound is..
I don’t know that I even want to involve myself, and the wound will be easy enough to treat without knowing how it really happened. I glance up at Roman, but he’s still deeply engrossed in his conversation with Dante, and I let the thought die.
“I know a place where we can get some good drinks after this…” Russ slurs. “What do you think?”
Roman steps closer, still listening to Dante, but not too far to eavesdrop on us and he doesn’t look happy.
“What I think is, if you put half as much energy into your job tonight as you are into hitting on me, then we might not be in this situation.” I look up at him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Roman smirk, relaxing back into his conversation with Dante, content with the way I handled myself.
Russ lets out a gruff sigh and tilts his head back. “How long do you think this is going to take?”
“Not long,” I say, reaching for saline and some gauze to clean the wound out. Once it’s flushed, I cut back some of the dead skin and start to stitch him up. It takes about ten minutes, and then I put a bandage over the top for the time being.
Russ hasn’t said much, but he has to get in one last shot.
“Don’t be afraid to check me out a little higher, Doc. I think I’m having some residual pain—”
Without warning, Roman’s next to us. His hands violently cinch around the man’s neck and he sputters for air.
“What the fuck did I say about disrespecting Dr. Taylor, Russ?” Roman growls. “Huh?”
“Jesus, Roman. It was a joke.” He rubs at his throat once Roman lets him loose.
“Well, it wasn’t fucking funny. You’ve been giving her a hard time the entire time she’s been working on you. Dr. Taylor is here in the middle of the night to take care of your sorry ass because you’re so incompetent at your job that you went and got yourself knifed. Not to mention you left your DNA all over a crime scene…the cops would haul you to jail if you had to go into the hospital. So I’d suggest you keep the jokes to yourself from now on, yeah?”
“Yeah, absolutely. Sorry Dr. Taylor.”
