“Beat up in a street fight. He’s lost a lot of blood, and can hardly walk.”
Pointing to an arched doorway, she said, “Take him in there.” Before they got away, she quickly shoved a clip board at him with a bunch of forms attached. “Fill these out when you get the chance.”
Lathe grabbed them with a look of irritation on his face. “What is it?”
“Insurance…information…you know.”
“I’m not sure he even has insurance.”
“No problem. If he doesn’t the hospital will bill him.”
Lathe grabbed it and hurried away.
Later, while trying to fill out the forms, he looked over at Anjelo to ask him a question, and realized he was out like a light. “Oh, my God, what…is he…he isn’t dead, is he?”
“No, he’s fine. He kept fighting me so I had to give him a sedative.”
“For how long? Some of these questions here—”