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“His girlfriend. He doesn’t have any family in the area.”
“All right. I’m Dr. Ludwig. We’re taking Mr. O’Connor back for surgery. He has internal bleeding, which we have to stop and then repair any damage to his organs.”
“And the shoulder?”
“The bullet passed through his shoulder, ma’am. That will heal, although he may need some physical therapy to gain back range of motion.”
“All right.” I’m numb. So numb.
“The major issue is the gunshot wound to his abdomen. He’s lost a lot of blood, but his vitals are hanging in there. That’s all I can tell you at this point. We’re going to do everything we can.”
I gulp, nodding. I say nothing.
Because there’s nothing to say.
I could beg them to save him. But I already know they’re going to do whatever they can.
Besides, that would require me to form words.
“The surgery may take several hours. I’ll send out updates from the OR.”
I nod again.
“We’ll do everything we can, ma’am.” She smiles, sort of, and walks back through the doors.
I have no idea how to get in touch with his family.
And then it dawns on me.
I remember the name of Yvette’s restaurant. Chez Yvette.
But do I call her? She’ll be able to get in touch with Ronan’s parents.
Maybe she has a voodoo prayer she can say.
Maybe…
I don’t have my phone, though.
I hurry to the front desk. “A gunman took my phone. I need to make a call. I need you to find a number for me.”
“Of course. What’s the name?”
“Chez Yvette. It’s a Creole restaurant in New Orleans.”
She clicks on her keyboard, and then she shows me the screen, motioning to the landline.
I dial the number.
“Chez Yvette,” someone says.
“I need to talk to Yvette, please.”
“She’s busy in the kitchen. May I take a message?”
“No, it’s an emergency. Her grandson, Ronan. He’s…” I gulp back the bile threatening to erupt in my throat. “He’s been shot.”
“Oh my God. Just a minute. Who is this?”
