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“No visual on the shooter?”
“No. You didn’t see anything?”
I shake my head. The other security guard, Ramos, tells the few patrons who have emerged from the club to keep their distance.
Fuck. The police are going to be all over The Lotus, digging into potential motives, looking over the guest list.
Cheryl returns with towels.
“Make—Make sure the guests exit the back way,” I say through gritted teeth. Part of me just wants to pass out. “You know…which ones.”
“Already got it covered,” she says. “I’ll adjust the guest list, too.”
I make a mental note to give her a raise. She knows it’s better if certain guests are not around to be questioned by the cops.
Bridget returns. “Amy’s in shock but not hurt.”
I hear the wail of sirens. Either ambulance or cops.
Marshall places a towel against the back of my deltoids and instructs Bridget to keep the pressure there, then goes over to JD, who’s still swearing.
“Sorry you won’t…get your dinner,” I tell Bridget.
She looks angry with me. “Seriously?”
Seconds later, an ambulance pulls up. The pair of EMTs split up. One examines me while the other examines JD.
“I don’t need to be on a fucking stretcher,” I complain when the EMT calls for backup.
“Let them do their job,” Bridget admonishes. She turns to the EMT. “Can I ride with him?”
“I’ll be fine. Not my first time getting shot, remember?”
I hear more sirens. Probably the cops this time. I look to Marshall.
“Don’t worry,” Marshall tells me. “I got this.”
I trust Marshall and Cheryl to manage the situation with the police. This isn’t Trawley’s first intervention, and Lieutenant Chiu will know how to steer the investigation.
I end up on a stretcher. Bridget rides with me to the hospital, where I’m admitted to the emergency room. JD follows shortly. Bridget stays by my side the whole time until I’m taken to the OR. And she’s there when I wake up from the anesthesia.
“Hey, you,” she greets me.
My left shoulder is bandaged, as is my left arm, which is in a sling. “Hey,” I reply.
“You want some water?”
I nod.
She pours me a cup and holds it to my lips.
“My right arm works, you know,” I tell her after taking a sip.
She blushes. “I wasn’t sure if you might be a little uncoordinated coming out of the anesthesia. How are you feeling?”
“Better now that I have morphine pumped into my veins.”
She lets out a long breath and gives me a wan smile. “The police told me they wanted to talk to you when you came out of surgery.”
