"This foot hurts, lady," the hirsute giant growled impatiently. "When you gonna get me something for the pain?"

"A doctor has to see you first," she told him for the fifth time. "And all the doctors are busy with people who are hurt worse than you are."

"I been waitin' an hour," he roared. "And I don't want to wait no more, see?"

"What's the problem, Miss Brancusi?" a familiar voice said from behind her shoulder. Gloria gave a little sigh of relief; it wasn't Jackpot or Gonzo, but Stanley was always willing to make an effort if it meant that the Emergency Department was running smoothly.

"Mr. Hogg, this is Dr. Riverside. Maybe he can take a quick look at your foot while I get this place cleaned up." Please, Dr. Riverside?she thought, pleading with her eyes.

Stanley looked sourly at the mess in the treatment room, but she had gotten the worst of it up and there was a clear space on one of the gurneys. He glanced down the corridor, estimating how many more people were waiting. "Well, we've gotten through all of the critical cases. I was just coming to see how Gates was doing with that heart attack."

"They've gone to cardiovascular care," Gloria said.

"Well, all right. Come on over here, Mr. Hogg, and we'll see what we can do."

"About f___ing time," Hogg said, letting Stanley wheel him to the gurney and help him onto it. Stanley started to unwind the crude bandages on the man's ankle and palpate the swelling gently. "Miss Brancusi, could you get me a bp and other vitals?"

"Yes, Dr. Riverside," Gloria sighed again, this time with resignation. She'd finish cleaning up once she'd gotten rid of both of them. She went to try to get Hogg to take off his heavy leather jacket.
"This doesn't look very bad," Stanley said, bent over the ankle. "How did you hurt it?"

As soon as Gloria got within range, Hogg suddenly reached out and grabbed her, pulling her up against him with his left arm and producing a small gun in his right hand. Gloria made a surprised squeak, and Stanley looked up, distracted by the movement and then froze when he saw the gun, stunned.

"You listen Doc. That foot's bad. Real bad. You're going to go and get me three cases of morphine and some clean syringes, you got it? And you're not going to alert that cop in the corridor, or else this barbie doll will be your next patient."

"But... you can't.... I can't...." Stanley stammered.

"You heard me!" Hogg growled.

Stanley stood up, very carefully, and held his hands up. "You don't understand," he protested. "They won't give me that much morphine. Not all at once. Nobody takes that much all at once."

"You're a doctor, they'll give you anything you ask for."

"No they won't," Stanley said, his forehead lined with worry. "I mean, just last week I told Arnold that we needed a new eeg machine for treatment room three and he said we couldn't...."

"Shut up, and do as your told," the shout made Stanley flinch, and Gloria, who was beginning to feel a little less shocked, thought maybe she should try to help.

"He's right," she started to say, and then gasped when Hogg hit her across the face with the gun.

"You shut up too," he ordered.

"Now just one minute," Stanley said, stepping forward, and then pausing when the gun was trained on him.

Just then, the door opened and Jackpot Jackson walked in with a set of x-ray's. "Stanley can you take a look at these?"

Hogg swung the gun up toward Jackson and tightened his finger on the trigger. Stanley shouted, "No!" and leaped forward to try to grab the gun arm. There was a loud noise, and Gloria found herself jarred free when Hogg started to wrestle with Stanley for control of the gun.

She was knocked to the ground, and scrambled for safety, toward Jackpot, who was still looking a little stunned where he had ducked for cover. "Jackpot! Help Stanley!"

"Right!" Jackson surged to his feet and grabbed the nearest thing to hand, an IV pole, and clubbed it like a baseball bat, but ducked when there was another shot.

Stanley was still fighting for the gun, but Hogg had managed to get it between them. Stanley stepped on the man's bare foot, and tried to defend himself with elbows, but he needed both hands to try to keep the gun from pointing at him, and Hogg was using his right hand to try to get a grip on Stanley's throat. "I can't believe I'm doing this!" Stanley exclaimed. He saw movement on the other side of the room and tugged the gun away from that direction. "Brancusi! Jackson! Get out of here! Get Security!"

Jackpot had to wait for a moment when the combatants had turned. He didn't want to risk hitting Stanley, and part of him couldn't believe he was going to hit anyone. But he couldn't leave Stanley to get shot. Time wasn't moving at the right speed. The gun went off again, and the bullet spanged off of the cabinets. Jackpot flinched, but moved closer, still hearing the burring of the bullet in his imagination. He could see the fear on Stanley's face, and the murderous rage on the gunman's, as the two men staggered into trays and carts, knocking things down, and knew he couldn't wait. The wheeled end of the IV pole gleamed as it came down on the broad hairy head, and Jackpot could hear the crack of bone blend into the bang of the gun going off one last time. Hogg went down, and Stanley staggered back against the wall, his face almost comic with surprise and dismay.

Jackpot tried to catch his breath as time began to snap back into normal sequence. "Sorry, I just couldn't think of anything else." Jackpot looked down at the man he'd hit and wondered if he'd killed him. That would be a hell of a thing for an emergency medical man to have done. "Oh, man, I think I broke his skull." He went down on one knee to look at the patient more carefully. "Oh man. Stanley, what were you treating him for?"

There was no response.

"Stanley?" Jackpot looked up just in time to see Stanley start to slide down the wall, leaving a broad smear of blood behind him.

He forgot about the patient. Forgot about the gun. Forgot about everything except catching Stanley and getting him onto the treatment table. The door burst open and a security cop stuck his head in, gun ready. Behind the cop, Jackpot could see Ernie, holding Gloria in the curve of her arm. "Ernie!" he yelled, so loud his vocal cords hurt. "Gloria! Get Trapper! Now! Stanley's been shot!"

"Shot?" Stanley whispered, staring at Jackpot with bewilderment as the younger man tried to get him to move his hands from the wound. "Is that why I can't breathe?" He was parchment white from shock and beginning to tremble, and his pulse flickered wildly under Jackpot's fingertips.

"Easy, Stanley, I've got you." Jackpot tried to get his voice to come down to its normal register, but his own heart was pounding and his head was beginning to hurt as much as if he had been the one who had been hit with an IV pole. "Try not to talk."

"You're hurt," Stanley said, a little more clearly, and made a weak effort to sit up.

Jackpot gave up on trying to hook the oxygen tank closer with his foot and concentrated on trying to get a look at the wound. "I'm not hurt, you're hurt. Hold still!"

"I've got you, Stanley," Ernie said, materializing at the head of the table.

"Oxygen!" Jackpot ordered. "And get some blood up here stat!"

There was too much blood, too much! A trickle of it was falling off of the table already, and it had hardly been two minutes!

Near Jackpot's feet, the security cop, who had retrieved the gun, was looking green. "Hey, Doc, I think this guy's starting to choke!"

Jackpot swore. He couldn't take the time to look. Stanley was bleeding to death. Ernie had gotten the oxygen mask into place, but Stanley's color was only getting worse.

"Here, help me turn him over," Jackpot said. "There's got to be a major bleeder in there." They flipped Stanley as quickly as they could andd Jackpot reached into the gore of the exit wound and found the source of the bright spurting blood -- an artery. Not severed, thank god, but nicked. He held the break closed with his fingers. "Hemostat!"

"I'm looking!" Ernie said, ignoring the scattered equipment in favor of the drawers. "I can't find one!"

"Bring a suture kit and a trauma tray!" Trapper John ordered someone as he came in from the hall, trailing nurses. "What have you got, Jackpot?"

"The aorta, I think," Jackpot said. "I can't let go."

"Hey! This guy's dying!" the security cop insisted.

"Anderson, take a look at him! Someone get Titus in here and where the hell is Gates?"

"Cardiac care," Gloria said. "I'll get him."

"No, stay here and help me get these clothes out of the way," Ernie said, spotting a candy striper in the doorway. "Darlene, get Dr. Gates!"

"Yes, Mrs. Shoop!"

"Get a MAST suit in here!" Trapper ordered. "And where's that suture kit?"

"Here Doctor," one of the orderlies said, pushing in a cart full of sterile packs, "There's one on here."

"Blood pressure 40 over doppler!" One of the nurses warned.

Trapper grabbed the rubber gloves Ernie had taken from the cart."Clamp first, Ernie, and then four-oh silk on a curved needle. Jackpot, don't move your fingers until I tell you to."

"Right," Jackpot said, "His pulse is getting irregular, Trap."

"Somebody tell OR that we're coming! Have we got the blood yet?" Trapper yelled over his shoulder and then bent to the wound. "I'm going to suture the artery here, Ernie, and then we'll get him to OR for the rest of it. Tell x-ray we're going to need a fast chest shot, and I don't want to wait. Get security to clear a path." Even as he was talking, he was suturing, and Jackpot could feel the needle tightening the hole under his fingers. "Okay, Jackpot, ease up." Trapper did the last couple of stitches as quickly as he could, but still got blood sprayed on his glasses.

Gloria had cut away Stanley's lab coat and sweater, and was helping get the MAST trousers on but it was awkward, because she had to step over the injured biker who was being examined by Dr. Titus. Her face was starting to hurt, and her stomach churned at the sight of Hogg, even unconscious, but she bit her lip and made herself concentrate on what she was doing. Titus was shouting orders, Trapper was shouting orders, nurses were reporting vital signs and the security cop was trying to explain what had happened to Arnold Slocum and clear a path through the doorway at the same time. Someone brought in the blood and started a unit. Someone else had hooked Stanley up to the EKG machine. She got the MAST trousers in place and started the pressure system.

"Yeah, Trapper," Gonzo Gates blew in through the door. "Where do you want me?"

"Go scrub, we'll be right behind you," Trapper ordered. "Jackpot, get your head taken care of. Make a hole, everybody we're coming out!"

Gurney, IV rack, monitors and all, Trapper and Ernie and the orderlies headed out the door as fast as they could safely go. Gloria trailed along for a few feet, and found herself standing next to Jackpot in the hallway. They stared after the gurney until it turned the corner to radiology and then turned, startled, when someone wailed with pain in the crowded corridor behind them. Arnold was there, wringing his hands.

"This is terrible!" the administrator said. "Jackson, what happened?"

"I'm not sure," Jackpot said, uncertainly, trying to look past him to see who was crying.

"He wanted drugs," Gloria said. "He had a gun, and he threatened me and Dr. Riverside. And then he tried to shoot Jackpot, but Dr. Riverside grabbed his gun arm."

"I hit him, but the gun went off," Jackpot took up the explanation. "Point blank. Arnold, you've got to call EJ." The person in pain was getting louder. Jackpot couldn't take it much longer. "Arnold, please, can't we talk about it later? We've got patients waiting."

Gloria looked up at him, surprised, and Jackpot shrugged defensively. "We have to help. There's hardly anyone else left." He looked terrible. There was a patch of hair gone from the left side of his head and blood had seeped down through the curls to soak his collar. His eyes were dark with worry, and his complexion a little gray, but his jaw was set to a stubborn angle.

She clenched her fists a little tighter and made herself breathe deeper. "Right. You're right. Dr. Riverside would expect us to keep going."

"I'll try to get Nowicki and Peterson in," Arnold said. "This is terrible." He wandered toward the elevators, still shaking his head, and Jackpot, freed of the constraint, started toward the crying patient. Gloria grabbed for his elbow.

"Wait. You're a mess, and you're going to scare the patients." She steered him toward the linen closet and pulled out a fresh labcoat.

Jackpot blinked and then realized she was right. The one he was wearing was sticky with gore. He stripped it off, retrieving his stethoscope and otoscope from the pockets. "Oh, god, Gloria, am I really up to this?"

"Nowicki takes forty minutes to get here when there isn't any fog," Gloria said, nodding to the corridor of patients and families. "Do you think they can wait?"

He grimaced. "No. But keep an eye on me, will you? I'm so scared my knees are trying to run in two different directions."

"Mine too," she admitted. "Bend down." She had found antiseptic spray and some gauze pads on one of the nearby crash carts and used it ruthlessly to clean away the blood from the abraded place. "You lost some hair and some skin, but I think that's all."

"Stanley said I was hurt," Jackpot said through gritted teeth, "But I couldn't feel it then."

She put a gauze pad into place and stuck a surgical cap on his head to cover up the quick repair job. "It's not perfect, but it will hold you."

"Here," he said, taking one of the cold packs and breaking the ammonia capsule inside it. "Can you keep that on your face for a while?"

"I can try," she said, although she knew it wouldn't happen.

One of the orderlies, and two candy stripers were starting to hover nearby, concern on their faces. "Dr. Jackson, can you come?"

Two fractures, three burn victims, four food poisonings and a toddler with a marble in his ear later, Gloria was pulled to one side by a candy striper while Jackpot reassured the worried mother. "Dr. Nowicki says to tell you that the parking lot is full of reporters. And Mr. Slocum says could you and Dr. Jackson please come up to his office. The police are up there."

"The police?" Gloria repeated, surprised.

"I guess they want a statement or something," the candy striper fidgeted with her badge. "Did you hear about the guy who shot Dr. Riverside yet?"

"No."

The candy striper looked nervously over at Jackpot and whispered, "He's in ICU. They had to get a neurosurgeon in, and everybody's saying that he's probably not going to make it."

"What about Dr. Riverside?" Gloria asked.

"Nobody knows yet," the girl said. "He's still in surgery."
"How many patients left out there?"

"Eight. But there are a whole bunch of doctors who came in when they heard the news, and they're all helping out. Mr. Slocum really wants you two to come as soon as possible."

Gloria conceded. "All right. I'll tell Jackpot."

She waited until the patient had gone out and he was washing his hands. "Police? Now? Tonight?" he said, paling. "But, we've still got patients."

"It's covered," Gloria said. "And the sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can go find out how Stanley is."

Jackpot slid down onto a chair and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, god. Police. I knew it. I knew I hit that guy too hard. What if they arrest me? How am I ever going to explain this?"

Gloria crouched down next to him and took his hands in hers. "What's to explain? Look at us, Jackpot! That guy was ready to kill anyone who got in his way. What else could you do?"

"But I'm a doctor," Jackpot said. "If he was having a psychotic episode I should have restrained him."

"Psychotic episode?" Gloria's voice cracked. "He was a thug! Jackpot, he was holding me hostage, trying to get Stanley to go and fetch him three cases of morphine. When you walked in he didn't think twice about shooting at you, and if Stanley hadn't knocked his arm to one side you'd probably be dead. What do you think he would have done if he'd gotten out into a corridor full of people? Who knows how many people he might have shot?"

Jackpot blinked at her. "He was a criminal?"

"Yes," She got up and went over to the cabinet to fetch some acetominaphen and pink bismuth. "Here. If your head and stomach are in the same shape mine are these might help."

He took them, and looked up to see her swallowing her own dose. "How are you doing it? Usually I'm the one who keeps busy and you get upset."

Her sad smile set crookedly on her bruised face. "I am upset. But it's like you said earlier, we're needed. So I just keep telling myself that I won't fall apart till I can do it over a good stiff drink."

Jackpot nodded understanding. "It sounds like a plan to me. If you want to come over to my place I've got some wine Gonzo gave me."

"I'll call the babysitter," she said, holding out a hand to help him get to his feet. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

"EJ?" Jackpot exclaimed. "I thought you'd be down by OR."

She stood up and dropped the bottle, and then tried to retrieve it. Gloria came to the rescue. "Here."

EJ had been crying, but she was trying not to cry now. "Gloria, you're hurt! What happened?"

"It's a long story. I'm all right. What's happened? Why are you up here?"

"Oh, Stanley's father is down there, holding court for a bunch of reporters." EJ didn't have to go into details. Both Gloria and Jackpot could imagine them without help. "Arnold said you would be coming up here to explain what happened, and so I thought I should come up, so you'd only have to explain it once."

"Any word about Stanley?" Jackpot asked, as he helped her settle back into the chair. "We haven't heard."

"They told me damage to the stomach, the liver and the left lung. But the bullet missed his heart," Arnold said, intervening with as much tact as he could. "Trapper and Gates are doing their very best." He pulled forward a chair for Gloria. "Here, you should sit down, Miss Brancusi. Dr. Jackson." He nodded Jackpot to another chair, and then pulled forward the cop. "This is Detective Sergeant Bates."

Bates was a stocky, balding man in his mid forties, and he eyed them with sympathy. "All I need tonight is a preliminary report. Something to keep the media from concocting anything wilder than they've already come up with."

"What are they saying?" Gloria asked.

"That Stanley was the victim of a personal vendetta," EJ said bitterly, "And that it was because he had made some kind of medical mistake and that man wanted revenge."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Jackpot exploded. "Who would come up with a dumb theory like that?"