Unpleasant Customers with Unpleasant Injuries (Jimmy [Fortune Arcana] / OPEN)

I take a swig from my hip flask, leaning back in the rolling chair behind the glass appointment window at my office. The chair squeaks and creaks as I relax, another day, another lack of dollars. Putting my flask back on my belt, I retrieve my copy of the Endymion Medical Journal, flipping it open to see the indecent pages of Orientals Gone Wild edition #345, Inaba Edition. Soccer moms don't tend to bring their golden retrievers in any more these days. Instead, I find myself pursuing another clientele, one not often composed of soccer moms, children with goldfish, or people looking for cheap painkillers. And my office reflects this, both in design, maintenance, and apparent cost of living.

It's a rather drab office for a supposed veterinarian, with no exterior facing windows, a single fold-out coffee table made of cheap flimsy plastic with a chipping yet dark blue coat of paint, strangled on all sides by crappy lawn chairs with fraying fibers and broken off armrests. A half solved jigsaw puzzle sits on the table, dusty and cobwebbed from neglect and misuse. The last time it saw any use was a few years back when an upset mother brought in their cat and their daughter. They distracted the kid with the puzzle, and as the girl sat there on the old, ratty carpet hunched over the table, struggling to comprehend the geometric abomination enrapturing all of their senses like a devout believer listening to a sermon, the woman laid it on me that the family cat needed to be brought out behind the shed, so to speak. It had broken a leg, and they just didn't have the funds to treat it. Nobody does, in this economic climate. When I finished the deed, the mother told her child that Mr. Fuzzball would be staying here for awhile, and they'd "come visit him soon".

I threw the beloved family pet out with my takeout later that evening.

I gazed up at the door as the little bell I hadn't heard in weeks jingled. First words out of my mouth were "How many pets, and we don't serve cops." Then, I looked up. A man in great physical anguish "walks" in, supported on both sides by fellow compatriots in black slacks and suit jackets, white shirts, and spiffy ties. Either that first guy's shirt was half and half red and white, or he took a bad shot to the gut. Not a fun way to go. I label the guy mentally as Mr. Orange, and the other two as Mr. White and Mr. Brown respectively. Best not to remember real names in this business.

They set Mr. Orange down one of the lawn chairs as he groans loudly again. Mr. White comes up to the desk, and tells me they've got a pet that needs urgent care from a hostile home owner taking a pot shot. I glance over to Mr. Orange, and see that while he's freaking out over the immense pain he's suffering at this very moment, Mr. Brown is a bundle of jittery nerves. "A gut shot like that, I'm going to need someone stable who can hold him down, along with a nice lump of change.", I tell Mr. White. He's angrier by the minute, and I think he'll be busy keeping an eye on me to help with the injured party's surgery. He stops for a moment, then slaps $3000 bucks down on the table, and gives me the stink eye. That's a lot of dough, but I'm not complaining. However, I'm still going to need the help. I open my mouth to tell him this, but then suddenly, the door rings once more, and I wasn't expecting what walked through.

Walking into a room with a bloody man groaning in agony served as a surefire way to know he was in the right place. It's common knowledge to gear towards the more privatised health services when you have secrets to keep, and you shouldn't expect you won't see something you'd rather not while there. Yuri said nothing as he walked in, and kept his face straight, before leaning against the moderately unclean facility's wall.

"Kuu... Stitches, after him of course," he said to no one in particular, motioning towards the critically wounded individual. He kept his gaze straight ahead, at the opposing wall. 'It's preferable to avoid eye contact. His condition is clearly in danger, mine is relatively fine. I just hope the doctor hurries up and treats him soon.' Even if one's medical competence is adequate, it's usually impossible to properly treat yourself, unless the wound is both simple and in an easily reachable location on your body. The latter was the damming factor for Yuri.

Realizing that whatever deity that was watching out there decided to cut me a break, I see an opportunity to avoid getting my face blown off today, and take it. "Ah, there's my intern just now!" I say, quickly moving over to the new entrant, after shooting the dying man a quick smile. I stand next to him, and lean in close. "You a cop?" I ask, "If you're a cop, we don't serve cops. Otherwise, I got a quick way for you to make some cash, get some discounts, and save a life, if you're interested."

Mr. Orange lets out a loud groan, and the scared shitless guy continues to freak out. I snap at him to calm his shit, then turn back to the kid as Mr. White gives me an angry glare, hand shifting to his waist and inevitable holster. "Well, kid? What'll it be?" I ask him one more time. "If you don't want some easy money, then you loudly say you're bringing me your grades so you can keep working here, you wait five seconds, then pretend your phone is ringing, and leave. Or, you stay, and get to hold that punk down while I treat him for his indigestion." I pause for a moment. "I know what I'd pick."

This sounded like a win-win deal to Yuri. 'All of my previous actions leading me into this situation proves I walk the path that is just. Very well!' "Are you ready to operate, boss?" He bit the tip of his index finger as he took in the scene. The patient appeared to either be shot or stabbed, given the blood visible from the frontal abdomen. He hadn't seen his back, but if he was here in the first place, that probably meant it was a bullet and it hadn't gone through. Unfortunate! Either way, he was certain they could take care of it.

'Most people are too weak to disregard physical pain. That is understandable, yet annoying, however, preventing the resulting struggle is what I have been tasked with today.' He pointed towards the patient. "It going to hurt worse than it does now, so steel yourself! There's no avoiding it, otherwise you will die!" It's better to tell someone if they will suffer rather than lie about everything being fine, just how people will be more let down to expect something good and not receive it. 'I can still use both arms, so there will be no issue. No matter how much he wishes to trash about, I will prevent him from moving!'

"Sure, sure, whatever pal, just help me get this dipshit back into the exam room." I tell the kid, quickly moving over to the injured party. I sling an arm of his over my shoulder, ignoring him scream in pain. So happy I sprung for the sound insulation. I motion over the surprise "intern", and start moving the guy towards the exam room with my surgical supplies. Mr. White goes ahead of me, likely trying to scope out the area for potential dangers, with Mr. Brown following close behind. Laying the guy down on the table, I remove his shirt and suit jacket, and get to work.

"What about anesthetics?" Mr. White asks. I laugh, and tell him unless he wants to club this guy over the head, he's not going out for this. I get my tools out. "You, intern. Hold him down. You, freaked out dude. Keep your friend silent." I tell them. This is going to be a long surgery.

Gripping the patient's shoulders, he pushed down against the table. His movements were gentle enough now, but once the tools were inside of him, the true challenge would commence. Yuri felt the sterner of the two suited men would end up being a bother for the rest of the happening. 'I do not like that man. I can tell from his actions he's most likely a jackass. Everything about how he carries himself leads me to believe so.' He repeated his thought to himself. 'I do not like this man, yet this doctor,' he gazed at the doctor expressionlessly. 'I believe he appears capable. He can help me.' He glanced back down at the struggling patient, restrengthening his push. 'I will not let you ruin this surgery, once who struggles.' He braced himself for the trashes that were about to ensue.

Knowing there's a pistol trained on me and that my body won't be found if I fuck this up really helps calm the nerves, you know? I make the initial incision, the man squirming and screaming as a result, trying desperately to not look at the body horror going on below them. Admittedly, things went by in a blur. I tend to not remember the details, just that I didn't nick anything important when extracting the foreign matter. Overall, it only took a few minutes to extract the 9mm in his gut, but stitching and disinfecting too a bit longer.

After about thirty minutes, I was done. The man had passed out from pain about 15 minutes in at least, and his buddy apparently didn't have a strong stomach, as he ran out to throw up. I feel as if Mr. White isn't holding me a gunpoint, so I turn around to face the guy. "You can move him out of here now, keep him the fuck on those anti-biotics, or he'll get the worst infection of his life and die. And keep the mob shit out of my fucking office next time." I tell him. He nods, hands over the cash, and I take it. After Mr. Brown returns, he helps Mr. White carry Mr. Orange out of the office.

I turn around to face the kid, already holding his share of the cut. "1500 big ones. I suggest you stuff it under a pillow, don't go buying crack or hookers or whatever it is you kids do today. Although," I begin, "That was some good work. I could use an orderly like you for when I get patients next time. You seemed fairly interested, so if you're ever looking for work, you come on back here.". I hold the $1500 out for him.

The movements of the doctor were smooth and professional. It didn't take him long to finish the procedure. After all was done, he was offered compensation for his time, and he accepted. "Thank you, Doctor. I will keep that in mind. However, before I put this money away-" he began to roll up his sleeve, pulling a bloody paper towel from it as he did. "I did come here for treatment today as well." Yuri revealed a vertical cut, running the length of his forearm, fresh blood beginning to leak after reopening due to holding the patient down. "Too deep, too wide to be left alone. I've disinfected it myself, but I lack the means to stitch it. You'll do it for a fee, yes?"

I look at the kid's injury, and realize it's nothing compared to the gut buster I just pulled out of the other guy. I think it might scar, though. "This one's on the house, kid. Thanks for that help back there." I tell him. "One small fee though, you gotta tell me how you got this nasty wound." Prepping for the stitching and disinfecting I'll need to do, I look him right in the eyes, and tell him "I'll know if you're lying, too, so don't leave anything out."

What a great deal. "Very well. I was studying a beggar, to see if he was, in fact, truly homeless, or simply a panhandler. After four hours, he began to depart and told me to leave him alone. When I refused, he became aggressive, and later brandished a knife. Using my arm to avoid organ damage was unfortunately necessary, but flesh wounds can always heal, so I suppose I am fortunate." Quite bizarre it is how so often people only make empty threats with weapons, rather than strike while the other party is unaware of their armed state. It appeared rather counter-intuitive to Yuri. "I'm unsure if I'm vaccinated for hepatitis B, but I don't believe there's anything that could be done were I to have been infected from it. I suppose the chances are low enough to not even have to worry about that." Simply having the wound closed was all he came here for, thus he could finally feel relieved.