“What’s your name?” I asked. I was trying my best to remain calm, but I was close to losing my mind right along with him.
“Jelani,” he gritted, eyes locked on the elevator like he could will Dr. Crawford to defy protocol.
“Okay, Jelani. Please just trust us to do our job. I’ll come back with updates as soon as I can.”
I turned and caught up with Dr. Crawford. Another nurse, Regina, held the elevator doors open as she pushed the gurney inside.
“Dr. Crawford,” I said. “I’m not an OR nurse. I really should stay and help out down here.”
“No, you brought him in,” she said, checking his vitals without looking up. “I need you to be the family liaison.”
The man groaned, his head rolling weakly to one side.
“I don’t understand,” I said, looking between her and Regina as the elevator doors closed.
Regina looked at me like I missed the obvious. “Don’t you know who this is?”
I cut my eyes at her. “I’ve only been here a month, Regina. No, I don’t know who he is,” I snapped, not bothering to take the edge out of my voice. This was the kind of petty shit that had Monica cussing folks out regularly.
Dr. Crawford let out a deep sigh. “This is Cash Banks. If he dies, heads will roll—starting with us.”
* * *
It was after midnight, and I was still stuck outside the OR, waiting on updates about a man everyone seemed to know except me. I got tired of sitting around, so I snuck downstairs and slipped past Jelani, who was pacing the floor like a caged animal. I grabbed my phone from my locker to do some digging.
Turns out, Mr. Banks was a hood legend.
He grew up in one of Atlanta’s roughest neighborhoods with his parents and younger brother. The hood blogs said his dad was a big-time drug dealer in the ‘90s and early 2000s, and managed to move the family to the suburbs by the time Cash was in high school. He’d gotten a football scholarship to Duke, but had to drop out when his father was killed during his junior year.
It gets a little murky after that. Everyone assumed Cash took over for his dad, but he also managed to start Banks Enterprises and Commercial Realty before he turned thirty. They rehabbed run-down buildings and leased them out to small business owners at fair prices. The city loved him for it.
But it was clear he was still into some shady shit. Why else would Dr. Crawford make it a priority for us to keep him alive? I sighed and rubbed my temples. My head was throbbing, and the harsh fluorescent lights weren’t helping. I grabbed my phone and opened the text thread with Monica.
Friend, why am I still stuck at the hospital? Shit’s been wild all evening.
Monica: For real? I picked up some lemon pepper wet and on my fourth glass of wine. Told you to leave with me, bestie.
This bitch. The hard plastic chair creaked as I shifted into a more comfortable position.
Anyway. You know some dude named Cash Banks? He came in shot up. Crawford is forcing me to be the family liaison.
Monica: Big Money Banks got shot??
Big Money who?
Monica: Bitch, that nigga runs Atlanta. That’s that old-school drug money right there.
“Jasmine.”
Dr. Crawford's voice pulled me from my phone. I looked up to see her standing over me, clearly as drained as I was. I shoved my phone into my pocket and stood.
“How is he?” I asked.
“He’s stable,” she said, taking off her glasses to rub her eyes. “We removed the bullets and stopped the internal bleeding. He lost a lot of blood, so we put him in a medically induced coma.”
“Thank God,” I murmured, remembering what she said in the elevator. The last thing I wanted was to be the one to tell Jelani his brother didn’t make it—he’d probably shoot me on sight.
“You can give his brother the update and head out,” Dr. Crawford said, offering me a tired smile before turning back to the OR.
