Chapter Two
Security Sam brought the Harley to a stop at the very front of A&E, and I slid off the back, clutching my side against the pain still burning there.
“Stay with the bike,” I growled through gritted teeth.
“But Indie said…”
“Yeah. I know. But I said stay with the bike. I’ll show you the fucking evidence when I come out.” I glanced at the automatic doors sliding open every few seconds and the collection of tracksuit-clad ne'er-do-wells that huddled to one side smoking. “I want to be able to get home.”
Sam opened his mouth again and I shot him a look. He closed it, nodded, and started the Harley back up. The prospect had sold his car and shit bike for that and probably taken out a loan on top. The last thing I needed to be doing tonight was fighting some chavs just to get the flashy fucker back.
The lads smoking at the entrance glanced over me, their eyes resting on the badges stitched onto my cut and then moving away quickly, before muttering at each other and shuffling out of the way.
A&E was stuffed full inside. Every seat taken, trolleys lining the long corridor opposite me. Coughs filled the air like the toll of bells. Ominous. And probably fucking contagious. Inevitably, I was gonna walk out of here with more wrong with me than what I came in with. But looking at the number of people all crammed into the plastic covered seats, spilling onto the floor where they sat, cross-legged against the walls, getting out wasn’t going to be anytime soon.
There was a queue at reception just to get checked-in, and frantic receptionists straining to hear through the protective glass, not wanting to get too close in case they were the next ones coughed and spluttered on. I shuffled forwards until eventually it was me at the front. The woman at the desk was mid-thirties, strands of hair dropping over her face and sticking to a sheen of sweat as she worked incessantly.
“How can we help?” She muttered, the words sticking as her eyes met mine and tiredness became nervousness.
“Need stitches.”
“What happened?” she asked, her gaze now firmly on the computer screen in front of her.
“Accident.”
“Gathered that. I need to know for triage notes.”
“In my workshop. Fell on a circular saw.” It was all I could think of on the fly.
The woman’s head snapped up at me, surprise set in light blue eyes, before she followed the path of my right arm to where it hugged my side.
I nodded. “Yeah. It’s definitely gonna need stitches.”
“Name please.”
“Reap.”
“Reap? That’s your name?” she glanced at me again, averting her eyes quickly like she was almost frightened to look at me.
“Just Reap. That’ll do.”
“Your address?”
“No fixed abode.”
I lied. But no one needed to know I was here. And when they looked at the gash in my side, they’d know it was a knife wound. Didn’t need the coppers coming round asking questions.
“Take a seat…”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, we’re really busy. We’ll see everyone in order of priority. A nurse will triage you soon.”
Stepping away, I found a space against the wall, the furthest I could get from any sick fuckers in here. I leaned against it, the cold seeping through my clothes and the leather cut. My body ached, not just from the gaping wound in my side, but deeper, like my insides were slowly leaking out withmy blood. Behind me, the wall propped me up, paint thick and rubbered over from years of being scrubbed clean of other people’s mess. It didn’t give. Didn’t offer comfort either. Just held me upright.
The place stank of antiseptic and old heat. Hand gel, disinfectant wipes, sweat soaked into plastic chairs. Under it all, something sour: blood, probably, and vomit. The kind of smell you stop noticing if you’ve lived around it long enough. And the kind of smell you recognised instantly if you’d experienced enough of it.
A plastic handrail ran along the wall at my back, warm and faintly tacky where a thousand palms had already gripped it tonight. I rested my weight there, jaw tight, waiting for the throb in my side to ease. It didn’t. The wound burned, wet and deep, and I could feel the blood sticking the fabric of my t-shirt to my skin.
