The last thing he’d heard Junior say as the orderlies guernied him inside was, “I don’t want no drugs. Just jam it back in.” The swinging door opened and Junior walked out, his right arm in a sling and a scowl on his face, heading toward the exit. Donnally stepped into his path. Junior tried to cut around. Donnally blocked him. They stood facing each other in the hallway. Foot traffic and wheelchairs of the recently injured and wounded flowed around them like rough water around a boulder. “You sure you want to do this again?” Donnally asked. “That’s up to you, man.” Junior looked past Donnally toward the ER exit. “I got things to do.” Donnally grabbed the front strap of the sling. “I don’t think so.” Junior lowered his voice. “Let go of me. You’re in over your head. You don’t got a clue what this is about.” “Then give me one.” “Let go of me.” “I’m holding on until you agree to sit down and tell me.” Donnally tilted his head toward the corner of the small waiting area.
