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WHEN NICK GOT TO HOLLYWOOD Presbyterian, Willie was waiting for him outside Knapp’s room. The bleeding had stopped, but his nose was red and swollen, making him look like W.C. Fields.
“Is it broken?” she asked.
“Stings like a b***h, but I don’t think so,” Nick said.
“There’s a lawyer in there hovering over him. Davidson called him.”
“Of course he did.”
“I want us to be on the same page. In that room, we’re on the same team, okay?” she said.
“But our other conversation isn’t over,” Nick said.
“Not by a long shot,” she said, opening the door to the hospital room.
Rory Knapp was awake, but he wasn’t speaking. His movement was stilted, labored, like someone who had just suffered a major stroke. When his eyes were open, they stared off into the distance. He had so much of the halluc
