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NICK GRABBED HIS ORDER through the window of the food truck parked outside Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center. He stuffed a couple of bucks into the tip jar and wandered back into the emergency room lobby. Willie was talking with the attending physician about Rory Knapp’s status. He found a couple of chairs away from the bleeding people and started chowing down on one of the Arroy truck’s pork belly sliders.
Willie finished her hushed conversation and sat down next to him. He handed over her food.
“How long is the surgery supposed to take?” Nick asked.
“Couple of hours, the guy broke both of his femurs. And that was a nasty head wound. Who knows if he’ll wake up when they bring him out of anesthesia,” Willie said.
“I called Good Samaritan about the girls, you know, the ones with
