Free Angels in the ER by Robert D. Lesslie Page B

to see what it looked like.
    William Purvis was lying on the stretcher of bed C. It was in the back right corner of minor trauma. Each bed in this room was encircled by ceiling-mounted curtains that could be drawn aside to create more open space or pulled around for privacy. Since he was alone in the room, the curtains had been pulled back and the room was open.
    I walked over to his stretcher and pulled out the curtain that separated his bed from the one beside him. Should someone else come into minor trauma, I presumed Mr. Purvis would want some privacy.
    “Mr. Purvis, I’m Dr. Lesslie,” I announced. “What happened to you this evening?”
    He was lying comfortably, propped up by a pillow, and was holding a large gauze bandage across his chest. Blood had oozed through the cotton mesh in a few places.
    “This!” he said, removing the gauze and revealing a twelve-inch gash that extended from his left nipple to the pit of his stomach. It was clearly down to muscle, but at the moment there was no bleeding. The pressure he had applied must have helped. He was obviously exasperated, and he dropped the bandage back on his chest.
    It was then I noticed he was wearing black leotards and bright-red wrestling shoes. I studied his face for a moment, trying to place his name. He looked familiar, and then…it dawned on me.
    “You’re one of the Bruiser Brothers, aren’t you?” I asked him.
    He nodded without looking up at me. “Yeah, I’m Max.”
    The Bruiser Brothers, Max and Irv, were two of my kids’ favorite wrestlers. They were some of the leading “bad guys,” and for some inexplicable reason my children identified with them. Hmm. In fact, I had seen them only a few weeks ago when they had come to town. I had been the “event physician” for a big wrestling extravaganza, performing a couple of required licensing examinations before the show. I was then required to be on hand lest something go wrong. It seldom did. These were well-trained athletes and usually things were well-planned and well-choreographed.
    “Max, or William, I’m a big fan of yours.” I lied a little here. “Tell me more about what happened tonight.”
    This half of the Bruiser Brothers was enormous. He must have been at least six-foot-five, and the chart said he weighed in excess of three hundred pounds. From what I could see, most of that weight was muscle.
    He shifted slightly on the stretcher, wincing from the pain.
    “We were wrestling over at the Civic Center this evening,” he began. “We’d just finished our bout and I was climbing out of the ring ahead of Irv. Just got down the steps when this old coot sitting on the front row jumps up with a knife and slices me. I got a glimpse of the blade—looked like a big hawkbill—but everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I couldn’t get out of the way quick enough—and then this,” he pointed to his chest again. “Irv jumped down the steps and coldcocked the guy.”
    “Wow!” I remarked. “You’d think they’d have better security.”
    “You’d think,” he agreed. “But this guy must have been in his seventies. I’d be more worried about some of the ladies sitting around him. They really get wound up.”
    “What happened then?” I asked.
    “I got out of there as fast as I could, that’s what happened,” he exclaimed. “That guy was crazy and I wasn’t hangin’ around. People were screamin’ and Irv was yellin’ and pushin’ me down the aisle. And here I am.”
    It must have been mayhem. Those wrestling spots were always packed, and the crowd must have really reacted. And I was betting it would be on TV on the coming Saturday.
    I had to check myself. Max was a patient now and not a celebrity. I needed to shift back into physician mode. Still, it was kind of interesting having him here. He wasn’t a movie star or the vice president, but he was famous, at least in this part of the country. Or maybe infamous.
    “Okay, let me take a look at that cut,” I