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“Uh… he’s slurring a bit, I’m not sure. I’m trying to focus on the road to actually get to you, and, uh, my coworker’s name is Harry, and—shit!”

The injured man groans, and the young person says, “sorry, the potholes, man—and there are so many drunk people, jeez. Um, wait, here’s Harry—”

The phone carries a bunch of static, but reaches a man. He does sound familiar. Also oddly southern, though Dana hasn’t got a clue where in that region. “Hi, I’m Harry Wilson. My cousin’s name is Mike—oh boy—”

There are at least five Mikes here that Dana can name off the top of her head, and not all of them are on shift. She thinks this Harry Wilson is about to vomit, at least by the sound of it.

“We can figure that part out when you get here,” she tells them. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Maybe ten with how she’s driving—”

The call cuts out. Dana sighs and announces they’ve got an MVA coming in.

--

“You know, I was gonna ask more about whose cousin this is, but I think I can guess.”

Breanna looks up from where she’s walking next to the gurney, and spots the older blonde lady that she thinks said that. “Uh, hi?”

“Hey, you must be the kid from the phone,” the woman says. She addresses Harry next. “Sir, are you related to Doctor Robby? Think you’d look identical if he shaved and got a good night’s sleep.”

Harry laughs, wheezing a touch. “Aw, he’s still going by that? Mom’s gonna be disappointed.”

“I’ll let Robby know,” the woman says. She pats the bed, rattles off some instructions to the nearest nurse about vitals and drugs, and then turns to Breanna. “So, you hit him with your car. How’d it happen, and do you know if he’s been drinking or anything? Emergency contacts?”

Breanna cannot tell this lady about the ‘getting shot at’ parts. “I borrowed my older brother’s food truck, and the sightlines take some getting used to? He kinda just… walked out from between two other cars and I was distracted by so me firecrackers while I was checking over my shoulder, so between all that, it kind of just… yeah.”

“Okay,” the lady says. Her name tag says Dana Evans. “Miss…?”

“Uh, Breanna, Breanna Casey.” Since this is going around Harry’s actual family, they probably shouldn’t lie too much.

“I’m not a cop,” Nurse Evans says. “I’m not asking about why you hit him, I’m asking about how. Mechanism of injury. Did you clip him passing, hit him straight on, how fast were you going?”

Right, yeah. Breanna’s a bit concerned by all the physical papers and the downed monitors she’s seeing. “Uh, clipped him, not very fast, but it knocked him over and I think he hit his head on the cement.”

“Concussion protocol,” Nurse Evans says. “Do you have anyone we can call?”

“Um, yeah, I have his daughter’s phone number,” Breanna says, pulling out her phone, “probably faster to ask me than… whoever the cousin is? You said Robby, but he said Mikey, are those—”

“Michael Robinavitch, yeah,” Nurse Evans interrupts. She seems in a hurry. “Here, Princess can help you get started on the forms with what you do know, and hopefully we’ll have Robby here or the daughter on the phone by the time we get to anything that needs HIPAA.”

“Okay,” Breanna says, “I can do that.”

--

“What do you mean Dana says my cousin’s here?”

Santos shrugs, eyes wide and eyebrows up in the exaggerated way that says ‘I don’t know what you want from me here.’ “That is what she said, and that is what I’m telling you. Guy kinda looked like you if you shaved. I heard Huckleberry asking him concussion questions.”

Like you if you shaved. “Well… I’ve only got one cousin,” Robby says. He signs off on the latest paper shoved his way, and heads for the door. “Which room?”

He makes his way down to the right room, which is actually just one of the beds with a curtain, and finds Harry laying down. He is still in most of a tan suit, the jacket thrown over a nearby chair, which is also occupied by a young black woman who has a laptop out.

“You have enough signal for a video call?” Whitaker asks her as he pauses in filling out the paper forms. It’s impressive, given they don’t have any wi-fi right now.

“I’ve got some crazy satellite connections,” the girl says. She doesn’t look away from the screen. “Becky, did you find the right files or should I try to go through employee records for it instead? Harry’s right here, he can give consent for it or whatever. It’s not like his social’s a huge secret anyway.”

“Okay!” Robby interrupts, with a clap to gather attention, “let’s not announce social security numbers by video chat. Harry, what the hell?”

“Hey Mikey,” Harry says, smiling like he hasn’t got a care in the world. There is a bandage on his head. Concerning. “I’m Pittsburgh for work. I thought you were going to be out of town! I would have called to get dinner or something.”