It was still sunny outside when the sliding glass doors opened with a slight hiss. The emergency room beyond was filled cheap florescent light and smelled strongly of bleach. Normally this combination would have bothered Kenton, but as he approached the nurses’ station he couldn’t help but feeling inexplicably good.

“Afternoon Dr. Shelley,” the nurse on duty greeted him from behind the desk.

“That’s Dr. Feelgood to you, baby.” Kenton knew the line would sound corny. It always did, especially when he added the wink and double handed pistol point, as he did today. But, he still said it. He said it everyday, and today shouldn’t be any different.

Before he knew it, the first emergency surgery came bursting through the operating room doors. The body was a young woman, approximately 23, caucasion, suffering from a gunshot wound to the chest. Internal bleeding was expected. No exit wound. Dr. Shelly was the assisting surgeon in the attempt to remove the bullet.

The operation should have been routine, but Dr. Jarvis, the lead surgeon on the operation seemed to be having trouble. His gloves were slick and bloody.

“Jarvis, you okay man?”

“Yes, just having trouble…locating…the bullet.”

Kenton leaned over the body, glancing down at the hole cut into the overlaid green plastic.

“Jarvis, she’s bleeding out. Switch with me.”

Jarvis looked up, his eyes burning above his surgical mask. “I’ve got it Shelley.”

“We’re losing her.”

“Goddamn it Jarvis, switch the fuck out.”

“I said I have it Shelley.”

“She’s going flat,” the nurse monitoring the woman’s vitals noted, completely unnecessary due to the long, monotone pulse that was emanating from the box next to her.

“Pull out Jarvis. Nurse, charge the paddles.”

Kenton slid around to the defibrillator and pulled the paddles. Paddles set he turned around. Jarvis was still working inside of the woman.

“Goddamn it Jarvis. Get off of her. You’re killing that woman!”
Jarvis didn’t budge. Kenton looked down at the paddles in his hand, set them back on the defibrillator and with one swift motion landed his right fist on Jarvis’ face. The lead surgeon stumbled backwards his hands free of the body. Kenton grabbed the paddles once again and leaned over the woman’s body.

“Clear!”

The darkness of the bar stood in start contrast to the bright lights of the operating table. The place was quiet not even the jukebox playing. Sitting at the bar wasn’t doing it for Kenton, the events of the day played across his mind over and over.

“Hey Sarah, can I get three shots of Goldschlager over at the piano?”

“Sure baby.”

With a Bud Light in his hand, Kenton drifted across the room dead on his feet. As he sat down at the bench of the poorly tuned Weber Upright that had been in the bar since the last owner, Kenton felt the weight of the day on his shoulders.

Sarah set three shot glass down onto the piano’s top.

“You gonna play for us?”

Kenton nodded and emptied all three shot glasses.

“Got nothing else to do.”

Slowly, the bar began to fill with the sounds of Springsteen’s Racing in the Streets. With a bit of gravel in his voice, Kenton drew out all the words. Seven minutes later, Kenton stopped, looking down at the keys. Behind him, a slow series of claps.

“You sure can play.”

Kenton turned around. Sitting behind him was a gentlemen in a worn jean vest, flannel shirt and old John Deer cap.

“Thanks.”

“You ever think of playing for a living?”

“Might have to now. Lost my job today.”

“Oh, how’d you do that?”

“Punched a surgeon.”

“Why?”

Kenton shrugged, “Dunno. I do what I want.”

“Gonna play another?”

Kenton nodded and turned back to the piano.