Mila took a clipboard from a hook on the side of the cart and rattled some of the little cups of pills, as if looking for the correct one.
She imagined very hard that she was a nurse, willing herself to become believable in the role. Still, she had no idea what these pills were.
Suppose she gave Depardieu the wrong ones—she might kill him! Although that wouldn’t matter, once she had the information she sought.
“Ah, Nurse,” Dr. Antonosky smiled unctuously, “update me on Mr. Depardieu’s medications. I don’t see any recent notations on his chart.”
“Yes, Doctor,” she replied, thinking quickly. “Antibiotics … something for pain, of course …” “Pain, yes,” Antonosky nodded.
Not only ugly, but stupid, too! He wanted names, dosages … in the old days, someone like her would never have been hired.
He picked up the patient’s chart again, pretending to study it. “Yes, I see …” he said thoughtfully. “His injuries are rather serious.”
Tell me, Gerard,” the doctor said, “how did you sustain these injuries? You were attacked at the Inaugural, yes? But who attacked you?”
Mila looked down at her clipboard again; the nurse in the corner stopped fussing with the IV line and stood still, as if listening.
Suddenly the door to the WC banged open and Kanye West sprang across the room, grabbed Depardieu’s head, and placed a machete to his throat.
Talk!” he shouted. “Then you can’t tell me nothin’? Excuse me, was you sayin’ somethin’?” Depardieu squirmed beneath the blade.
Then Kanye glanced up. “Doctor!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” Antonosky’s eyes widened as he shook his head no.
“You two know each other?” Mila asked, too eagerly. “No!” Antonosky shouted. “Yes!” Yeezy said. A faint click broke the silence.
The other nurse wheeled back around quickly, attempting in vain to hide her camera—and the fact that her face was not human.
“You!” Antonosky barked. “We saw you! Turn around.” Slowly, the nurse did as she was told. The others gasped: a Siberian tiger!
Quickly, MurderCat growled a greeting to Depardieu. Luckily Snowy had taught him some Bear, although his accent was not perfect.
“Who are these people? Who do the Bears work for?” “I do not know them,” Depardieu growled, “but the Bears are for the Bears. We hate Putin!
“He brought death to us, he took our King’s betrothed, he turned Snowy against us, her own kind!” The bear squirmed under Kanye’s blade.
“You speak Belgian!” Antonosky cried. “Tell us what he is saying!” “Certainly, Doctor,” Murder Cat grinned.
“You are wrong,” the Tiger growled to Depardieu. “Snowy still loves her own, she fights with Putin to protect them. Tell Orso his daughter…”
“Ha!” Depadieu snorted. “You believe that too? We Bears know the truth. Orso is not Snowy’s father! Her father is …”