"Henry, what's going on with the person in your arms?" Nurse Claire asked as soon as she saw the familiar bald giant carrying an old man in.
"Happy America, shootings every day. People getting shot shouldn't be that rare, right?" Henry still had the mood to make a sarcastic remark. The nurse pointed at an empty bed beside them. "Put him there. Who's the patient?"
"John Doe."
"Oh, right. Another John." The nurse's initial examination was noticeably slower. "So who's paying the bill?"
"Since I brought him in, I'll handle it. Maybe I can set up a fund to help people like this."
"You can discuss that with the hospital." Claire Temple resumed her brisk movements and pushed the bed farther inside. "Doctor, gunshot wounds. One visible wound in the thigh, another in the lower back and abdomen. There's bleeding."
"Get him into surgery." The doctor, who had just finished bandaging another patient, gave the order bluntly. Henry remained outside, watching the professional doctors and nurses get to work.
Watching the man get wheeled into the operating room, Henry felt half the weight lift from his heart.
The reason he had not treated him personally was that Sheep Cave Valley Laboratory had been wrecked by Hulk last year, and a new site had not yet been established. He also did not want to bring Whistler to the secret base on the eleventh floor in the Tribeca District, so he simply sent him to a proper hospital.
It was only a matter of money. Besides, as long as Whistler received treatment in time, he would not die easily even if he wanted to.
Henry also did not believe the FBI on the West Coast could learn about Whistler seeking treatment on the East Coast so quickly, then direct the FBI office