“Where have you been?” “We are busy tonight!” “Get your ass into room two. We have a gunshot to the abdomen and we need your hands!” Dr. Mac is an African American built powerful and he is also a trauma surgeon.  His sister could be Oprah Winfrey and probably is but THE wracks never asked him.  He is always too busy doing surgery.  Wracks is tired and the clock says eleven thirty.  He missed the burrito run and will have to settle for chips and a coke and the coat needs washing but no one ever sees it anyway and tonight a gunshot victim lies on a gurney in a pool of blood with two doctors doing what they do and a second-year student cleaning up the mess. The Wracks clean up messes in the ER.  His chores are to clean the surgery rooms and suture sites and then wipe the antiseptic on the furniture.  He also lends a helping hand. “Get your white ass over here and take the pail and pour the blood over the screen so we can rein-fuse him with his blood.  I have already dropped four crystalloid bags and he still bleeds.  Dr. More is on his way and will do it in the penthouse. “The patient is an Arab male of average height with dark hair.  He could be Iranian.  He could be Saudi.  He could be Iraqi but now he is in between life and death and nothing else flies germane.  On the right side of his abdomen is a gaping hole the size of a fist and the Wracks can see into his abdomen.  Blood drops out of the exit wound in his back steadily and he grabs the stainless pail and hands it to one of the doctors who pours the blood back into a bag hooked up to a large 16-gauge trochanter needle stuck into his femoral vein. The Wracks put another stainless pot underneath.  The man is conscious but barely breathing and has a vacant expression on his face with sightless eyes staring up into oblivion. Dr. Mac pours the blood on the screen and the nurses enter in and out bringing bandages and surgical sets.  “This guy is the luckiest man in the world says Dr. X.  The 357 magnum slug missed his aorta and right kidney by one inch. If we can stop the bleeding he will live.”  Mac and X clamp the bleeding vessels; and insert gauze into the hole blasted out by a 357 magnum revolver. A nurse puts her head through the curtain and says “We have a patient clubbed with a baseball bat on route. He will be in room one.”  Dr. Mac says to me, “Stay with this man until Moo comes for him. Do not let anyone closer than ten feet away.  If anyone comes in the door, grab the phone and type in the secret emergency number we gave you and security will come. Do not let anyone near him because he is near death.”  Dr. Mac and Dr. X run into receiving and the Wracks is alone. He sits in the wooden chair next to the door with a blue seat and thin legs and waits.   Five minutes later a person puts his head in the door.  The person is also mid-eastern with thick black hair and a thick black beard in jeans with a mean expression and wild eyes. The wracks say “You cannot come into this room or I will call security.  He says nothing and looks at me. The Wracks slowly stood and walked to the phone, picked up the phone, and put it to his head. “If you do not leave, I will call security!” says Wrak The man looks at me and the hair on the back of his head starts to crawl.  He holds the phone.  He looks like he will explode. He holds the phone.  He looks at me.  He starts dialing the secret code and the intruder snarls and disappears.  The wracks never saw him again.  Dr. Mac says he did well because he probably was the shooter and wanted to finish the job.  Dr. Mo is an Anglo-Saxon man about six feet tall with slightly red hair.  He has good hands.  He and his surgical assistant start rolling the man toward the service elevator.  “Dr. Mac, what is the new kid’s name?”  “Wrak”, says a voice from down the hall.  “Nice to meet you Wrak,” says Dr. Moo.  They leave and the elevator door closes. He heard the patient lived and was able to tell his children the tale.  He is a lucky man indeed.  The bullet missed vital targets and Dr. Moo was the general surgeon on call that night.  He lives only fifteen minutes away.  In life, like anything, luck is everything and when a person needs luck, they need a lot of it, now, immensely.  This man lucked out.  “Clean the room and mop up the blood.” Says Dr. Mac.  “We need a surgery set in one with proline.” “You can leave at daybreak.”  “Thank you, Dr. Mac,” says Wrak.  “Thank you.”