“Alright, sir. You need to calm down and tell me your location and the nature of the emergency.” To her credit the phone operator kept a pleasant tone despite Jeremy’s previous violent outburst.

“4913 Hemingway, fucking drive or road, I don’t know.” Jeremy said, a little more controlled, into the receiver.

“No need to curse, sir. What is the emergency?”

“I’ve just been fucking shot through my fucking leg, so yeah there is need to curse. Send. Me. An. Ambulance. Please. Lady. Who. Doesn’t. Fucking. Get it!” Jeremy bit off each word, seething, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging out purple and red against his tanned skin.

“Alright, sir. An ambulance is on its way, you sit tight now.” The operator hung up, and the dial tone gave Jeremy the sudden suspicion that an ambulance might not be coming.

He weighed his options and decided that perhaps, despite his verbal brutality, the operator may just be a kind enough person to help him anyway.

“Fuck.” Jeremy said in resignation, and sat down by the phone.