They flush the rest of Leon’s coke and his quaaludes, though Rain tells him to keep his weed. “I’ve heard it helps with pain.”
Sorrento calls every hospital in the area and is refused again, and again, and again.
So he begins visiting them instead. He stands in lobbies and speaks in a tone just below a shout, making sure everyone who comes and goes hears that the hospital turns away sick people. He stays until security personnel come to throw him out, then he yells some more from the sidewalk.
After relentless weeks, he finally gets one sliver of hope. A girl, no more than a candy-striper, runs after him, catches him in the parking lot.
“I can’t help you,” she says, then leans in close, pitching her voice to a whisper. “But there’s some doctors. They’re in the closet. They’re afraid they’ll lose their jobs. But I have…” She looks around nervously, grabs him by the arm, and pulls him further away from the hospital entrance. “I have a brother. He knows some people.”
Sorrento fumbles for paper, comes up empty. “Give me his number. I’ll just… I’ll just remember it.” He swears it to himself.
But she shakes her head vehemently. “I have to give him yours. He’ll call you from a payphone. Here.” She gets a pen from her apron and offers her hand, and Sorrento writes Leon’s phone number in her palm.
“Please.” He closes her hand around the number, holds her fist in both of his. “Please, tell him to call. It’s for…” He takes a shuddering breath and decides to take the risk. “It’s for Leon.”
For a second the name doesn’t register, then her eyes widen infinitesimally. “I’ll do what I can.”
Please God, he prays. Let that be enough.