We fade up on Dr. Greg "Feh" Pratt chuckling at some x-rays, on which a phallic object glows white and bright, like some sort of cosmic, holy penis. Naturally, he wants to show this to Chen, in case she has a religious experience and mounts him on the spot in the name of Christ. "Hey, check this out," Pratt says. "Large vibrator, still on." Dr. Jing-Mei "Deb" Chen gives it a cool once-over, unfazed, and chirps that she'll have to one-up that soon by showing him her bowling-pin x-ray. "Little guy, but very flexible," she observes.
Enter a junkie. I'm going to call him Druggie, to distinguish him from Junkie, who is so last week. ["Druggie is known to Oz fans as Tobias Beecher." -- Wing Chun] Druggie gripes to Pratt that his pain is a ten out of ten, but Pratt brushes him off. "I slipped a disc," moans Druggie, begging for a shot of painkillers. Pratt walks right past him, which catches Carter's eye; Pratt exposits that Druggie has shown up fifteen times in two months, always seeking a shot of Demerol. Apparently, fourteen's a coincidence, but fifteen's a pattern.
Susan is busy barking at the security chief. Apparently, his officers couldn't guard a pencil if it was in their pockets. "You're Security, we're doctors, okay?" she says. "That's it. We shouldn't have to take down a needle-throwing psychotic." Officer Whatever shrugs that he can't be in two places at once, much less three or four. Susan turns to Weaver and points out that security's absence and slow response time is constantly problematic; why hasn't County hired a new company? Officer Get Stuffed argues that he's short-staffed because decent guards won't work for ten bucks an hour. In the middle of this, Carter grabs Erin Harkins to assist on an incoming motor-vehicle accident victim. And Druggie is predictably agonized. "Turf this guy to the pain clinic," Carter tells Pratt, who would prefer that Druggie just "LEBS" -- which is, leave without being seen. Yeah, clever, Pratt. And I would prefer that you "FSAGBFABC" -- which is, every rude word you can think of, smooshed together into one sentiment, and applied to your ass.
Carter re-enters with a young girl tarted up way beyond her years. She's clearly a pre-pubescent prostitute. ["Is John Wells going to poach an actor from each of HBO's original series? The Littlest Prostitute is a.k.a. Keith's nieceTaylor from Six Feet Under." -- Wing Chun] Druggie pipes up with another plea for sweet, sweet Demerol, because his other attempts have been a rousing success. "Name?" Carter asks. "Anonymous," says Anonymous. Carter makes a medic named Morales move his patient, who's waiting for a bed, so that poor little mowed-down Anonymous can recover from her accident. "I thought he was nice. He paid me extra," muses Anonymous. "Then he tried to run me over with his Mercedes." Erin gasps. "Mercedes? Can I have his number?" she pants. Or I suppose she might have asked whether Anonymous called the cops. "Yeah, I got them on speed-dial," Anonymous snarks. Plus, it's a really intelligent question considering that she got carted in directly from the scene, and probably doesn't have a cell phone unless Catherine Zeta-Jones popped by to hand her one: "Anonymous here has a broken leg, and unless she gets help, she'll miss a meeting with her pimp. Let's change all that." Erin excitedly notices that Anonymous is clenching her fist and holding her arm weirdly; she diagnoses it as "posturing," but really it's "acting," and it's happening because Anonymous is clutching a roll of bills. Erin snatches it. "I worked hard for that!" shrieks Anonymous. Carter promises that Erin will protect her hard-earned wad, so she can later go blow it someplace else. Carter presses on her abdomen until he finds tenderness in the lower quadrant; expectantly, he turns to Erin to supply the logical next step. "Ask if she sees a gynecologist," Erin guesses. Carter gives her a look that says, "She's right there, Albert Erin-stein." Erin turns to Anonymous. "Do you see a gynecologist?" she asks. "Yeah, every Sunday after Confession," Anonymous sasses.