Quincy walked down the corridor and felt a shiver run down his back; he wasn't sure if it was fear or a symptom of the fever he was running. Either way, the coroner figured he needed to try and shrug it off. He walked through the double glass doors and smiled at the secretary.

"Morning, Mona."

"Hi Mr. Quincy," she said without her usual sparkle.

He frowned. "Everything okay? You sound a little...disturbed."

"You missed all the excitement."

"I did?"

"Yeah. The police were here checking things over. There was a break-in last night, and the burglar attacked a guard on this floor, right outside our office. There was blood on the floor and in the stairwell, and...oh Mr. Quincy, it was awful!"

He walked over to her and put his arm around her. "Take it easy, Mona, whatever it was, it's all over now. Did the police discover anything?"

"Like what?"

She was pretty, but not overly bright. Quincy smiled at her. "I don't know...like what the burglar stole and from where...?"

"Oh, nobody's found anything missing."

"That's odd, don't you think?"

She shrugged. "Hadn't thought about it really, but one of the cops said something like that too."

He brushed a gentle hand through her hair. "Well don't you worry, I'm sure everything is fine now."

He headed toward his office, and grimaced as a sharp pain stabbed at him. He moved through the large wooden door, closing it behind him, and walked over to his desk, almost collapsing in the chair. His right hand pressed inward on his abdomen trying to subdue the ache, and he let out a slow breath; and then he noticed the bottle of pills on his desk. He picked it up and read the label: Michael Quincy, cimetidine. His lips curled into a small smile when he read the doctor's name: Dr. Robert Asten. But all too quickly he remembered how the pills came to be on his desk, and he wondered if Monahan was all right. He opened the bottle and tossed a pill into his mouth, swallowing it down dry. If he knew Asten, it was a combination prescription and would not only control the pain but also start to heal the lesion in the lining of his stomach. He put the pills in his pocket just as his door opened.

"Good morning, Michael," Stu Phillips said, "too bad you got here so late this morning, you missed all the excitement."

"So I heard..."

"Have you prepared the Vandano brief?"

"Yeah, it's here in my desk. Why?"

"Just wanted to be sure you were ready. The last thing you want to do is piss off Vandano."

"We just need to take care of some tax issues. There are questions about filings from the past five years, no big deal."

"If it's no big deal, why did you insist he come out here?"

Quincy swallowed hard, realizing the mistake he had almost made. "I just meant I could take care of it. The IRS is nothing to fool with, Stu, remember Al Capone..."

"Uh-huh." Phillips started back out, then nonchalantly turned back, smiling lecherously. "Did you have a date with that bombshell of yours last night? What's her name? Cindy?"

Quincy smiled outwardly, but inwardly he tried to squelch the panic; there had been nothing about a woman named Cindy in Michael's file. It could be that Stu Phillips was baiting him, or it could be that Michael had recently begun to date such a woman and the FBI wasn't up on it. He decided avoidance was his best tactic.

"I didn't go out last night, actually..."

"What? Don't tell me our resident Don Juan's starting to slow down a little? Tell me the truth, Michael...is there another new one or are you just trying to keep Cindy all to yourself? I mean, we are partners after all, shouldn't we share and share alike?"

"I am telling the truth, Stu, I didn't go out last night, really."

"Sure you didn't, Michael, sure," Stu said smiling, "You just tell that broad Cindy that I'm next in line!"

"Stu, I've got work to do..."

"Yeah, yeah, sure..."

Phillips walked out and Quincy leaned his head back against the chair, his stomach burning in pain.


"I'm sure, Mr. Vandano, absolutely sure. If that's Michael Quincy then I'm President Carter," Phillips said into the phone, "He slipped about the importance of the tax evasion brief, so then I questioned him about his girlfriends. Michael never dated a girl named Cindy, and this guy didn't correct me, and I gave him several openings."

"What about this break-in last night?"

"Cops said nothing was taken."

Vandano was quiet for a moment, then said, "All right, Phillips. Thanks for the tip. I won't forget it."

"Thank you, Mr. Vandano."

Vandano hung up the phone and looked over at his right-hand man. "It seems the feds have plugged in another boy. Find out who he is, now. And change the meet to over here. If we're gonna pop a guy, let's do it where we won't get caught."

"Yes, Mr. Vandano," the big man said.

Vandano shoved another grape into his mouth as the large man went into the adjoining room. He held his hand out to the brunette woman sitting on the couch a few feet away from him.

"Sheri...get busy," he ordered, opening his robe.

Vandano let out a moan of pleasure when her mouth covered him, and a smile lit his face: the day was beginning pleasantly, and would only get better when he could make the fed's impostor first squirm, then tell him everything he wanted to know, and finally die for his trouble. He had let a hitman take out Michael Quincy, but this guy - he was gonna pop this guy personally.