Monahan and Sam carefully laid Quincy down on the sheet-covered dining room table, the former gently laying the coroner's head on the pillow. The ex-cop noted the tight grimace on his friend's face from the jarring movement, and soothingly stroked his hand over Quincy's brow.

"Breathe easy."

Satisfied that Quincy was in good hands, Sam turned to hang the last of the sheets which served as a sterile barrier from the rest of the room, enclosing them in a rectangle around the table. He replaced the 60-watt bulbs in the overhead light with high-powered ones from the lab, allowing the makeshift surgical area to shine brightly. Sam then motioned to Monahan and the two of them stepped out of the small area, almost bumping into Asten, who was already dressed in his greens, mask and surgical gown.

"Get into your gear, gentlemen, I'm going to start scrubbing," he said stoically.

Asten went into the kitchen, and using the sterile soap and brushes Sam had packed, he began to scrub his hands and arms. After a few minutes, Monahan and Sam joined him. When they were finished, the three of them walked into the sterile field Sam had created, and put gloves on. Asten leaned down toward his patient's face.

"How are you holding up, Quincy?" He asked softly.

"Kinda tired."

"We're going to start an IV soon, and we're going to give you several units of blood. You'll feel a lot better once that bullet's out of there and you've had a transfusion." Asten tried to swallow down the lump in his throat, "I'm going to have Sam put you out with a tranq now; I don't dare use anything heavier without an anesthesiologist." Asten's mouth suddenly went dry. "You... you might feel it, Quincy."

"I understand," the coroner said, "I'll try not to move on you."

Sensing the tension from his patient, Asten said, "Don't you worry about that or anything else. Everything's going to be just fine. This really isn't as bad as I first thought..."

Quincy shook his head. "Bob, you don't have to lie to me. I love you for saying it, I really do, but I know my odds aren't very good; and if something goes wrong, I don't want you to--"

"--Nothing is going to go wrong, Quincy," Asten said sternly, "You got that?"

The coroner stared hard into the determined eyes and responded, "Yeah, I got it. But just in case it does, I want you to promise me you won't blame yourself."

For a long moment, the two men held each other's gaze, until finally Asten broke away.

"Sam," Asten said thickly, "You ready with the diazepam?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Okay, let's go. He's had that bullet in him far too long as it is..."

Sam bent over Quincy, and carefully injected him with a large dose of the tranquilizer. "I'll see you when you wake up, Quince."

"You got it, buddy," Quincy answered softly.

The coroner looked over at Monahan then, for the man hadn't said a word. He was standing rigidly with his hands folded tightly in front of him, his eyes colored with intensity; but even through the mask, Quincy could read his friend's fear.

"Relax, Frank," he said with a small grin, "Asten's cutting on me, not you."

Monahan nodded at Quincy, but found he couldn't speak. He could give voice neither to the love in his heart, nor the fear in his soul. He couldn't tell Quincy how much he respected him, or how much he cared for him; they just didn't speak that way to each other. But as Quincy's eyelids fluttered closed, Frank Monahan wished he'd had the courage to push aside what had always been between them; for his very being was now weighted down with a sorrow he knew would become his everlasting burden should he not be given another chance. His light blue eyes glistened with moisture just as Asten turned to look at him.

"Monahan? You okay?"

"Yeah," he said softly, blinking away the affection, "I just don't know if he knows."

Understanding the depth of Monahan's emotions, Asten nodded. "He knows, Frank. We all do." And Dr. Robert J. Asten turned to Sam Fujiyama, who stood nearby at the makeshift instrument table and crisply ordered, "Scalpel."


"This is not what I pay you for, Rocky," Vandano roared. "You were outwitted by a coupla stiffs in the morgue. And the bones, Rocky, you let 'em get the bones." Rocky couldn't meet Vandano's eyes. "What am I supposed to do, Rocky? Huh? You tell me, what am I supposed to do?"

"Mr. Vandano...if you gimme another chance I can get these guys. All of 'um. I got the plate of the car they was drivin' and Vinny says it's registered to the guy who runs the lounge right here at the Sands. He's cousins or somethin' with that Tovo guy. I'm sure we can have him singin' before long."

Vandano nodded, considering. "What are you suggestin'?"

"I'm sure this guy has some idea where they were goin'...and I'm bettin' they're meetin' them other two."

"We don't want that coroner investigating the skeleton, Rocky," Vandano growled, "It'd be bad for business."

"That coroner's got a bullet in him, Mr. Vandano. He ain't gonna be in no condition to look at nothin'..."

"Maybe. Maybe not. You find out where these guys are holed up, and then get rid of 'em. All of 'em. I don't care how, as long as it ain't traceable. Capice?"

Rocky nodded, relief filling him. "I'll take care of it, Mr. Vandano."

"See that you do, Rocky, otherwise that lounge guy's gonna have a fishing partner."


"Clamp," Asten ordered.

Sam slapped the instrument in his hand, and Asten attached it to a bleeding vessel; but no sooner did he get one clamped off, another would rupture.

"Damnit... Sam, get this blood out of here, I can't see what I'm doing."

"I'm trying, Dr. Asten," Sam said, "but he's rupturing faster than I can keep up with it."

Asten glanced up at the unit of blood that was almost empty. "We're going to run out of blood soon..."

"We've got three more units, Dr. Asten," Sam offered, "if we can get the bleeding under control, we'll be okay."

Monahan, who hadn't said a word since the surgery had begun, spoke up, "I'm type O, Asten, if he needs more, you take it outta me."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Monahan."

Asten reached down into the incision with forceps, and Quincy groaned softly in pain. He once more tried to grasp the bullet, but again it slipped from his grip. Silently and calmly, Sam wiped the man's brow, and Asten re-gripped the instrument. Deciding he needed to be more aggressive, Asten plunged the forceps into the wound, this time causing Quincy to moan louder.

"Asten," Monahan said with alarm, "why's he moanin' like that?"

"Because he's not completely under, Monahan," Asten growled through gritted teeth.

The doctor gripped the bullet then and quickly pulled it toward the open incision, and Quincy began to thrash on the table.

"Monahan, Sam," Asten ordered, "hold him down!"

Together Monahan and Fujiyama held Quincy down on the table and listened to their friend whimper in pain, neither conscious nor unaware. Pulling hard and fast on the bullet, Asten finally yanked it clear, but the coroner cried out in agony. Asten tossed the forceps and lead into a basin, fighting to keep the sting in his eyes from overtaking him.

"Sam, I need you to irrigate this so I can get back in there. Monahan, try and keep Quincy calm and still."

Fujiyama flushed the wound with saline and the coroner thrashed again, despite the ex-cop's attempt to hold him down.

"Isn't there anything you can do for his pain, Asten?" Monahan's tense voice asked.

"I can't risk it. Mixing the diazepam with morphine might kill him."

Monahan held Quincy's upper body down on the table, and spoke softly to him. "Easy does it, Quincy. I know it's hurtin' bad. Asten's almost done, just hang tough, buddy..."

Asten wished he was almost finished, but between the damage from the bullet and the erosion from Quincy's ulcer, it was far from the truth; but he said nothing. Instead, he waited for Sam to irrigate the wound, and then with hands steadier than he had remembered, Asten began cauterizing severed vessels, and closing lesions produced from an ulcer that hadn't been allowed to heal. Occasionally Quincy moaned or moved in response to pain, but Monahan kept him fairly still as Asten moved methodically from the worst of the damage to the least.

But whether or not Quincy would survive, Asten didn't know...