Rocky tossed Anselmo roughly into the chair in the corner of the small room.

"I told you," Anselmo said shakily, "I don't know where they went, they did not tell me!"

"You gave them your car; your cousin's with them, you must have some idea where they were goin'..." Rocky leaned down into the younger man's face. "And if you don't start singin' it's gonna cost you more than just a good plastic surgeon."

Anselmo licked the salt from his lips. "Danny said something about a place in Victorville."

"Yeah, and?"

"And that's all I know. It is some place outside Victorville. He didn't tell me anymore than that." Rocky slugged him hard across the face. "I swear, he did not tell me anything else."

"A place outside of Victorville... he must have said something more than that."

"No, no, I swear." Rocky pulled a gun from under his jacket, cocked it and held it to Anselmo's head. "No, no, please..."

"You'd better tell me all of it, Anselmo."

Sweat began to bead across the man's forehead. "I...I don't know exactly where they are, I swear it, but..."

Rocky grabbed the man hard by the neck, pressing the barrel of the gun into Anselmo's forehead. "But what, Anselmo? I'm runnin' out of patience."

His voice trembling with fear, Anselmo spoke softly, "He said one of the cops had a house outside the town. It was a family place or something, and it was some distance outside the town." He looked into Rocky's dangerous eyes. "Now I swear to you, on my mama's grave, that is all I know."

Rocky smiled then. "I believe you, Anselmo." The smile was disconcerting and grew wider. "How long ago did you lose your poor mama?"

"Ten years."

"Then it's been a long time since you've seen her. I'm sure you miss her." His smile widened. "I'm gonna fix that..."

And before Anselmo could comprehend the meaning of the words, Rocky pulled the trigger.


Vandano's hoods sped along the I-15 in their Lincoln Towncar, heading toward Victorville.

"How we gonna find this joint without more info, Rocky?'

"It don't matter if we go from house to house, Mickey, we ain't got not choice."

Mickey frowned, not immediately understanding what Rocky was saying. "Can we stop at that diner off the highway and get some pie?"

Rocky shook his head: Mickey was good with a gun, but other than killing and eating, he was pretty much taking up space. But all he said was, "Yeah, we can get pie."


The moaning from the table caused him to stir. Asten straightened up in his chair, and leaned toward his patient, placing a gentle hand on the man's shoulder.

"Quincy?"

The medical examiner's eyes fluttered open and he grimaced in pain, but he whispered, "Bob... you look tired."

"Never mind how I look, let me take a listen here..."

Asten picked up his stethoscope and listened to the coroner's chest, then checked his pulse against the second hand of his wristwatch. He sat back down in the chair, once again returning a calm hand to Quincy's shoulder.

His voice was soft with affection, "Your vitals are pretty weak from the blood loss; how do you feel?"

"Like I was flattened by a steamroller," he muttered.

Asten grinned slightly. "Is that a comment on my surgical technique, doctor?"

Making no attempt to join in the repartee, Quincy shook his head, frowning in discomfort. "It just hurts."

Asten stroked his hand over Quincy's brow. "We've got to wait a little while before I can give you anything more for the pain." His eyes stinging with distress, Quincy simply nodded, and Asten swallowed hard. "What can I do to make it a little easier?"

"Just stay close, Bob," Quincy said weakly, "Please..."

Asten couldn't keep the emotion from his voice, "You can count on it."


The pounding on the front door jarred Monahan from his disquieted sleep on the couch. He bolted upright, grabbing his gun from the coffee table, and he quickly went to the door.

"Who's there?" He demanded.

"Lieutenant, it's Brill..."

Monahan opened the door. "What the hell took you guys so long?"

Brill and Danny moved into the room, carrying the bag of remains with them.

"We ran into a little trouble at the house of stiffs," Danny said.

"What kind of trouble?" Monahan demanded.

"A couple of Vandano's men, lieutenant," Brill explained, "But they weren't too mobile when we left."

One of Monahan's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't probe further on the subject. "Bones are in the bag?"

"Yep."

Danny and Brill set the bag down on the coffee table, and Tovo shook his head. "I ain't never walkin' into no morgue again." He looked at Monahan. "I had to hide out in one of them stiff drawers. I ain't never doin' no morgue break again."

Monahan stared at Brill. "Why is it I get the feeling that you two almost didn't get back here..."

Brill shrugged. "We're here. That's what counts."

Danny's voice turned soft, "How's Quincy?"

Monahan shook his head. "Asten got the bullet out, but Quincy's pretty weak."

"I don't know how wise it is to stay here, lieutenant," Brill said, "they got the car and the plate. Given Vandano's resources, I doubt it'll take him long to track us down."

Monahan's lips pursed slightly. "We're not gonna be able to move Quincy too quickly. He's stable, but Asten seems pretty worried about him."

"I'd like to see him," Danny said.

Monahan nodded toward the makeshift operating room. "Come on, but be quiet in case he's asleep..."


The three men softly walked into the dining room, through the hanging sheets, and into the now dimly lit area. Asten had fallen asleep, his head leaning on Quincy's forearm. Monahan walked up behind the doctor's chair and gripped Asten gently by the shoulders, squeezing the man's muscles.

"Asten?" His gentle voice said, "Hey, Asten..."

Bob stirred with a slight moan and then started awake. "What...what's wrong?"

"Relax. Danny and Brill finally showed up with the skeleton Quincy wanted."

Asten nodded to the two men. "Everything okay, gentlemen?"

"As okay as it could have been, Dr. Asten," Brill responded. "How's Quincy?"

Asten looked down at his patient. "In a lot of pain, and awfully weak, I'm afraid." He stood. "Brill, Danny...would you two stay with him for a few minutes? Monahan, I'd like to talk to you."

Danny moved closer and took Quincy's hand in his own. "Sure, doc, sure."

Brill stepped in a little, and Monahan followed Asten into the kitchen.

"What is it, Asten?" Monahan asked tightly.

"Did you mean what you said before? About giving Quincy some blood?"

"Of course I did."

"He could really use it if you can spare it."

"You take whatever he needs, Asten."

"Thank you, Monahan."

Uncomfortable with the deep emotion he could sense from Asten, the ex-cop headed back toward the dining room. "Well come on, let's not make him wait any longer," he growled.

Asten followed Monahan into the little sterile area and looked on for a moment as Quincy stirred uneasily in his sleep. Tovo turned toward the doctor.

"Is he gonna be okay, Dr. Asten?"

"I hope so, Danny." He turned toward Brill, "Sergeant, Sam's asleep in the bedroom, would you ask him to please prepare the bed for Quincy, and do whatever you can to help him?"

"Sure."

"Monahan," Asten indicated the only chair in the area, "let's get started."

"What can I do?" Danny asked, feeling utterly useless.

"Try and keep Quincy as quiet and comfortable as possible. He's had a pretty rough time of it."

Danny nodded and gently gripped the coroner's hand in his, softly rubbing the top of it with his other; even if it only helped a little, it was better than standing around doing nothing.


Mickey took another bite of pie while he waited for Rocky to get back from the pay phone across the street from the Coco's in Victorville. Business in the coffee shop was brisk, and Mickey chalked it up to the fact that there wasn't much else to do in town. The fact was, there was nothing to do in town. Rocky walked into the restaurant and sat down in the booth.

"You couldn't wait for me?"

Mickey looked at his plate of pie. "I was hungry. And I like the pie here, Rocky."

Rocky shook his head. "The manners of the old days are gone, and so is the class."

"I'm sorry, Rocky, I didn't mean nothin' by it...You find anything out?"

"Not yet. Mr. Vandano says we should sit tight here in town."

"Good, I'm tired. We could get a room at that motel we passed on the way in."

"We can't sit in no motel, Mickey. We gotta sit in the car and wait for one of these guys to show his face in town. Then we just follow him back to wherever they're holed up."

"And then we go in..."

"No. Then we call for back-up. I ain't takin' no chances this time. Mr. Vandano wants these guys dead. He wants them bones at the bottom of Lake Mead."

"Are we in trouble, Rocky?"

"Let's just say it's either them, or us, Mickey."

"I don't want it should be us, Rocky."

"Me neither..."


Sam attached the unit of blood Asten took from Monahan to Quincy's IV. The men had carried Quincy into the bedroom, and laid him on the bed; but Sam could see from his friend's face that the move had taken a toll, and he was in a lot of pain. He squeezed the man's shoulder gently.

"Hang in there, Quince, Asten said he'd give you some morphine in a couple of minutes."

"I hope so, Sam," the medical examiner said through clenched teeth, "I can't take too much more of this."

Fujiyama nodded and then left the room to move Asten along. Danny stepped a little closer, so that Quincy could see him.

"You look like you could use a drink, doc."

"Yeah," Quincy tried to force a slight smile, "even one of yours..."

"Spoken like an Irishman; that's Monahan's blood you're gettin' all right..."

Asten walked in then, carrying a loaded syringe and an alcohol swab. "Danny, if you'll excuse us a minute please."

"Sure, sure. Take it easy, Quince, I'll see you in awhile."

Quincy nodded to Danny and tried to catch Asten's dark eyes as the man set the syringe aside on the table and pulled the blanket down below Quincy's hip. Without a word Asten pulled the coroner's underwear down slightly and lifted his shirt. He swabbed the area of skin above Quincy's pelvis, then picked up the syringe and plunged the contents into his bloodstream. The medical examiner winced at the needle prick, but a moment later, as the drug moved into his system, his body relaxed slightly. Asten set the empty syringe down, covered Quincy and sat softly on the edge of the bed.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks." Quincy stared into the dark abyss of Asten's eyes and said, "Don't worry so much, will ya?"

"That's what I do for a living, Quincy." He looked up at the rapidly emptying plastic bag of Monahan's blood. "I've got one more unit of O to give you after this."

Quincy frowned slightly. "How much did you take out of Monahan?"

"Two pints."

"Two pints? Asten--"

"--Be quiet. You needed it, and Monahan will be fine after some rest and an iron shot." He checked Quincy's pulse then, followed by his reflexes. "That's more like it..."

The medical examiner smiled slightly. "You mean I'm going to survive despite the attending surgeon?"

"You think it's funny now, doctor, but when that morphine wears off, you won't be laughing." Asten started away, but Quincy grabbed his forearm, hard. "Quincy, what's the matter?"

The medical examiner couldn't keep the deep affection from his timbre, "You really came through for me, Bob."

"Yes, well--"

"--You were here when I needed you; I'm not going to forget it."

Asten smiled at him. "You just remember that the next time you're in my office screaming your head off about some cockamamie experimental technique you want me to pay for."

Quincy grinned, changing the subject. "Brill and Danny get the skeleton?"

"Yes. Sam and I will begin the prelim tests in the morning, after we've had a few hours sleep. And speaking of sleep, doctor, it's long past time you had some."

"I want to examine the bones."

"You'll do no such thing," Asten said sternly, "You're going to rest." His voice shook with emotion, "Do you have any idea how close we came to losing you?" Bob looked away then, embarrassed at having voiced his fear. Quincy laid a soft hand on Asten's arm, and the director glared at his medical examiner, growling, "I simply meant that it would have been a nightmare of paperwork for me to replace you, not to mention the hassle of training a new man, and well, Monahan would have been upset."

Quincy's eyebrows shot up. "Monahan would have been upset?"

Asten stood up and headed for the door. "Well yes, Quincy...how would you feel if you wasted two pints of perfectly good blood?"

Before the medical examiner could muster a retort, Asten slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him. After a few minutes, Quincy dropped off into a deep sleep, oblivious to the fact that Vandano's men were less than seven miles away from the small, white house in the desert.