Asten pulled the syringe from Monahan's arm and the Irishman made a face. "Use a bigger needle, why don'tcha..."

Asten set the syringe down. "The iron will help you recover faster."

"I woulda been fine, Asten," Monahan assured him, "I've given blood before, you know."

Asten sat down on the coffee table in front of Monahan, holding the ex-cop's wrist between his fingers to check his pulse. "How about you be the cop and let me be the doctor?"

Monahan yanked his arm away from Asten and stood quickly. "Don't pull a Quincy on me, I tell you, I'm fine--"

The ex-cop swayed, his face draining of all color. Asten stood, grasped him by the arms, and gently sat him back down. "You were saying, lieutenant?"

"All right, all right," Monahan acquiesced, "I feel a little tired. Ya happy now?"

"Oh yes," Asten said as he gently pushed Monahan into a prone position on the couch, "immensely." He covered the Irishman with a blanket and put a pillow under his head. "You relax, lieutenant, I'm going to change that bandage on your head. It looks like it's been there since World War II." Monahan rolled his eyes, but ignoring him, Asten removed the soiled gauze and grimaced at the sight of the infected wound on the ex-cop's forehead. "Oh Monahan, did you even clean this?"

"It hasn't been my top priority, Asten."

The doctor nodded, patting Monahan's shoulder. "I know. I'm just concerned about how deeply the infection's set in." Asten cleaned the wound with alcohol and covered it with gauze, putting one of Monahan's hands over it. "Hold that."

He reached into his bag and pulled out a curved suture needle and 5-0 silk.

"What are you doin'?" Monahan asked, his voice filled with annoyance.

"You need stitches."

"Oh no you don't..."

"Exactly when and where did you receive your medical degree, lieutenant?" Monahan glared at Asten, but didn't respond. Asten threaded the needle and removed the gauze. "This is going to hurt a bit."

"I think you're enjoying the reactions you can get with live patients..."

"Actually, Monahan, I prefer patients who can't talk back," Asten growled.

"I'll bet you haven't heard so much squwakin' since your residency," Monahan sneered.

Asten pushed the needle through Monahan's flesh a little harder than he needed to.

"Ow!"

Asten smiled. "I'll bet you're right..."

Realizing that Asten had the upper hand, Monahan kept his head still, and his mouth shut.


Sam emerged sleepily from the bedroom where he'd sat by Quincy through the early hours of the morning. Monahan was asleep on the couch in the living room with Asten in a chair nearby; Danny and Brill were wrapped in blankets on the floor. Sam couldn't help but think that under other circumstances, the scene would have been entertaining, but considering that Quincy had almost died and all of them were now fugitives from the FBI, he couldn't see the humor. He headed into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, then peered back out into the living room, debating on how much longer he should let Asten sleep; the doctor looked uncomfortable at best sitting in the chair, but the technician knew the man had to be exhausted.

Deciding to let Asten sleep awhile longer, Fujiyama sorted through the supplies that Monahan had brought with him, realizing that if they were going to be imprisoned outside of Victorville for an undetermined amount of time, a market run was in order. He made a mental note to ask Danny if he'd take charge of the food inventory and acquisition. The coffee finished brewing and Sam poured himself a cup, but the voice from behind caused him to bobble it, spilling some of the hot liquid down the side of the mug.

"I thought I smelled coffee," Asten said.

"Yes sir," Sam responded, "I figured we could use a pot." Sam poured Asten a cup and handed it to him, "Here you go."

"Thanks." For a moment the two men sipped the warm liquid in silence, but then Asten continued, "I thought we'd examine the bones in the dining room, since we already have the proper lighting and sterile field in there."

"Yes sir."

"Perhaps Brill will help with the equipment set up while I check on Quincy."

"That's a good idea." Sam took a sip of coffee and observed the deep-seated worry in Asten's dark eyes over the rim of his cup. "Dr. Asten?"

"Yes?"

"Is Quincy going to be okay?"

"I think so, Sam, with the proper rest and care anyway..."

"Then why do you look so worried?"

Asten pitched his voice carefully neutral, "I hadn't realized that I looked worried."

"You do."

"Oh." Asten took another sip from his mug. "I don't like seeing people in pain. I never did."

The unusual vulnerability in Asten's voice surprised the technician. "Is that why you went into administration?"

"Yes," Asten answered curtly. "It's a terrible thing to watch someone suffer; especially if it's someone close..."

Sensing Asten's growing discomfort with speaking on such a personal level, Sam changed the subject. "Monahan's sleeping pretty soundly, although he looks a little pale."

"I took a lot of blood from him." Asten swallowed some coffee. "But without it, I don't think Quincy would have made it."

"I wish we could take Quince to a hospital."

Asten sighed, realizing for the first time how truly exhausted he felt. "So do I, but then Sequana would take custody of him, and I have no confidence in how long Quincy would stay alive in that scenario."

"If we can rebuild the person that the skeleton belongs to, and link its death to Vandano, then Sequana will be satisfied, and we'll all be off the hook, including Quincy," Sam offered.

"Yeah," Asten sighed, "but Quincy's the expert on post mortems of this type, and he's in no condition to help us." Asten set his mug down on the counter, sighing heavily. "I'd better go check on him. Sam, can you get started on setting up?"

"Yes, Dr. Asten." Bob headed toward the door, but Sam's voice called him back, "Dr. Asten?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"Try not to worry so much; Quincy believes in you and so do I."

Asten smiled in embarrassment. "Thanks Sam...I...I appreciate the vote of confidence."


Sequana glared in Louie's direction. "Well?"

Fox shook his head. "We're working on it, Rick."

"That's not good enough, Louie. We're talking about six men, one of whom has a bullet in him. They couldn't have just faded into the ethers..."

A small man who Sequana recognized as one of the bureau researchers burst into the room, carrying a computer print out. "Agent Sequana, I've got something..."

Sequana pulled the paper from the man's hands and read it. "Clark County morgue," he said to Fox, "they had a break-in last night. Give you one guess what came up missing..."

"The skeleton from the Kantana."

"Exactly."

"The only question is which one of them did it? Vandano or Monahan?"

"There were signs of a struggle and a pair of sawed-off handcuffs were found on the floor."

"Hmmm," Fox said, "sounds like maybe all of our boys ran into each other at the morgue."

"Yes," Sequana continued, "and my guess is Monahan's boys came out on top."

Fox licked his lips. "If Vandano's men were there, Rick, it sort of gives credence to what Quincy was saying about the bones."

"Not necessarily, Louie, it could just be that Vandano was looking for the quickest way to tag onto their tails."

"Maybe. But that begs the question of why he thought they'd go after the bones given the risk to themselves."

Sequana nodded, then realized the strange little researcher was still standing there, watching the two men as if he was observing a tennis match. "You," Sequana growled at him, "what's your name?"

"Uh, Larousse, sir."

"Good work Larousse."

"Thank you, sir."

"You seem to be pretty good with a computer interface."

"Yes sir, it's my specialty. I think one day the bureau's going to be able to track criminals, and even solve cases by using computers. The technology's even going to become small enough and user-friendly enough that one day, we'll all have them on our desks as tools, the way we use papers, pens and telephones."

Sequana looked at him strangely, but let it pass and instead said, "Fine, fine, Larousse, I need you to do something for me. These men have to be holed up somewhere between Los Angeles and Las Vegas. You have all their names, right?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. See what you can find with that computer of yours and get back to me with some possibilities in the next couple of hours."

"Yes sir!"

Larousse left the room and Louie looked over at Sequana. "Wars have been waged and won by such men..."

Sequana shook his head and the two of them turned their attention back to their work. If Vandano's men were that close, it meant that the stakes had risen to a much higher level: it was no longer a game of chase and apprehension, but rather a race against time for life or death. He honestly hoped they would find Quincy and his team before Vandano.


Danny pulled Monahan's car into the parking lot of the Circle K market. He pulled a list from his pocket and went into the store, unaware of the two men observing him from across the street.

"That's him, ain't it, Rocky?"

"Oh yeah, that's our boy all right."

"We gonna nab him when he comes out?"

"Nah. We're gonna follow him back to wherever it is they're holed up."

"And then we're gonna get all of 'em..."

"No, then we're gonna call Mr. Vandano and tell him where they are..."

"Oh." Mickey smiled then. "We can get pie after that, can't we Rocky?"

"Yeah Mickey, you can have pie later. But not until after we've disposed of our little band of problems."

Mickey was already onto the pie. "I'm gonna get coconut cream..."

Rocky shook his head; how the guy had managed to stay in Vandano's good graces for so long was beyond him. But then again, sometimes it probably paid to be good with a gun, and dumb as a stump. He shook his head, smiling: apple pie with chocolate ice cream sounded awfully good.


Asten gently wiped Quincy's face down with a cool cloth causing the coroner to moan softly.

"Why is it so warm in here?" Quincy asked weakly.

"You're running a little fever, Quincy," Asten answered, "nothing for you to worry about."

But the concern on Asten's face told a different story. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

The doctor dunked the cloth into the cold water again, and squeezed the excess water out. He placed it over his patient's brow. "I want you to get some rest, Quincy, it's the best thing for you right now."

Quincy's large gray eyes drooped tiredly at him. "I feel a little nauseous."

Asten nodded. "That's not surprising."

"Infection in spite of the antiobiotics you're pumping into me?"

"The damage to your stomach lining from both the bullet and the ulcer was extensive," Asten answered carefully.

But the coroner could sense the man's fear. "Hey, you're really scared...please don't be." Quincy noticed the exhaustion in Asten's eyes then. "Have you slept at all in the past two days?" The director just shook his head, and the coroner continued, "Bob, I'm sorry for putting you into this position. I know how tough this is on you."

"This wasn't your fault, Quincy, and I don't want you thinking about me in this; I came to terms with my father's death a long time ago, you know that."

The medical examiner pitched his voice very gently, "If that was true, Bob, you wouldn't still be hiding behind a desk."

Asten looked down, fidgeting with the reading glasses in his hands. "This is a different situation; nothing's going to happen to you." His eyes quickly flicked up into Quincy's then, his voice quivering slightly with emotion. "You're going to be all right, Quincy."

The medical examiner put his hand softly over one of Asten's. "Which one of us are you really trying to convince of that?"

Asten's dark eyes glistened with moisture, and his voice was colored with uncertainty, "I don't know." The doctor could read the effort his patient was expending in the conversation, and he squeezed Quincy's hand. "You need to rest. How's your pain level?"

"It's okay," he answered tiredly.

"Then close your eyes and go to sleep."

Quincy's eyelids fluttered closed as Asten pulled the blanket up tighter over Quincy's chest. He stood and walked toward the dining room and the waiting autopsy; at least that victim's suffering had ended a long time ago.


Danny drove along the dirt road, unaware of the sedan following quite a distance behind him. He pulled the car next to Anselmo's and began lugging the bags of groceries into the house. Rocky stopped his car at the side of the dirt road and watched while Tovo unloaded the bags. When he was satisfied that the occupants were staying put, he turned the car around and headed back into town and a pay phone. Vandano needed to be notified and then all they had to do was wait for reinforcements and nightfall. Luckily the house was far enough out of the way that any noise issuing from the area would go unheard and unnoticed. An all out war could take place and the nearest neighbor was too far away to hear a damned thing.

Rocky smiled: at least this part of the operation was going to go smoothly. There would of course be the obligatory gunplay as the men in the house realized Vandano's men were outside, but they would be no match for the syndicate in fire power or number. Once subdued, all Rocky would have to do was set fire to the house and that would be the end of all of them, and the skeleton. He couldn't think of a better ending to a long couple of days.