"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I saw a movie once about what it was like when the real bosses were in control. When one of the musclemen of the day took someone out to knock 'em off like we're doing, they tied the person to a chair and put their feet in cement, and while the cement dried, the person being knocked off could think about what was soon to happen. Now, those guys were the real baddies, not like us."

"You're out of your freakin' mind."

"Maybe, but someday I'd like to have a chance to do it. Besides it would be easier and faster today, with stuff like quick-set and the like on the market."

"Well, I can tell you one thing for sure. We're not going back to Home Depot tonight so you can have some fun and games."

12

Angela hurried out onto Fifth Avenue from the commercial entrance to the Trump Tower, and merged into the heavy pedestrian traffic heading south. She had to wait for the light at 56th Street, and glanced at her watch. She was already late for her scheduled seven-fifteen dinner with Chet McGovern. It seemed that lately she was always running and always late. The pressure was unrelenting. She knew she shouldn't be taking the time to dine formally, but the coincidence of having had a confrontation of sorts with Dr. Laurie Montgomery and being persistently asked to dinner by one of the medical examiner's colleagues on the same day was too much not to take advantage of. Angela was concerned that Laurie Montgomery could be the biggest current threat to the secrecy Angels Healthcare had managed vis-a-vis the MRSA problem and its cash-flow consequence. Angela needed to know how big a threat.

When the light changed, Angela's mind went back to her other problems. Paul Yang still had not returned, and just before leaving the office, Angela had checked with Bob. She thought he would have called if the accountant had contacted him, but Angela wanted to be sure. It would have been nice to be able to cross off one of her concerns. At the same time Angela was checking with Bob about Paul Yang, she had asked him if all had been arranged with Michael about the extra fifty thousand. Bob had said everything had been taken care of except the money itself, which he hoped would be wired in the morning.

The last thing Angela had had to take care of before she left the office was a blowup between Cynthia Sarpoulus and Herman Straus, the president of Angels Orthopedic Hospital. Cynthia demanded to keep David Jeffries's OR closed for another twenty-four hours, while Herman wanted it available. It was his contention that there had been four operations after Jeffries, which had had no infections, and the OR had been fastidiously cleaned. Cynthia, on the other hand, wanted to wait a day to check it again before giving it a green light. Under normal circumstances the chief operating officer, Carl Palanco, would have handled the problem, but mercurial Cynthia had threatened to quit, meaning Angela had to step in to mediate. Angela did not want to lose their infection-control professional with MRSA still a potential threat.

At 54th Street, Angela turned left and hurried her step. Despite all the current problems and pressures, she resigned herself to at least enjoy the meal even if it was, like everything else she was doing, in the line of work. After all, on the positive side, it was one of her favorite restaurants.

Coming through the front door and then the inner door, she peeled off her coat and gave it to the coat check person. Approaching the hostess desk, she expected to see one of the owners, of which there were two. Although she didn't know for certain, she suspected they were brothers. The one whom she expected to see, since he acted as the maitre d', was the elegant Italian male with the omnipresent and superbly fitted Italian suit, crisp white shirt, bold Italian silk tie with matching pocket square, and luxuriously dark, rather long and flowing hair. The other was the tough, no-nonsense Italian male exuding testosterone, who could have played the part of a mobster. He dressed considerably more casually yet commanded significant respect tinged with a touch of fear. He usually hung out behind the small bar, and when Angela stepped farther into the room, she caught sight of him in his usual location. When he caught sight of her, he waved and greeted her by name. Prior to the disastrous MRSA problem, Angela had patronized the restaurant nearly on a weekly basis, but it had been for lunch, not dinner. She quickly surmised the brothers probably rotated evenings, since the power lunch was the establishment's forte.

One of the waiters recognized her as well. He was a youthful-appearing Italian with a pervasive smile, who also greeted her by name. With a grand gesture he pointed her toward the front corner table and said, "Your guest has already arrived."

Standing behind the table, Chet waved and smiled a greeting.

As Angela approached, she sized him up. She'd forgotten his engaging, nonchalant smile as well as his boyish appeal. She never would have suspected he was a physician, and certainly not a medical examiner. During her medical training, pathology had not been her favorite course. She couldn't help but wonder why anyone would choose to make a career of it.

When she reached the table, Chet surprised her by stepping out and giving her a hug. She limply hugged back. After all, this was business, even if he didn't know it.

"Thanks for coming out, knowing how busy you are."

"Thanks for having me. I'm not sure I would have gotten much dinner had you not been so persistent."

"As I said, you have to eat."

They sat down.

"First things first," Chet said. "This is my treat."

"I think I'm going to get the best of this exchange," Angela said. She knew that in keeping with its quality, San Pietro was not inexpensive.

They engaged in superficial banter for a time, after which Angela signaled for the waiter. She was committed to having a short evening.

The youthful, smiling waiter came over and rattled off an impressive description of more than a dozen appetizer specials and more than a dozen entree specials. Then he handed out the menus.

"That was incredible," Chet whispered to Angela. "How does he remember all that?"

After they had made their selections, including a bottle of 1995 Brunello, they went back to their conversation. As had been the case the night before, Angela found Chet an extremely facile conversationalist, and she couldn't help but enjoy his humor and refreshing candor. He was, as he openly admitted, an irrepressible lothario. Yet by admitting it so freely, it seemed to erase its usual tawdry shallowness. Once again, as was the case the previous evening and in spite of all the pressure she was under, she began to enjoy herself. Of course, the wine significantly helped, as it was truly delicious to the point of making her feel a bit guilty: She imagined the bottle was pricey.

As the conversation proceeded, and not wanting to be rude by essentially delving into her true interest for coming out to dinner namely, to find out about Laurie Montgomery, she took advantage of Chet's openness by asking him why he chose medicine and why forensics.

"You want the expurgated version or the truth?" Chet said, flashing one of his playful smiles.

"The truth!" Angela said with exaggerated forcefulness. She took another sip of the heavenly wine.

"Most people, like ninety-eight percent, go into medicine because they are truly motivated to help people. Not me. I had no idea what I wanted to be until about the eighth grade."

"What happened?"

"One of my friends, whom I thought of as somewhat of a nerd – I mean, he was the chairman of the chess club – suddenly decided he truly wanted to be a doctor, and for the standard reason. And do you know what happened?"