"Apology accepted," Jack said, directing his eyes back down at Laurie. "And I'm sorry I was so damn sensitive. You've had plenty of reasons to be distraught. The problem is I've been pretty upset myself. Of course, that's hardly an excuse."

"Okay, Laurie!" a cheerful voice said. Laura Riley bounded into the room, along with an orderly. "The operating room is ready, and all we need is you."

Laurie introduced Laura to Jack and was careful to mention that Jack was a fellow medical examiner. Laura was gracious but cut the conversation short, saying she really wanted to get things under way. There had already been a little delay waiting for one of the operating rooms to free up.

"Would it be okay if I observe?" Jack asked.

"No, I don't think that is a good idea," Laura said without hesitation. "But since it's the evening shift, I can probably take you up to the surgical lounge, and you can wait there. That's bending the rules a bit, but you are a physician. Then, as soon as we've gotten Laurie taken care of, I can give you an update. That is, of course, if it's all okay with Laurie."

"It's okay with me," Laurie said.

"I'll take you up on the surgical lounge offer," Jack said. "But first, maybe it would be a good idea if I gave blood. Laurie and I are the same blood type, and if she needs another unit, I'd like to be the donor."

"That's very generous," Laura said. "Chances are we'll use it." Turning to Laurie she said: "Now let's get you up to the OR and get you fixed up." She nodded to the orderly who unlocked the wheels of the gurney and began angling it toward the hallway.

"Excuse me," an accented voice called out in a peremptory tone.

Jazz stopped and turned around. It was the owner of the sundry store on Columbus Avenue that she frequented. He had also tapped her on the arm at the same time he had spoken.

"You forgot to pay," the man said, pointing to her canvas bag, which was slung over her shoulder.

A wry smile appeared on Jazz's face. She estimated that this anemic-looking guy weighed less than ninety pounds when he was wet, yet here he was, accosting her in the middle of the sidewalk on Columbus Avenue. It was amazing the nerve some people had, de- spite having no way to back up their behavior. Of course, he could be packing, but Jazz seriously doubted it. He had on a snug white apron tied around his middle, precluding access to any pockets.

"You took milk, bread, and eggs but no pay," the man elaborated. He then bunched his lips into a tight ball and thrust out his chin. From Jazz's perspective, there was no doubt he was pissed, and he acted as if he was ready to fight, which didn't make sense unless he was gazillion-level black belt in some exotic martial art. She was bigger than he, invariably in better shape, and had her right hand holding her Glock in her coat pocket.

"You come back to the stored!" the man ordered.

Jazz instinctively glanced around. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, yet that would undoubtedly change if she created a scene. Still, she was tempted. She looked back at her heckler. But before she could speak, her Blackberry in her left coat pocket beeped and vibrated in her hand. She usually left it on when she was out walking around.

"One second," Jazz said to the store proprietor as she pulled her Blackberry out in the open. A larger, more genuine smile took over her face as she noticed it was a message from Mr. Bob. After getting three names in the last two days, she wasn't expecting another, but why else would he be contacting her at the time of day when she got names? She quickly opened the message.

"All right!" Jazz exclaimed. There on her screen was the name Laurie Montgomery. Taking her right hand out of her pocket, she gave the storekeeper a thumbs-up sign. She couldn't have been more pleased. Another five thousand dollars was coming her way, meaning that in three nights, she'd earned a whopping twenty thousand dollars!

"My wife will call the police if you don't come back and pay," the man insisted.

With the windfall addition of five thousand dollars to her net worth, Jazz experienced a flush of uncharacteristic magnanimity and largesse. "You know, now that you mention it, I think I did walk out without paying. Why don't we wander back and settle up."

The airplane's wheels thudded against the runway, and the fuselage shook from the impact. The noise and vibration yanked David Rosenkrantz from the depths of sleep. Momentarily disoriented, it took him a moment to get his bearings. Turning his head to the side, he looked out the rain-streaked window. He had landed at LaGuardia Airport, the terminal's lights barely visible through the misty air.

"A good night for ducks," a voice said. "They said it was going to start raining again around ten, and for once they were right."

David turned to the man sitting next to him. He was a prim, late-middle-aged fellow with rimless glasses, dressed like David in a shirt and tie. Robert insisted David wear business clothes. He explained it lent an aura of legitimacy to their operation. David liked it because he felt he blended in better. With all the flying he had to do, he looked like just another businessman.

David's fellow passenger was leaning forward to see out of David's window. "Are you coming home, or are you on business here in New York?" the man asked. Throughout the entire flight he'd not uttered a word. He'd had his nose in his laptop the whole time.

"Business," David said without elaborating. He didn't like talking too much with his fellow travelers; conversations inevitably worked their way around to what kind of business David was in. In the past, if forced, David had said he was in healthcare consulting. That had worked until the day he found himself chatting with a fellow passenger who was legitimately in the field. The remainder of the conversation had been rather dicey, and David had been saved by the opportunity to deplane.

"I'm in business, too," the prim man said. "Computer software.

By the way, where are you staying? If you're staying in Manhattan, maybe we could share a taxi. When it rains in New York, they're like hen's teeth."

"That's very generous," David said, "but I've yet to make arrangements. This trip was put together at the last minute."

"I can recommend the Marriott," the man persisted. "They almost always have availability on the weekend, and it's a good central location."

David smiled as best he could. "I'll keep that in mind, but I'm not going directly into town. I have to make a stop here in Queens." He planned to take a taxi to Long Island City, where he'd have the cab wait while he picked up the arranged gun.

"Remember, this hellcat is usually packing," Robert had advised. "So don't give her much breathing room. In fact, don't give her any breathing room at all. The whole problem is that she has no compunction whatsoever about using her piece."

David had nodded at this unsolicited advice, but he didn't need to be told any such thing. He was a professional and had been doing this for years. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. The address was 1421 Vernon Avenue, Long Island City. He wondered what kind of place it would turn out to be. He also wondered if getting the gun would go smoothly. On a recent trip to Chicago, the gun source had been picked up the day before on unrelated charges, throwing off the whole operation and forcing David to stay in the windy city for five days. He hoped the same snafu wouldn't happen in New York, since he was anxious to be on his way back to St. Louis in twenty-four hours or so.

David looked at the other addresses he had written down on the paper. They were Jasmine Rakoczi's apartment and her health club, both on the Upper West Side.