"Double-crossing bitch," said Vic in the middle of an awful lot of silence.

"You should talk," snapped Newton.

" 'S not my fault. I did what I had to do. I didn't want to work for Kyler."

But Angela waved them both down, all of her attention focused on Opal.

"You're serious?"

Opal nodded. "I worked for Vaughn because he didn't make fun of me.

Chaven does. I don't like him and I don't want to work for him. I can take the books and bring them to you and you can run things, instead." I think we all knew that she was telling the truth. Opal's absolute literalness could be trusted.

Angela settled into an unexpected stillness, but her brain was probably racing along like a new adding machine, working out the debits and credits of Opal's offer. Then she laughed. It was the same joy-filled shout she'd burst with outside amid the destruction she'd so casually tossed around.

Opal scowled. "Don't laugh at me."

Angela caught her breath. "Oh, no, honey. I'm not laughing at you. It's Chaven.

You work things right with me on this and we'll both be laughing at Chaven. Can you imagine the look on his face?"

"Then you'll hire me?"

"You're on probation," she said decisively.

"What do you mean?"

"Pull this off and you'll never have to work for a piece of scum like Chaven ever again. We'll treat you good as Kyler did. Better."

Ever practical, Opal stated, "He paid me a thousand a month."

"Get away with those books and I'll guarantee you fifteen hundred."

"You're going to trust her, just like that?" asked Doc.

"Why not? I said she's on probation. She'll get a chance to prove herself when the time comes. Besides, I've met Chaven and I don't blame her for wanting to get away from him."

"And what if she decides she doesn't want to be here, either? Don't you think she might just as easily walk out on you like she's doing with Kyler?"

She swung back to Opal. "What about it?"

"I worked for Vaughn, not for Chaven or any of the others, just Vaughn. He's dead, so I'm not walking out on him. Here, I'll work for you, but not for him or him." She indicated Doc and Newton.

That made points with Angela. Doc only shrugged. "Well, you can't beat that with a stick, but aren't you moving just a little too fast, girl?"

Angela grinned. "That's how you get ahead of the others. I'm not going to sit on my keester waiting for people; it's up to them to catch up with me. If Chaven can't move fast enough, then too bad."

"Long as you know what you're doing."

"Long as Chaven doesn't. And he won't. Isn't that right, Vic?"

Vic turned a gray face on her, a dead man's face, though he was still breathing.

"Angela, I'll do anything you want..."

"Yes, I know you will. It's the only chance you'll get from me. You screw this deal up and anything happens to my father because of it, I'm going to make sure you live."

Vic puzzled over that one, his mind too foggy to make much sense of it.

"Huh?"

Doc leaned forward. "What she means is that if you make a mistake, you'll wish you were dead before we're finished with you."

"I'll do whatever you say. Promise, Angela. I promise..."

Her mouth twisted. "Save the whining for later. Screw up and I'll be in the mood to hear it then."

He was sweating freely. "I won't screw up-"

"Save it," she ordered, with a dangerous edge to her voice.

He shut his mouth and saved it.

Doc chuckled. "So... what's next?"

"I'd like to go home," I said, by way of suggestion.

He looked surprised. "Would you now?"

"Later," said Angela. "First I deal with Chaven, then with you. Understand?"

I nodded wearily. It hadn't hurt to try. If Escott called back, maybe she'd have him come pick me up, but I wasn't going to bank on her goodwill.

"God, he looks terrible." She frowned as though it were somehow my own fault.

Newton eyed me unhappily. "You don't think he's got anything catching, do you?"

"Doc?"

Doc shrugged at them. "What about it, kid?"

"No. I gotta bad stomach is all."

"You want anything for it?"

The answer to that one would only complicate things. I kept my mouth shut and shook my head.

"Maybe he wants to see your diploma from medical school," Angela said, her plump lips marred by an unkind smile. "If you haven't hocked it yet."

Doc only shrugged again. It seemed to be his ready answer for a lot of business.

"Why do you say mean things like that to him?" Opal unexpectedly asked.

The query didn't bother Angela. Her reply was simple enough. "Because I can get away with it."

Opal next turned to Doc. "Why do you let her say mean things to you?"

Doc glanced at Angela. She looked interested in the answer, as well. "Because, my dear, I can't afford to have pride these days."

"Why not?"

"Pride doesn't buy you stuff like this." He pulled out the flask and drank from it. "Once you get a taste for the old demon rum, a little thing like pride only gets in the way of your enjoyment."

"That stinks."

"I suppose it does, but you haven't got much of a leg to stand on, either."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you just sell yourself out to Angela so you could work with your precious numbers? I've got booze, you've got numbers, where's the difference?"

Opal took the point right away, scowled, and turned back to Angela. "Does that mean you'll be saying mean things to me?"

Angela shook her head. "No, I won't. And neither will anyone else here." She gave her men a significant look. They all acknowledged it one way or another. No one cracked anything like a smile.

The scowl abruptly relaxed. Labor relations satisfactorily settled, she took off her glasses to polish them against the hem of her dress. "I'm hungry," she announced to no one in particular.

Angela nodded at Newton. "Kitchen. Give her whatever she wants."

"Sure. Y'want anything yourself?"

She glared at the phone with disgust and waved them out.

"When's Chaven due to call?" I asked.

"Soon." Hardly an answer, so she might not know. Chaven could stall her all night if he wanted. She'd wait. I couldn't. Come morning and... no, I didn't want to think about that horrific possibility just yet.

"Angela?" This from Vic, who stirred painfully next to me.

She sounded bored. "What?"

"I... I'm in a pretty tough spot, I know that."

"All your doing, Vic, not mine."

"Yeah, I know that. I just wanted you to know that I really didn't want to go over to Kyler."

"Uh-huh."

"Honest. The man was..." He avoided saying "crazy," perhaps remembering at the last second about Frank Paco's own unfortunate condition. "Well, he didn't give us much of a choice. He'd just as soon skin you alive as look at you. We-"

"Uh-huh. 'Didn't want to go over.' "

"There's others who feel the same. Mort, Gabbo, lots of others. They was too scared not to. Once word gets out about Kyler being dead, they'll want to come back to work for you again."

"Like the way you want to now."

"On the level, Angela. I know the spot I'm in. After the deal you just made with Opal, you can't send me back for fear I'll queer her coming back with the books."

"Looks like the boy's finally grown some brains," commented Doc.

"But I don't want to queer things, I swear to you. I'll work with you, do whatever it takes to help you get Mr. Paco back."

Her face was stone.

"Then when it's over, I'll just tell Chaven that I'm staying on with you. When the other guys hear that, they'll come back themselves. I could talk to 'em, tell 'em about the books. They won't want to work with Chaven. They know he won't be able to hold things together the same way. Not the way you can."

The stone cracked a little. After a long pause, she sighed. "All right, Vic, you get a second chance."

Vic could hardly believe it, sputtered, and started gushing his thanks.

"Screw it up and you're dead," she added, which helped sober him.

He relaxed back on the sofa. Less subtle than the deathsmell coming from me was the stringy scent of his nervousness and white-faced fear. He desperately wanted-needed-to take her at her word, but I didn't think she could afford to keep it. It being no business of mine, I kept my mouth shut. Only last night he'd been too ready to assist in taking me to certain doom. If he could pull this one off, good luck to him. I had my own worries.

The phone rang. Angela pounced on it.

"Yes, it is. What's he decided?... Yeah, he's here. Just a minute." She held the mouthpiece against her body. "Chaven wants to talk to you, Vic. Watch what you say."

He nodded, as pale as his bandages. "I'll be careful."

Doc helped walk him to the desk. He slumped into the chair. Angela had picked up the gun once more and nudged it gently against Vic's temple.

"You just remember that you don't know Kyler's dead and turn things back over to me first thing."

Another nod. '"Lo? Chaven? Yeah, it's me... I'm okay. Yeah, they're treatin' us fine. Opal's mad as a wet hen, but fine. Angela wants to deal, what about the boss? Okay... Okay." He gave the earpiece over to Angela and wearily put his head down on the desk. She grabbed it and hunched over the phone to make herself heard, juggling untidily with the gun.

"All right, what's Kyler decided? Uh-huh... uh-huh. Yeah, we can be there by then, but why there? Uh-huh. I want to talk to my father first and make sure he's all right... Then I want to talk to Kyler so he can explain ..." She muffled the earpiece. "The lazy so-and-so didn't want to bring in Daddy."

"Bet he wants to bring in Kyler even less," mused Doc.

She tossed me a wink of acknowledgment for the news I'd given her. I didn't bother to return it. After a moment her eyes refocused and she stiffened, struggling for breath. "Daddy! Are you all right?" She laughed at his reply, sounding a little forced. "Well, those mugs will get theirs, soon as you come home again. We'll make sure. What was that? Daddy? Daddy?" Her expression abruptly went cold, reflecting the change in speakers. "Okay, you just keep him happy or I'll know the reason why." Angela slammed the earpiece back on its hook.

"What's the story?" asked Doc.

"We meet at the old boat dock in an hour."

"Why there?"

"He's coming in by way of the lake. He'll be in that big yacht that belonged to Morelli and will send a boat out from it. Daddy'll be in the boat."

"Why the hell does he want to do it that way? If we wanted to we could pick them off like sitting ducks when they return. Kyler would never take a chance like that." He glared at me, full of drunken suspicion. "Unless he's working with him, misleading us on this whole thing."

"I'm not," I answered faintly. "And you'll talk yourself into a real circle with thinking like that. Go for the simple and obvious reason behind it all: Chaven's taking the yacht so he can dump Kyler's body into the lake. As long as he's out there, he can use it to make a fairly safe exchange. He's not worried so much about you, Miss Paco, as about the cops finding him with a stiff."

It both annoyed and amused, but also reassured her. She gave out with a short laugh that turned into a sharp gasp of shock. Without warning, Vic erupted from his chair and fell onto her. They dropped out of my view behind the desk. Doc froze with indecision for a crucial moment and then I heard Angela's bellow of outrage.

Vic staggered up. He'd gotten her gun. He looked almost as surprised about it as the rest of us. He put his back to the wall and crab-walked toward the door.

"No trouble," he gasped, eyes wild. "No trouble. I just want outta here."

Angela's reply was anything but genteel.

He ignored it and kept going for the door. He made it, made a clumsy but successful scrabble to open it, and was away. As soon as he was out of sight, Angela was on her feet and ripping open one of the desk drawers.

Doc gave a start. "My God, girl, you can't-"

"Yes, I can," she grated. She straightened, with a grenade in each fist. "Watch him!" Meaning me. Then she charged after Vic.

Doc made a halfhearted start to follow, but gave it up. He found lengthy solace in his flask.

"Quite a handful, isn't she?" I observed, seeking calm conversation in the middle of all the insanity.

He nodded tiredly. "Her whole life. Why Frank didn't raise her to be a nice girl, I don't know."

"When I saw him-at Kyler's-he said he did just that."

"You know what I mean, kid. She's no floozie, but she's sure not a regular kind of girl. Maybe it's a sign of the times."

More likely a sign of Frank Paco's skill as a father. God help Vic.

The burglar alarm bell went off. Doc jumped.

"That'll be Vic leaving the house," he concluded. He walked to the window.

"He's making for the cars. I sure hope she doesn't..."

Drumbeat.

The glass vibrated the way it does during a bad thunderstorm. Doc blanched and let the curtain fall back. He rubbed at his eyes as though they were sore, then looked at me. He seemed about to say something, but swallowed it back like a mouthful of vomit. He cleared his throat with another long drink.

"Want one?" he asked tonelessly.

I said no. Several minutes crawled by without another word. The alarm stopped ringing, then we heard footsteps at the door. Sheldon, his hand and arm in a proper cast and sling, poked his head in.

"Hey, Doc, what the hell's going on here?" His eyes were heavy and fogged from whatever painkiller he'd had that day.

He wore a rumpled pajama shirt, carpet slippers, and a hastily pulled on pair of trousers.

"Angela's out taking care of Vic," said Doc with a pale grin.

"That double-crossing-hey!" He had caught sight of me, waking up quite a lot. "What's he doing here?"

"He's helping us get Frank back."

"Like he was supposed to last night, huh? That'll be fine by me. I owe this bastard a good one for this," he said, indicating his shattered arm. "Wish I could be there to see what Kyler's going to do to you."

Doc didn't bother to give him the latest news. We heard more footsteps and Angela came in with Newton and Opal.

Angela's eyes were half closed and she wore the smooth and untroubled smile that often goes with contented accomplishment. There was a bright splash of blood on her cheek. Not hers, she explained to Doc in a brisk voice when he asked about it. She was breathing hard, but I got the impression it was from her running, not as a reaction to what she had just done. She had one grenade left and neatly shut it back into its drawer.

Watching her with something like awe, Newton and Opal kept extremely quiet.

Angela observed us each in turn and liked what she saw.

"Well, I solved that problem," she stated.

I could see her point, since Vic had just shown he couldn't be trusted. Better to completely remove him as a threat than to explain why he was staying on with people who considered him a traitor. Even Chaven wouldn't have swallowed a story like that for very long without suspecting something else was brewing. I could, indeed, see the point very clearly, and concluded that I'd been hanging around this crazy house for far too long.

"What are you doing downstairs, Sheldon?" she asked, noticing him.

He was a little nervous, having correctly picked up on the tension coming off the rest of us. "I was sleeping and heard the alarm go off again. Thought I'd check things."

"Good. I'm glad to know that you're on the ball. Newton, you'll find Mac and Lester outside. I want you to help them clean up the mess there, but first put this one on ice." She indicated me. "I don't need any more surprises tonight."

"Yeah, sure thing, Angela."

"Opal, you stay with me."

"Okay."

Her eyes sharpened. "You still want to work here?"

The question genuinely puzzled Opal. "Yes, I do."

She made a gesture toward the window to indicate Vic. "Even after that?"

Opal was indifferent. "I work with numbers. That's what I'm best at. That's what I want to stick with."

Angela broke into a grin of sly delight. "You're okay, Opal."

Still indifferent, Opal simply nodded, but some of the stiffness went out of the rest of us. Doc drank some color back into his face and assumed a semblance of his version of normality, and why not? Murder was business as usual in this household.

The phone rang again. Angela snapped it up.

"Yes? What? Oh, it's you." Her big eyes rested on me, giving me an accurate idea of the caller's identity. "Uh-huh, I've thought it over and I'll accept your offer.

Uh-huh? Well, you're welcome. Now, what's this information you've got? No, it doesn't work like that. You get your friend back after I hear what it is."

Escott said something to make her smile.

"He wants to know if you're all right," she relayed to me. Great, I was expected to hobble over to the desk with words of reassurance.

I spoke loudly, hoping he could hear. "Tell him I'm fine, but"-I almost added

"thirsty" but decided against it-"need some rest."

"You get that?" she asked him. "Good. Now what's your story? No, first you talk. Take it or leave it."

Escott took it and Angela listened, watching me the whole time. I didn't have to ask why she was playing such games; she was only trying to confirm what I'd told her. If Escott was on the ball-and I expected he would be-he'd interpret her lack of reaction to his news to mean that she already knew about it. That's what I fervently hoped, so he'd give her the same information. If not, then the consequences were yet another subject that I didn't want to think about.

After a few minutes, I was almost able to relax. Angela nodded restlessly, as if bored with the conversation, and finally broke in on him to cut things short.

"Okay, okay, I got all that and you'll get him back, but later tonight. Call here in two hours and we'll set it up then. No, that's the best I can do and I think you know better than to bring in the cops. Good." She hung up and frowned at her watch.

"Busy night," Doc commented.

"I can handle it."

"Never said you couldn't, girl. You'll get Frank home again."

"If they know what's good for them. Newton, I told you to get this one out of here. And don't forget about Mac and Lester."

Newton stepped forward to take me away. Once more, he had to call on Doc for help getting me down the hall.

"Third time's the charm," he said as they dragged me to the steam room.

"We'll see if we can't keep you here, eh?"

"Your bedside manner stinks," I muttered, not looking forward to being locked up.

"So they keep telling me."

Someone had installed a couple of eyebolts on either side of the outward-opening door since my last stay. Propped in a corner was a steel rod borrowed from a rack of barbells and stripped of its weights. Thread the rod through the bolts and you'd have to break the door itself to make an escape. In my present state, I had serious doubts about my ability to break so much as an egg. They dropped me onto a tile bench and Doc lifted and straightened my legs along it. His face was serious again. He tried to take my pulse. I jerked my arm away.

"Lemme 'lone, will you?"

"You're mighty sick, kid. I can't fix it if you won't let me."

"Then don't bother."

He acquiesced with a pitying shrug. Maybe there'd been one too many lapses to his Hippocratic oath for him to take any extra trouble over an obviously dying man. "Come on, Newton."

Newton all but raced him out in his haste to get away. He couldn't have been in much of a hurry to help Mac and Lester; perhaps he'd caught a little of the deathsmell coming from me. They shut the door and fixed the rod between the eyebolts.

Their steps faded. Silence. Not even the sound of my heart for company, but I'd long grown used to that. I breathed every few seconds just to make sure I still could. It was more than Vic was doing.

Two hours to go. Two hours plus whatever time it might take to drive to the Stockyards; I had to last that long. The waiting would be pretty awful, but at least Angela had set a definite limit for it... if I could take her at her word. No doubt she'd be glad to be rid of me, dead or alive.

Despite the lack of real air circulation in the room, the sweat eventually cooled and dried except where it had soaked into my clothes. Unpleasantly damp, but nothing I couldn't put up with. I drifted in my cocoon of skin and resisted the urge to check the time every other minute. Doing that would only make the wait seem longer.

Dry, painful swallow. My throat and mouth might have been coated with dust. I stopped the irregular breathing to conserve what little moisture remained. Shut away from the others, I had no distractions from the internal discomforts. The cut on my hand burned, my stomach was knotting up again, and my head kept wanting to float off by itself.

Since I was still stuck here, Escott would know that I was in a bad way. Maybe he could manage to have some blood on hand for me, as he'd done before when I'd been in trouble. Of course, he was hardly fit for climbing fences at the Stockyards himself. It was nice to think about, but not something I could count on. Coldfield was very much in the way on that one. He wouldn't be fobbed off with a made-up story about a rare medical condition. On the other hand, tell him the truth and he might take it as an insult to his intelligence.

Someone quietly slid the rod from its eyebolts. I allowed myself a glimpse at the time. It was still far too soon. Angela wouldn't even have left to make her meeting with Chaven yet. Hope jumped within me. Perhaps Escott's call had been meant to test things out. Coldfield or Isham could have somehow slipped past the alarm system...

Sheldon walked in.

So much for a daring rescue.

He stood high over me and stared down and said nothing and he did this for a very long moment. Sweat popped out on the back of my neck, making it itch. I didn't move, because in his good hand was one of those damned wooden Indian clubs.

"Doc says not to worry, but I know better," he informed me, lifting his cast a little so I'd know what he was talking about. His voice was as flat as Opal's, but subtly different. Where she instantly said what was on her mind, he'd been thinking things over. He wanted to be certain I understood him.

I said nothing.

He leaned in close. The thick stink of booze was on his breath. "I can tell when that quack is feeding out a line of bull. I seen him makin' those kind of promises to other guys that didn't come true. You know how that feels when it's your turn?"

I tried to focus on him. No good. He was just too drunk for it to work, even if I'd been up to full strength.

"It's a lot of shit. They're already startin' to call me names for it; Lefty, Crab Claw. They think it's pretty damn funny when a guy needs help to get dressed.

You think it's funny?"

An answer to that one would only make things worse. I kept my mouth shut tight.

"It ain't funny at all. Can't do anything worth doing now. Takes twice as long for everything else. And it hurts. Don't think it doesn't. That's how I know. It hurts deep down in the bones, in between the bones. Doc says I'll get better but I know I won't. Won't be able to handle a gun as good, sure as hell can't fight. About all I've got left is this."

He hefted the club and tapped it experimentally against the white tile near my head. It made a small, hollow echo in the little room.

"Don't take much practice for one of these. You crippled me, you son of a bitch, and I'm gonna pay you back."

I caught his eyes once more. I had to break through or die. That sickening realization didn't help my concentration, but did heighten the emotions involved.

He wavered. I pushed.

This was worse than it had been with Kyler, infinitely harder. Even with his drunkenness getting in the way, Sheldon was easily the more vulnerable, but I was weak and getting worse as I used up what little was left to me. Fear kept me going.

He shook his head, eyes blinking as though struck with a too-bright light.

"Wha... you..."

I spoke his name. Softly. Names have power, more than we care to admit to ourselves. I spoke again, steady whispers to cloud his brain with dreams of rest and peace. He stopped blinking. I stepped up the pressure, keeping my voice even and low the way I did with the cattle in the yards. Eyes fixed and growing dull, he began to gradually slip into sleep.

The club dropped as his fingers relaxed, making a shattering crack as it landed.

He jumped as though from an electric shock, snapping wide awake, tearing free of my influence.

No. I was too near it now to give up. The blood pulsing through his veins was mine.

Before he could make another move, think another thought, I had both hands on his neck. It was like another shock to him. He tried to pull away. I held on. He tried to break my grip. I held on. A minute was all I needed to knock him out, maybe less. He heaved backward. I held on. This was as even a fight as I'd ever had with a man since my change. The sheer terror of what would happen to me if I lost this one kept me going. A minute, just a minute more of strength... a few...

seconds... longer...

But he got his good arm up between us and managed to pry one of my hands loose. I instantly grabbed his arm before he could slip away, and despite the poor leverage and bad angle pulled him over and down. His slippered feet went out from under him on the smooth floor. The crown of his head smacked solidly into the wall on my left.

He dropped flat across my chest like a bag full of anvils. Any breath left inside me whooshed out and stayed there; it was just as well that I didn't really need it.

His cast dug into my gut. I tried to shove him off, but couldn't budge him.

This was it. I was too far gone to move now. Within a foot of his throat and I hadn't the strength to reach it.

Wait. Rest.

God, the bloodsmell was coming right through his skin and clothes. I was going crazy from it.

Rest. He's not going anywhere, either.

His uninjured arm was close enough. It would do. Better a trickle than nothing at all. I worked first one hand free and then another, resting from each effort, but not for long; a disturbing mental picture of sand streaming out of an hourglass kept popping into my brain.

I twisted his arm up, pushing back the thin cloth of his sleeve. My teeth were out and ready. Considering my haste and desperation, I made a surprisingly clean cut on the inside of his elbow.

I drank without thought, without control. Bitter hot strength slowly soaked into my exhausted body, killing the hunger, easing the thirst. I was blind and deaf to everything as liquid life flowed into me from toes to fingertips.

Instinct combined with long practice told me when I'd had enough. I drew away, leaving behind little more than a red mark and two small holes hardly worth noticing. All would fade away soon enough. He was alive, but wouldn't be feeling well for the next few days, not so much from the blood loss, but from a concussion. The tile wall I'd slammed his head into was unforgivingly hard.

With a thankful heave, I boosted Sheldon's limp body off, letting him slump to the floor. I could almost smile at him. He'd come in to either kill or cripple me and ended up saving my life. Perhaps that was why I felt no guilt taking human blood for food this time. I wasn't proud of it, and not about to make a habit of it, but the crushing weight of conscious irresponsibility wasn't there now. I'd done what was necessary. No regrets.

Besides, I had other things to worry about, like getting the hell out of here.

My head felt heavier than before; not uncomfortable, but not normal. As I got to my feet, the feeling became more pronounced. It didn't stop me from stumbling out the door, though.

Decision time. Try the window again, or sneak out through one of the doors?

Walls. I could walk through them now, but didn't like doing that, to seep through the wood and plaster like some kind of water leak...

I shook my head. It would have to be practicality over preference. Going out any other way would set off the alarms. Okay, right through one of the walls, and Angela and her merry men could spend the rest of the night trying to figure it out.

Jack Fleming, the new Houdini, special midnight shows only, children half price...

Bumped into Doc's makeshift operating table. Bloodsmell lingered on it. My own. Vic's. Somehow knew the difference. Poor old Vic, blown to bits... bit...

no rhyme there. Blown to bit... bit... bit right into... bit off more man I could...

poor old Vic, dead and no one to mourn him. A sudden tear burned down my cheek, followed by another, and a groan of despair that seemed to belong to someone else.

I pushed the table away, staggering into a bicycle with only one wheel mounted on a special stand. It teetered and crashed over. I stared and decided it wasn't my fault. The owner shouldn't have left it out like that. Maybe he'd been trying to fix it; the damn thing wouldn't be going very far until he put the other wheel on. The groan changed into a sluggish laugh that only ran down after I forgot what was so funny.

Time. Wasting time. Gotta get away.

The air had become thick and heavy, like water. The harder I plowed through it, the more resistance I met. Had to ignore it. Had to find a wall. I blundered into one, knocking down some framed pictures and a plaster ornament. Wrong spot.

Needed one to take me outside the house. Which? I'd known a minute ago. Maybe the guy in the steam room could tell me.

I called to him a few times before giving it up as a bad job. He was out for the count, dead drunk, or drugged. Doc had probably shot him full of something to keep him quiet.

Oh, God.

A small portion of my brain that hadn't yet succumbed screamed out a belated warning against the poison I'd so gratefully taken in. Too late now to cough it up.

It was in me.

I tried to vanish, with some idea that it might help. Nothing happened. The heaviness in my head traveled down my neck, into my arms, tugged at my legs.

My eyes rolled up and closed with artificial sleep. Fresh fear clogged my mind when they refused to open. I tried to force the lids back with my hands, but my fingers were clumsy and wouldn't work right. Once I used to have a nightmare about being unable to wake up, but now I seemed to be in the middle of the worst of it: asleep, knowing I was asleep, and fighting to get out of it.

Hardly able to stand, I felt my way along the wall, with no real thought left to guide me beyond the desire to escape. And then even that was lost as I fell over some obstacle and fought to untangle from it. It won.

My bones were like lead. I had no strength left to move anymore. There seemed no reason to do so. I was content to lie still and wait for... I forget what. I forgot everything, how to move, breathe, think.

Voices.

Men came into the gym.

"What the hell's going on here?"

Newton. He could find his own answers. I was fresh out.

"Shit. Come look at this."

He'd found Sheldon in the steam room.

"Is he okay?"

Lester.

"Out cold. Go get Doc."

Footsteps. I forgot them as quickly as they faded.

Newton returned to me, finished the untangling. I sprawled on the floor, unable to move, not wanting to, not caring about it.

Footsteps. Exclamations of surprise. Questions. In his role as a healer, Doc took over, checking Sheldon first.

"Out cold," he pronounced.

Newton snorted. "No kiddin'. Can you do something for him?"

"Hmm." Doc made a longer examination. "What do you want me to do? Bring him around?"

"Well..."

"First he gets his hand torn up and because he thinks he knows more than I do about what's good for him starts topping off his morphine shots with his favorite rotgut. Now he seems to have run headfirst into a truck. Next thing you know someone's gonna drop him from an upstairs window. If you ask me-and I'm taking it that you have-he's better off missing out on the rest of the evening. Got some pennies for his eyes? The way he's going, he'll need 'em."

"You just gonna leave him there?"

"Of course not, but you can't expect me to wade into a mess like that without my bag. Jeez, much more of this and I'll have to hang out a shingle and start charging for house calls."

"How did this happen?"

Angela.

"Looks to me like Sheldon came in to work off a grudge. He opens the door, but the kid's waiting for him, gets the jump on him."

"Uh-huh. So what's Fleming still doing here?"

"Probably ran out of gas, girl. He was looking pretty bad when we left him."

She gave an exasperated sigh. "Too tough for him, then. Newton, get Sheldon up to his room."

Doc's hands poked and prodded me. He noisily sucked a tooth, making a loud

"tch" sound.

"What is it?" she demanded irritably. "Lester, lock this one up again and stick around to make sure he stays put."

"Too late for that sort of thing," Doc drawled.

"What d'you mean?"

"Girl, this kid's deader'n Dixie."

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