This like everything else, is for Anne

Acknowledgement The author wishes to thank Sunandan B Singh, MD, Chief Medical Examiner of Bergen County, New Jersey, Bob Richter, Rich Henshaw, Richard Curtis, Jacob Hoye, Shawn Coyne, and, of course, Dave Bolt

Otto Burke, wizard of Schmooze, raised his game another level.

'Come on, Myron,' he urged with neoreligious fervor. I'm sure we can come to an understanding here. You give a little. We give a little. The Titans are a team. In some larger sense I would like all of us to be a team. You included. Let's be a real team, Myron. What do you say?'

Myron Bolitar steepled his fingers. He had read somewhere that steepled fingers made you look like a thoughtful person. He felt foolish.

I'd like nothing more, Otto,' he said, returning the pointless volley for the umpteenth time. 'Really I would. But we've given as much as we can. It's your turn now.'

Otto nodded vigorously, as if he had just heard some philosophical whimsy that put Socrates to shame. He tilted his head, angling the painted-on smile toward his team's general manager. 'Larry, what do you think?'

Taking his cue, Larry Hanson pounded the conference table with a fist hairy enough to be a gerbil. 'Bolitar can go to hell!' he shouted, playing enraged to the hilt. 'You hear me, Bolitar? You understand what I'm telling you? Go to hell.'

'Go to hell,' Myron repeated with a nod. 'Got it.'

'You being a wiseass with me? Huh? Answer me, dammit! You being a wiseass?'

Myron looked at him. 'You have a poppy seed stuck in your teeth.'

'Goddamn wiseass.'

'And you're beautiful when you're angry. Your whole face lights up.'

Larry Hanson's eyes widened. He swung his line of vision toward his boss, then back to Myron. 'You're out of your league here, Bolitar. And you fucking know it.'