Quinn looked at him blankly for a moment. "Her heart's not in it. She hates it, really."

Stanny-O watched his partner carefully and straightened up in his chair. Something wasn't quite right about this exchange. "She told you all this, or this is just your take on the situation?"

"A little of both."

Stanny-O leaned his elbows on the desktop and rubbed a hand over his neatly trimmed goatee. A smile oozed across his face.

"So how hot is she in person, Stacey? On the standard one-to-ten scale."

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. Five."

"You, my man, are lying." Stanny-O got up from his chair and came over to sit on the edge of his partner's desktop, his polyester dress slacks straining at the seams.

"Get your kielbasa off my work space." Quinn shoved him in the hip, but he didn't budge.

"Did you make it with her or something, Stacey? What's going on?" His face was wide with wonder now.

"God. Of course not." Quinn got up from his chair to get coffee just as his phone began to ring. Stanny-O waved him on magnanimously and picked it up, still smiling.

"District Eighteen, Detective Stacey Quinn's desk, may I help you?"

"My head still hurts."

Stanny-O pursed his lips and tried not to snicker. "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am. Is there something the Chicago Police Department can do for you? We're here to serve and protect."

"I… uh… " The woman seemed confused. "This isn't Stacey Quinn, is it?"

"No. It's his partner, Stanley Oleskiewicz, but here he comes right now." He handed Quinn the phone. "I think it's her."

"Her who?"

"Horny Helen." Stanny-O doubled over in a laughing attack as Quinn ripped the phone from his hand. Quinn succeeded in shoving his partner off the desk and quickly turned his back to him.