Agnes Marselli had had a long day in the Roosevelt Hospital operating room. One of the O.R. nurses who was scheduled to work the shift after hers had called in sick with the flu. The doctor prepping for the hysterectomy due next on the table asked Agnes to sub. The procedure ran into complications and Agnes wound up working a double. By the time she got home to the one-bedroom she'd been living in since nursing school, and discovered that all she had in the fridge was some leftover Chinese takeout, the last thing she wanted was for someone to be ringing her buzzer. 

But it was her door buzzer, not the one from the board downstairs. How did whoever it was get up here? 

She frowned and went over to the door. "Who is it?" 

From the other side: "Police." 

More frown. She looked through the peephole, could see an NYPD detective shield held up for her inspection. 

She made sure the chain was secure on the door and opened it a crack. The man standing out there in the hallway in the serious suit had a familiar look. 

"Ms. Marselli?" 

"Yes?" 

"Detective Mark Dempsey." 

Now she remembered. 

The fetus. 

                                                #          #          # 

Back at Gaga's, I tossed my duffle bag onto the bed I'd be using while I was doing my bodyguard gig (still not comfortable being called that). I checked the messages on my cell, didn't see anything that couldn't wait, and started down the stairs from the balcony my room was off of, heading to the kitchen area. Couldn't help but stop to look out at that two-story view from the big sitting room. Could see storm clouds rolling in over the park, them looking substantial, a flash of lightning up to the north.  

In the kitchen, over at the eating island, Gaga had put out a bowl of chips and some guacamole and was pouring us a couple sodas.  

"I had an idea," she said. 

"What's that?" 

"When I got those vibes about Sickblade at the Beacon – there's a good chance he's a stagehand, right?" 

"OK." 

"So we hold Simone's service at one of the theaters. Put the word out, see if he tries to slip in." 

"With you as bait." 

"That's been the plan all along. There'll be undercover cops in the audience." 

I popped a chip into my mouth. "Well, you gotta hold it someplace." 

"You sound underwhelmed." 

"No, just thinking." 

"What about?" 

I popped in a couple more chips, so I couldn't talk with my mouth full while I sorted the situation. Like how this was going to be a delicate operation, coming up with a way to work with Sickblade to find who killed Tanya, and not getting myself or somebody else wiped while I was doing it. Like my friend here. And keeping in mind that in the end, Sickblade himself had to go. 

Gaga was watching me. "Hello?" 

And now with me on guard duty here, should I let her in on what I had in mind? Except I didn't have anything specific in mind yet. 

Just when I started to open my mouth, I felt my phone shake. Took it out, didn't recognize the number. Excused myself to Gaga and answered the call. "Hello?" 

"Toko?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Doc Granith." 

"Hey, Doc, what's up?" 

Gaga smiling when she heard the name.  

Doc said, "We may have a problem." 

"What's that?" 

"You still have the fetus?" 

"Not with me. Why?" 

"Your pal Detective Dempsey was by to see Agnes Marselli." 

Shit. "She told him?" 

"Not exactly. She tried to waffle when he asked if she'd actually destroyed it. She told him it had been taken care of. He asked if she knew you." 

"What did she say?" 

"She waffled there too. She didn't think he bought any of it." 

"So he'll probably be coming by." 

"And if he finds that fetus, Agnes is up for perjury." 

Wonderful. Never mind what my clever self would be up for, official or not. "OK, I'm on my way. I'll take care of it." 

I disconnected and Gaga said, "What was all that?" 

"I gotta go back." I took a swig of soda. "I'll call you from there." 

I grabbed another handful of chips and turned for the door. Went out to the elevator and took it down, the thing creeping, me telling it to hurry. When the doors opened, I ran out to the sidewalk – just in time for the downpour. 

Man, was it raining. 

I ran west on Central Park South for the second time today, dodging umbrellas and trying to avoid folks trying to get out of the storm.  

Already there were puddles at Columbus Circle, me finding most of them while I kept running west. A taxi hit one and drenched a girl I passed on Fifty-Eighth. 

I had no idea what Dempsey's plan was, just knew I didn't want to lose that fetus before I got a DNA match on who carved up Tanya. 

I jumped a puddle at the corner of Ninth Avenue and raced to beat the light. When I got to the other side I pulled out my phone and hit Curley Sasso's number.  

When he picked up I said on the run, "Hey, man, it's Toko. I need a big favor." 

Five minutes later I was at the house, and Curley, bless him, was on his way here in the monsoon. I stood for a second out front and checked the cars parked on the block. The storm made it dark but I could see them fairly good in the flashes of lightning. Didn't see anything that looked like cop wheels, so maybe I'd beaten Dempsey.   

I went around back and down the steps and opened my door. Stepped in out of the deluge and shook myself off. 

And here he was.  

Detective Dempsey. 

Who must have jimmied the lock. 

"Welcome home," he said, him wet too, wiping his face with one of the dish towels I get from upstairs. 

"Whatta you want?" I said. 

"You know what I want. Where's the fetus?" 

"What fetus?" 

"Don't be an asshole." 

He had a point. I mean he wasn't here to discuss weather patterns. I faked a sneeze to buy myself time, looked around for a tissue. Dempsey tossed the towel into the kitchenette sink and for a second the only sound was the rain beating on the steps outside. 

And then Bang! The door flew open with a burst of wind and filled with the silhouette of a very large man. Like that, Dempsey had his piece out and aimed. I lunged for it (a la Gaga at Khaves) and knocked it aside. 

But not in time. 

BAM! 

The shot clipped Curley Sasso's shoulder.  

Curley clasped his hand to it. "Shit!"  

He stumbled inside and now Dempsey could see who it was – the guy he'd sat across from last night when Gaga sang at Magenta (was it only last night?). 

Dempsey did some cursing himself, went over to see where Curley was hit. "Jesus, man, you come in like... Here, hold still... We need some scissors..." 

Curley brushed him off. "Never mind, I think it went through." 

I went around behind Curly and looked at his shoulder and saw there was an exit wound in the back of his rain jacket, blood seeping out around the hole. My eyes went to the beads of rain on his big bald head and I had an image of him tromping through the storm for me that gave me a jab of guilt. 

He turned to me. "You got any bandage." 

"Doc will upstairs. He'll fix it." 

The three of us looked up at the ceiling. There wasn't any commotion from the other side, the first floor, like if somebody had heard the shot (if anything, they'd probably think it was part of the storm). 

Dempsey's empty shell casing had bounced off the wall and was on the floor by his foot. When he bent down to pick it up, I turned Curley toward the door to the inside stairs, to take him up to Doc's. 

"Hold it," Dempsey said. 

"What?" I said. 

He still had his gun out, waved it toward the kitchenette. "Open the fridge." 

Shit, this is exactly what I wanted Curley to come for, to take that fetus and keep it at his place. I'd hoped that the shooting now would give us a distraction, time to regroup.  

"You just shot a man," I said. "Give us a break." 

"And we're in a whorehouse I could shut down in a minute, so don't start with the threats." He waved the gun again. "Open it." 

I looked at Curley who was checking the blood seeping through his fingers. He looked up at Dempsey, looked at me and shrugged. "Accidents happen."  

A man who knew where his bread was buttered, who walked a thin line and knew Dempsey knew it. So we might as well get this done and get him up to Doc. I stepped over to the fridge, opened the door and moved aside so Dempsey could look in. 

He bent down and poked around. Checked behind a carton of Coke, looked inside a bag that had half an old sub sandwich in it. I was going to ask if he was hungry, but for once I kept my mouth shut. Knew what was next. 

He straightened up, looked at the freezer, gave a little smile and opened the door. 

I knew what was in there, but looked over his shoulder anyway. 

The tray of ice cubes, a pint of Ben & Jerry's, couple TV dinners... 

And what else? 

I had to lean closer to make sure. 

Had to blink to believe it. 

No fetus. 

        (To be continued...)