"I want him to think about someone else for a change."

"If you don't get to think about yourself when you're dying, when do you?" I said.

Stacey reappeared moments later and we dropped the conversation.

He declined to sit, remaining by the table with his fists pressed into the small of his back.

Dolan fired up another cigarette, pausing to cough into his fist.

"What'd she say?"

Stacey waved the cigarette smoke away from his face. "She'll see me first thing tomorrow morning; maybe take an X-ray or do a CT scan."

"What's the matter with her? Did you tell her how bad it is? She should see you right now and find out what the hell's going on."

"Goddammit. Quit nagging. This isn't an emergency so layoff that stuff. Anyway, I'm tired and it's time to go home. I can't be sitting here drinking all night like some I could name."

"Sit down. You haven't had dinner yet. You have to eat. It's my treat."

"I got food at my place. You two stay. I can get a cab."

"I'll take you," I said. "My car's right outside."

"You don't have to do that. I can manage on my own."

"Really, I don't mind. I need to get home myself."

I reached for my shoulder bag and took out the keys. Stacey was already moving toward the door as I slid out of the booth.

Dolan stubbed out his cigarette. "I'll take care of it."

In the end, we left at the same time; Stacey in Dolan's car and me in mine. I watched Dolan turn off, heading toward the freeway. I took a right on Cabana Boulevard and followed the road as it wound along the beach. It was not quite dark, but a fog was rolling in off the ocean, enveloping the shore. I parked in Henry's driveway. He'd be home tomorrow in the late afternoon. I let myself into his place where I did a quick tour, making sure all was in order. No broken water pipes, no power outages, and no sign of disturbances. For a moment, I stood in his kitchen, drinking in the lingering scent of yeast and cinnamon – Henry's home-baked sweetrolls. Surely, I could survive one more day.

I was home minutes later, safely tucked away for the night. 5:56 on a Friday evening and I had no plans. I made an olive-and-pimento-cheese sandwich on whole-wheat bread, which I cut into quarters. I poured myself a glass of wine and settled on the couch where I took up the Jane Doe file and started back at page one. Sometimes you work because there's nothing else to do.

Chapter 8

Chapter 8