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you come into my office so I can give you the money.” He put the gun into his lab coat pocket.
    “How much does selling drugs pay?” Ralphie asked.
    Pam made a noise in her throat, but when Ralphie pinched her arm, she bit back a yelp and rubbed the spot. They followed him into his office.
    “Ten dollars a pill. Twenty-five boxes, twice a month. Three pills a box—well, you can do the math. Even with cutting your janitor in and paying for the pharmacy tech to fudge the inventory levels, you’ll make a tidy profit. The vor sell it for twenty a pill. Everyone is happy. You’ll have to fake a few prescriptions, but that shouldn’t be a problem with your credentials.”
    He opened up his desk drawer and poured out an envelope filled with cash. “I’m going to take half of this—call it a training fee. You can have the rest. We can go over the details in the morning.”
    “Who’s the pharm tech?” Ralphie said.
    “Lea Brown,” Chris said, coming around the desk with a wad of cash in his hand. He held it out to Pam, but before she could take it, Ralphie swung the mop to crash down on his head. As he staggered back from the blow, Ralphie tackled him, taking him to the floor. Banging the doctor’s head into the ground, he finished him with two fast jabs to the chin.
    “Call the cops,” Ralphie said, taking the gun out of Chris’s pocket and unloading it in quick, direct movements. He placed it on the desk and looked up at Pam, who was staring at him with her mouth open. “Please don’t kick me again.”

Chapter Six
    R alphie Brooks tore off the fake beard as soon as he was in the elevator heading down. He was halfway to the van when he heard the sirens. Pam hadn’t wanted him to go, but she’d seemed to buy that he didn’t want to answer questions from the cops, in case they ousted him for living in the janitor’s closet.
    “Did you get it?” Drake asked, climbing into the back of the van.
    The police techs, Frank and Joe, gave him a thumbs up from the control panels. Drake looked at the monitors. They were playing back the gangster that had taken the bag of drugs.
    “Who is he?” Drake asked as he started shucking off the janitor’s uniform.
    Joe piped a vaudeville stripper song over the speakers.
    “Nice,” Drake said, removing the wire and microphone he was wearing.
    “Not sure, yet. He’s definitely vor, what with all those friggin’ tattoos,” Frank said.
    “Each one tells a story,” Drake said, jumping into a pair of jeans and shrugging on a sweater. “We can read him like a book later. Those are prison tats. He’s in the system somewhere. Find him for me.”
    “You got glue all over your face,” Joe said helpfully when Drake sat down to pull on a pair of sneakers.
    “Looks like I can stop being a bum.” Drake grinned. “Too bad. I’m going to miss good old Ralphie.”
    “Looked like the doc liked him too,” Frank said. “She’s a firecracker.”
    “Too hot for you,” Drake said, picking at the residual glue and hair from his cheeks and chin.
    “You’re not going up there, are you?” Joe said.
    “Why?”
    “She’s going to know you’re Ralphie. Your hair is a dead giveaway,” Frank told him.
    “I didn’t bring any gel with me,” Drake said, running a self-conscious hand down his riotous blond curls.
    “She’s going to kick you, again, when she finds out you’ve been tricking her.”
    “I was just doing my job. Besides, it’s not like we ever suspected her for selling drugs.”
    “Women don’t like to be lied to,” Joe said, shaking his head.
    “Who cares, anyway? It doesn’t matter anymore. We got the guy supplying the vor with the hospital’s drugs. My case is closed, brother,” Drake said.
    “Not according to the captain,” Joe said. “He likes you as a bum. It looks like there’s some gang activity going on lately involving torturing street people. We’re back on the streets tomorrow night, same as tonight.”
    “Are you kidding me?”
    “If