The elevator started again, rose to the fifth floor, and stopped.

I rubbed my forehead to settle my thoughts. If my goal was to kill Dr. Niphe and damn the consequences, I could pull the doors open, climb up the elevator shaft, break through the bottom of the elevator, and rip the doctor to pieces. But I needed to get information from him and get it as inconspicuously as possible.

One positive discovery; I had gotten a good look at Mordecai Niphe and his aura, which was as unique and recognizable as his face. I told Coyote about finding Mordecai's name-as Morty-in Cragnow's office. What business did Mordecai and Cragnow have together?

Coyote nodded in understanding. "Si, es mucha mas caca." Yes, it's a lot more shit. "So what now, Felix?"

"Niphe was dressed like he was going to surgery. Even if we locate the doc, getting to him will be difficult." I started following the room numbers. "Let's see what we can find out about him in his office."

Room number 340 was the receptionist's foyer. Niphe's office was somewhere behind her.

I hypnotized the receptionist while Coyote stood guard. All the offices were empty. I found Dr. Niphe's. A printout next to a laptop computer on his desk listed today's schedule. He was in surgery until noon. Then a luncheon with the hospital's board of directors. Followed by a group consultation. More meetings. Dr. Niphe was a busy man. I wouldn't have the opportunity to get him alone here in the hospital, not today.

Dr. Niphe's desk was locked. I touched the keyboard on the laptop and got prompted for a password.

Coyote signaled with a loud cough, and I hustled out of the doctor's office. Coyote motioned that someone was coming down the hall toward us. I could've asked the receptionist for Niphe's home address but as it was, I barely had time to wake her.

Coyote and I left the foyer and passed a group of men and women in scrubs approaching from the direction of the elevators. Dr. Niphe wasn't among them.

"Niphe has to leave, no?" Coyote asked.

"Eventually," I replied. "We'll stake out the parking lot and get him there."

We went outside to the staff parking lot. The asphalt was packed with SUVs and expensive cars.

Coyote tilted his cap back and squinted. "Which is his, dude?"

"Easy," I replied. I walked to the closest parking spot to the entrance. A sign posted to the sidewalk said: RESERVED FOR THE HEAD SURGEON. VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED IMMEDIATELY.

The car parked in the spot was a long, sleek, black BMW coupe. It looked like a torpedo with wheels.

I cupped my hands and peered into a side window. A red light for the alarm blinked. On the front passenger's seat rested a yarmulke and a brochure with a Star of David and titled with what seemed like a Hebrew fellowship of some kind. Niphe didn't sound Jewish, but Mordecai did. Maybe his last name had been Anglicized or his family had converted.

Coyote rubbed his fingertips. "Ese, I could break in and poke around. I'll bet there's something useful in the glove box."

I stood away from the car. There were black globes on the hospital building corners. Inside the globes were security cameras. "Better not chance it."

A stand of tall, mature trees shaded the northwest corner of the hospital grounds. Up in the branches we'd have a good view of the staff entrance and the parking lot. Even though Niphe's schedule said that he wouldn't leave for hours, he might have a change in plans, and we'd have to follow him.

I scouted for the best vantage and selected an especially lush maple. We ditched the coats and name tags into a trash can. I placed my fingers and toes against the bark and ascended the trunk with the ease of a gecko.

Coyote simply walked up.

I settled on a thick, well-shaded branch. It was still morning and yet I was hot and hungry. Coyote found a branch in the shadows, lay on his back, pulled his cap down over his face, and began to snore.

The stakeout. The least glamorous and yet often the most valuable activity in investigations. To endure the agonizing boredom and forestall restlessness, I slowed my metabolism into near rigor mortis until I was nothing more than a pair of eyeballs fixed on the area around Dr. Niphe's car.

The sun arced overhead and began its gradual descent over the San Fernando Valley. People came and went. A praying mantis climbed over my face and perched on my nose, where it snagged little bugs trying to fly up my nostrils.

At last the cool veil of night fell upon us. The praying mantis went wherever insects go to sleep. I sped up my metabolism, flexed my cramped joints, and blinked to moisten my eyes. Nine o'clock approached. Still no Dr. Niphe.

I heard slurping from behind. Coyote sat on the fork of two branches and sucked on the neck of what looked like a large headless rat.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

Coyote wiped blood from his mouth. "Es una zarigueya." It's an opossum. "Want some?"

"No thanks."

"It's fresh."

"Not anymore, it's not."

I called Katz Meow on my cell. Still nothing but her voice mail. I feared this was all I would ever get from her now.

At a quarter to midnight, Dr. Niphe and a group of other people came out of the hospital. Their glowing red auras bobbed in the darkness. They clustered around his car. A security guard watched from the hospital entrance.

"Coyote, it's time."

My initial plan was to intercept the doctor here and zap him. But with all those people around, I'd have to stalk him and pounce somewhere else. That meant following him. In what?

All we had was Coyote's wreck on wheels.

Keeping in the shadows, Coyote and I shimmied down the tree and snuck back to his truck. The straight six in the old Ford did a good job of wheezing and groaning but little else.

Cursing my luck, I pushed the truck away from its parking spot. When Coyote had the front end pointed north, I held on to the tailgate, ran, and pushed.

Up ahead, Dr. Niphe started his BMW. With a cell phone pressed to his face, he backed up and maneuvered toward the exit. His aura burned hot as a flare. He obviously still had a lot of business on his mind.

Coyote's truck acted as if it never wanted to get going. "C'mon, you pile of junk," I said. "If you don't start, I'm going to turn you into a box of nails."

Whether or not the old Ford understood my threat, I don't know, but the engine did crank over. I dashed beside the cab and jumped in. I held back the urge to punch Coyote for putting me through this hassle.

He kept his attention on the truck, as if driving this heap was as difficult and delicate as piloting a nuclear submarine.

Niphe drove his BMW like he intended to flog every horse under the hood. He rolled through stop signs and barreled down the streets. Good luck keeping up with him.

"What's the itch in his pants?" I asked.

Coyote doubled-clutched and winced when he mashed the gears. He had a bad case of opossum breath. "Algo vergonzoso." Something scandalous. "Tiene que ser por dinero o una vieja." Has to be for money or a woman.

Niphe aimed his BMW onto the Glendale Freeway and headed north. Once on the freeway, Niphe zipped around traffic like he was in a fighter jet. In Coyote's beater we'd lose him for sure.

Fortunately, Los Angeles traffic rescued us. The freeway slowed to a near stop. We joined the other cars bunching around Niphe. Everyone's aura brightened in agitation, Niphe's more than anyone else's.

Traffic crawled forward and separated. We followed the doctor when he merged into the lanes going west on the 210 toward Pasadena.

Something under our truck rattled loose and clanged onto the road. Coyote tipped his head out the window to see what had fallen off. "I hope you're wearing comfortable shoes, vato."