After I killed the tiny yellow plastic bird, we got down to the business of Biggie.

The man Q spoke to on the phone gave few details. His instructions were more cloak and dagger than Good Samaritan.

We threw together a simple plan. Q would go alone for a meet and greet. Stella and I would smoke cigarettes and sling accusations back and forth.

"How could you let this happen?" I asked in a voice customarily heard right before the big explosion.

"You're the one who invited the wolf into the hen house!"

"Biggie is not a hen!"

"Well, she's about to be."

And on and on...

The wait-time amounted to two pots of coffee, a half pack of cigs, three slices of cold pizza, and an entire Carmel cheesecake.

Q came home, walked straight to the bar, and poured himself a glass of scotch, neat.

"Late Breakfast or early lunch?" I asked, avoiding the apparent lousy news etched on his face.

"It's her. She's in the psych ward at South Shore Hospital. The guy who called works as an orderly. I couldn't get in to see her. But, he walked her over to the door, and I ID'd her. She's listed as a Jane Doe."

"Is she...?" I couldn't bring myself to say the word out loud.

"Yes, she is. Looks like maybe 4-5 months, but she's so emaciated it's hard to tell."

"Fancy words!" Stella spat.

"She's skin and bone and baby," he said in a gloomy tone.

Stella asked the burning question. "Why didn't you bring her home?"

"Ah...a black man shows up at a psych ward and claims a pregnant, Asian, white girl with no proof of identity. What could possibly go wrong?"

Stella backed up and sat down. "Got it."

"Here's the problem," he started.

I interrupted him in mid-sentence.

"Oh, please share. Cause I'm still working on the one where we come up with a fake identity for a girl born in the Philippines and transported with her mail-order-bride-mother to Canada where a sadist kicks her in the head for peeing on his work boots. Then in the dead of night, Mom sneaks across the border in an eighteen-wheeler headed for Chicago."

"Let me finish," he said.

"By all means, continue. I'm waiting for the part where we all die a horrible, welcomed death."

Sarcasm spewed from my mouth like Mount St. Helens tossing her cookies. I was not helping.

"Here's the tricky part," he said.

I covered my mouth with both hands.

He continued. "According to Tobler...the orderly...psych patients can only stay at South Shore for 30 days. Then, they get moved to a long-term facility."

"And the problem is?"

"That's in two days."

"But of course! Okay, what's the plan, Stan?"

"We kidnap her in transit."

Stella responded first. "I'm in!" She said with her hand outstretched for a high-five.

"Fuckin' beautiful. Just how I want to spend my remaining years. Is kidnapping a State or Federal offense? I hear Federal Pens have better accommodations."

I left the two of them peering into a computer screen, planning the heist. I needed two Tylenol, an ice pack, and a long nap.