Saturday, January 24th, 2004. Long Beach Veterans Hospital, Los Angeles. 11:47pm.

Vincent and Max stepped off the lift onto the third floor. The clacking of the heels of Vincent's black dress shoes echoed around the corridor, which was practically empty, save for the janitor and the occasional doctor or nurse. The two entered room 303, which was the cab driver's mother's room, with Vincent carrying his leather briefcase, and Max holding a basket of flowers that the former made the latter buy.

"Hey, ma." Max murmured quietly, placing the basket on the table next to his mother, Ida's, head. The cabbie noticed you, the nurse, stepping back to allow him and his mother some space. He nodded in a small hello, and you smiled back.

"I've been calling and calling." Ida scolded lightly, turning Max's attention back to her. "Yeah, well, I got caught up at work." He sighed. "Why couldn't you call me on the telephone? I'm lying here wondering if something terrible happened to you."

Vincent stood to the side, silent as he took in the room around him while mother and child conversed. Photo frames of grandchildren, a jacket hung over a nearby chair, and a few magazines. The hitman (he looked more like a businessman or a lawyer, really) glanced over at you, extending a hand to shake.

"You must be Mrs Durocher's nurse." Vincent spoke up observantly, subtly inspecting you.