Randy Singer - By reason of insanity

"Will it require surgery?" Quinn asked.

"With rotator cuffs, I don't tell the patient when it's time for surgery. The patient tells me. When you can't sleep at night or live with the pain during the day, it's time." The doctor latched on to Quinn's elbow and twisted the arm around a little, eliciting a yelp.

"Do you do that for non-lawyers too?" Quinn asked.

"Rotator cuff surgery is one of the most painful surgeries imaginable," the doctor said, not bothering to smile. "The recovery period can be up to two months. If you think I like pain, you should meet the rehab specialists."

Quinn left the hospital with his arm in a sling and a new prescription for painkillers in his pocket. Catherine O'Rourke's case was only two months away. Massive amounts of pretrial work awaited. Quinn didn't have time for surgery. He barely had time for the bathroom.

On the way back to the condo, Quinn considered his options. One part of him wanted to just walk into Carla Duncan's office and launch a preemptive strike against his tormentors. He could tell her about last night's assault and file charges. With any luck, Carla could tie the whole thing back to Richard Hofstetter Sr.

But the fallout would damage Quinn as well. There would be allegations of sex with underage girls, illegal gambling, and tax evasion. Plus, members of gangs and organized crime rings would know that Quinn had cheated them at the high-stakes table.

Quinn's legal problems might impact his ability to maintain custody of Sierra against a challenge by Claude Tanner. The last thing Sierra needed right now was to be put in the custody of a person she didn't even know.

But even if Quinn could keep custody, he worried about Sierra's safety. The men last night had shown Quinn her picture as a not-so-subtle hint. They knew Quinn's Achilles' heel-he would do anything to protect his niece.

Quinn would have to handle this one without going to the police. The first step would be to neutralize the threat of Claude Tanner winning custody of Sierra. For that, Quinn had a plan. It was so high risk that the very thought of it made his palms sweat even now.

It would take a few days to put the plan together. Perhaps in forty-eight hours his luck would begin to change.

Sierra shocked Quinn that night by announcing that she wanted to go to the movies with some friends. Quinn saw this as a hopeful sign that Sierra was on the road back to normalcy. Teenagers so often leaned on friends.

Still, it made him nervous. "What do you want to see?"

"Young Love," she said. It sounded suspicious to Quinn, and Sierra must have read the look on his face. "It's kind of like a modern Romeo and Juliet," she added.

"What time does it start?"

"We were thinking about going to the one at 9:05."

"Whom are you going with?" Man, I sound like a dad.

"Some friends."

"'Friends' as in girls or 'friends' as in boys?"

Sierra grunted her disapproval, as if all the boys her age were below her standards. It made Quinn smile inside.

"Ashley and Jennifer," she said.

After a thorough cross-examination, Quinn agreed to let Sierra go. He had his reservations about it, especially with Hofstetter's goons prowling about, but he couldn't tell Sierra no. He was starting to understand why dads spoiled their daughters.

In Quinn's opinion, Sierra's cotton stretch top was entirely too tight, hugging her bony torso. He kept that opinion to himself but couldn't shake the feeling that he suddenly felt about ten years older than he had a week ago. What was it with young girls and the way they dressed today, anyway? Unfortunately, Quinn knew all too well what went through the minds of junior high boys.

He drove Sierra to the theater where she was supposed to meet her friends. He dropped her off, circled around the parking lot once, and found a spot in a distant corner. He waited at least fifteen minutes, pulled on a baseball cap, and headed inside. He wasn't being paranoid, he told himself. Hofstetter's thugs were real, and he had a constant source of pain in his right shoulder to prove it.

Quinn bought a ticket to Young Love, a bucket of popcorn, and a Coke. He waited until he was sure the previews had finished before he entered the theater. He slumped into an open seat next to the wall in the second-to-last row and started scouring the room for Sierra and her friends. He spotted them on the other side of the theater, two-thirds of the way down, and he was pleased to see that no boys had joined them.

Quinn pulled the cap down and slouched a little lower, trying to make his shoulder comfortable. The movie was full of banal jokes, cliches, and good-looking teens who couldn't act-at least for the first five minutes, which was exactly how long it took Quinn to doze off into a fitful but oblivious sleep.

"Uncle Quinn. Uncle Quinn."

Somebody shook him, and pain sliced through his shoulder like a knife penetrating to the bone. Quinn shrugged himself awake, groaned, and grabbed his arm.

"I'm sorry," the young voice said. "Are you okay?"

Quinn shook off the grogginess and blinked. Sierra and her two friends were standing in the row just in front of Quinn, looking at him. Other patrons were leaving the theater.

"What are you doing here?" asked Sierra. She looked betrayed, and Quinn couldn't blame her.

He leaned his head back, stretched, and closed his eyes. "Seeing if you need a ride home?"

"I told you we would call," Sierra insisted.

"Yeah," said Quinn. "I know."

On the way back to the condo, Quinn and Sierra listened to the radio, neither speaking. At the Towers, Quinn handed the keys to the valet and walked into the building with Sierra, where the two of them silently rode the elevator to the forty-second floor. Once they entered Quinn's condo unit, he started with the apologies.

"I'm sorry, Sierra. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"It's okay," she said, but Quinn knew it wasn't. Unlike her mom, Sierra never addressed things head-on. She internalized and brooded until it all came frothing to the surface in some emotional meltdown.

"Sit down," Quinn said, motioning to the kitchen table. "I need to tell you some things."

For the next fifteen minutes, he told Sierra about his encounter with Hofstetter's men from the night before. He left out the accusations about underage sex and the fact that they showed him Sierra's picture, but he told her everything else. As he talked, Sierra took it all in, displaying no emotion.

"I don't want to live with my dad," Sierra said after Quinn finished. She was a smart kid, cutting right to the core issue that Quinn had left unspoken. "If he even is my dad."

Seeing the fear in her eyes, Quinn wondered if he had done the right thing in telling her. He had always promised himself that if he ever had kids, he would always tell them the truth. Maybe it wasn't that easy. It didn't take a genius to know what Sierra was thinking. Her stepdad had tried to abuse her. She would be petrified at the thought of living with a different grown man she didn't even know.

"I'm not going to let that happen," Quinn said. He reached out and put his hand on her forearm. "I've got a plan."

Sierra stared down at the table and tried to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.

"You've got to trust me," Quinn said. "Together, we'll get through this. This time, we'll win the case. It's all going to work out."

Later that night, as Quinn slept on the couch, the loud and insistent ringing of the phone jerked him awake. Pain shot through his right shoulder, and he grimaced, trying to collect his thoughts.

He found the phone. "Hello."

"This is Jimmy from the front desk," said a familiar voice.

Quinn's groggy brain pieced it together. Jimmy, the night security guard.

"I've got somebody here who belongs to you," Jimmy said.