O.K.'d for entrance into the hospital wing, Joe Mario stood outside the railing that cut Dr. Slade's reception area off from the corridor that led to the wards. An inmate orderly sat behind the railing, writing a prescription for a slight, intelligent-looking man.
Mario heard the orderly say, "All right, Vukich, get that filled at the dispensary. Take one after each meal and come back to see us when the bottle's empty. Unless the pain gets worse, of course. But I don't think it will."
"Thanks, doc," the patient drawled.
Both men looked up then and saw Mario.
"Hi, Joe," the orderly smiled. "What's wrong with you? You don't look sick!"
"Nothin' wrong with me that a day outside couldn't cure."
"Or a night," laughed Vukich.
Mario ran a hand over his sleek, black hair. "Better a night, sure," he grinned back. Then he sobered and said to the orderly, "Warden wants to see the doc. Right away."
"Mr. Halloran sick?"
"Naw ... it's business. Urgent business."