"Whoa!" Krycek leaned backwards and bent to the right to avoid
Skinner's fist.

"Uhh! Lemme through!" Skinner demanded, and he shouldered Krycek
aside, heading for the toilet. "Get dressed! We've got a funeral to
attend!" He didn't bother to check whether Krycek had left the room,
or shut the door, he just took himself in hand, aimed, and let fly.
"Ahh!" he sighed, glad that he'd gotten to the toilet in time.

Krycek chuckled. Skinner's relief was all too palpable. "It must be
hell, getting old. Weak bladders, weaker eyes, and 'no hair' days."

"Yeah? Your day will come," Skinner retorted as he shook himself clean
and pivoted to face his teaser.

Krycek's eyes bugged as he took in the size of Skinner's penis before
it was tucked back into its cotton cage. "Don't you need a licence to
carry an assault weapon in this state?"

Skinner smirked. "'Sergei's' a lover, not a fighter."

"'Sergei'?" Krycek repeated gleefully. 

Skinner shrugged. "'Little Walter' didn't quite fit the bill."

Krycek snorted. "I'll say!"

Skinner let his eyes roam Krycek's package. "You don't look like you
were slighted in that department, yourself."

Alex blushed, self-consciously covering his groin with his hand. He
was more used to being used than using, and it had been a long time
since anybody had noticed the size of his equipment.

Skinner didn't give him time to recover. "The funeral's at ten, in
some place called 'Colma,' whereabouts unknown to me, but I figure it
means we're going to have to hustle to get out there and get set up in
time --so get a move on!"

"Yes, sir!" Krycek snapped to attention, despite himself, and he
whirled to do as bid, grabbing his only suit out of his carry-all,
even though it was dark blue, not black.

Skinner grinned and shut the door to finish his ablutions. 

They were ready to go in ten minutes. They took the elevator to the
lobby, and inquired after rent-a-cars. Fifteen minutes later they were
headed down the road to the F.B.I. Field Office. They stepped inside
the front doors at 8:09. Agent Scully was waiting for them.

"Sir!" Scully said as she latched onto them, "Inspector Graham told me
to tell you that he and Mulder have taken a surveillance team out to
cover the cemetery and funeral home with video cameras. And, uh, he
told me to tell you that Willis is standing by at police headquarters
to get the identi-kit mock-up so he can run off copies of the
composite for our agents when they scan the crowd. Um, Mulder says he
found nothing helpful at the crime scene, and Agent Wong is waiting
for you with the transmitters on the third floor."

Skinner nodded. "Thank you, Agent Scully. Uh, care to escort us to
Wong's location?"

"Yes, sir. Right this way." She led them to the elevators.

Once they located Wong, he handed over the GPS wristwatch to Krycek,
which, at Wong's suggestion, he slipped over his right wrist, despite
being right-handed, so the two devices would at least be separated,
and would therefore stand less of a chance of being lost at the same
time.

Then Krycek removed his coat, shirt, and prosthesis so Wong could slip
a transmitter inside the cavity where his stump went. Krycek put it
back on and winced. "Ow! Damnit!"

"Sorry!" Wong said immediately. "Lemme adjust it."

Yeah!" Krycek agreed as he tugged the artificial arm off again. 

Wong looked into the sleeve of the prosthetic at the transmitter he'd
deliberately inserted so that it jutted out at an awkward angle. "Hey!
It's bloody!" He looked at Krycek's stump. "You're bleeding!"

"Let me see," Scully said immediately, and she grabbed Krycek's stump
and held it up. "When's the last time you had a tetanus shot?"

"Uh..." Krycek thought. Shrugged. 

"Uh huh," Scully said. "I've got a booster ampule in my medical bag,"
she said, and left to fetch it. She brought it back to Krycek and
opened it up, handed a foil packet to Wong so he could clean the
sleeve and transmitter, tore open a packet for her own use, which
turned out to be an alcohol wipe, then fussed with an ampule and
syringe. She gave Krycek the shot, then got another shot and pad
ready, which she daubed on the wound itself.

"Hey! What's that for!" Krycek asked.

"To clean and numb the wound," she said. 

"Oh, great! I'm in the middle of a Robert Klein routine! 'Doctor, have
you got anything for the pain? Yes, I have a *needle* for the pain!'"
Krycek recited. "Argh! That's worse than the injury!"

Scully smiled at him patently. "Not for long. You'll go numb, soon.
Then you won't feel a thing. Then you'll thank me."

"Yeah, right!" Krycek muttered.

"All set," Scully said brightly as she cleaned up her litter and
repacked her bag.

"I, uh, cleaned and readjusted the transmitter," Wong said. "Hopefully
it won't bother you anymore."

Krycek looked sourly at them. "Not that I would know, what with my arm
being numb and all." He sighed and put the prosthetic back on. "I
*think* that's better.... Thanks, Stanley,...Scully."

They nodded and left him to vacuum-pack his arm back into place, and
dress.

Skinner smiled at the agents. //Very smooth,// he thought. "Well, if
that's that, we've got a date with an identi-kit."

"Yes, sir," Wong said. "I just need you to sign here," he held out a
clip-board. Skinner read the forms. There were requisition sheets and
terms of liability and sign-out sheets for the three transmitters as
well as a responsibility of liability form for the deliberate minor
injury to a Bureau protectee. He sighed, but started signing. And
signing. And signing.

Krycek frowned. "That's an awful lot of paperwork for a couple of
transmitters."

Skinner laughed out loud. "Your tax dollars at work. Nothing but the
finest quality red tape at all times. Just don't go septic on me, I've
just signed a form that says I'm responsible for any injuries you
suffer while under our protection. With my luck, they'll deduct your
medical expenses from my paycheck."

Krycek grinned. "Does that mean you're going to spray my boo-boo with
Bactine and kiss it all better?"

"Would it help?" Skinner asked, then giggled at the image that put in
his head, astonishing them all. "Well, *that's* the last of them!"
Skinner finished brightly. "Let's head 'em on out."

"Oh, yeah! I have the addresses here," Wong handed Skinner a piece of
paper, "but I'm still working on the medical centers/warehouse car
route computer program, unless, of course, you need me to drive you
out there?"

"No, no. Stay. Work," Skinner said at once. "We're federal agents. I
think we can find a stationary target. We even managed to rent a car
without assistance. What about you, Agent Scully?"

"Oh, well, I also have other duties to occupy me, but I walked over
from the PD, so, in the spirit of efficiency, and considering that it
is your next stop, I wouldn't mind a lift, sir."

"Consider it done," Skinner smiled. "Thanks again, Agent Wong. We'll
get in touch with you, later."

"Yes, sir!" Wong smiled and waved them out the door. 

Scully parted company with them when they entered the police
department's headquarters, going back upstairs to join the officer who
was assembling a list of health and dance clubs in the area.

Skinner escorted Krycek a few floors higher, where Computer Specialist
Willis Hammond was spinning in his chair while he waited for them to
arrive. He sprang up with an out-stretched hand and a ready smile as
they approached, and quickly sat Krycek into a companion chair while
he waved a hand over the magic keyboard.

"This is our facial composite program. It utilizes the basic drawn
forms from the field Identi-kit, a sort of 2-D Mr. Potatohead without
the pipes and funny hats, and adds the ability to customize the
dimensions of the individual features in order to more closely
approximate the face in question. So, I was told that you haven't seen
this guy in, like, thirteen years?"

"Uh-huh," Krycek lied.

"Do you think you can remember him well enough to put a portrait of
him together?"

"Oh, yeah!" Krycek averred.

"OK. We have a split screen. One side shows the developing composite,
the other side shows your facial detail options. Use the arrow keys
and the page up and down buttons to browse through the facial
component options; highlight the detail you want with the left mouse
button, then drag and release to apply it to the face. Let me know if
anything needs to be tweaked beyond that, OK?"

"Yeah," Krycek sighed as he pondered the computerized options.

"Male and female, there are, like, twenty-five basic Caucasian faces,"
Willis told Krycek as he started out on page one, which was nothing
but head outlines. "But it all depends on these seven facial types:
round; oval; triangle; diamond; square; rectangle; and hourglass.
Which, since this is our starting point, you just pick one and click
on it."

Krycek grunted acknowledgment, picking a squarish head outline to
begin. It jumped to the empty side of the split screen, and a page of
hair do thumbnails replaced the face outlines. Krycek scrolled through
the hair options, picking out a coif that looked as if it had been
traced off a Presidential portrait of Ronald Regan, then added a pair
of medium weight, slightly bowed eyebrows which he dragged and set
high on the face.

"Of course, hair dos are almost limitless, so we have a lot of lee-way
with messing with them, but we have the more 'standard' dos on hand.
Basically pegs the over thirty set," Willis grinned as he studied
Krycek's ragged hairline. "According to Chinese face readers, an
irregular hairline depicts a person who had a bad childhood."

Krycek spared Willis a surly glance before picking out a pair of eyes
that were rectangular, rather than almond, with pupils that showed
white on all sides.

"Ooh. Snake eyes. Appropriate, under the circumstances," Willis
commented as he cuffed back his own dirty-dishwater brown locks.

Krycek scrolled through the bank of twenty-five noses, picking one
with a thick, straight bridge, bulbous tip, and narrow-winged nares.
He managed to add a thin-lipped mouth without Willis commenting. "The
mouth is wider, though," Krycek complained.

"No problem," Willis said as he swung the monitor around and punched a
few keys on Krycek's keyboard. "How's that?"

"...Good," Krycek decided after a moment's thought. "Can you make the
chin a little narrower?"

"From where to where?" Willis asked. 

Krycek pointed the dimensions out on the screen with his finger. "From
there down. About that much. And shorten it to there." He pointed.

"Straight reduction, I take it. There. Better?"

"Yeah." Ears came next.

"The problem with ears, of course," Willis confessed, "is that, like
fingerprints, no two are alike. So we sort of had to make do with a
few really basic types. Attached earlobes, non-attached, large,
narrow, tall fan, short fan, long lobes, short lobes, round top,
pointed top, sticking out, bent, set forward, set back, high set, low
set, like that. But we can modify them somewhat, like the chin and
mouth and stuff."

Krycek picked a pair of ears, set them onto the head about even with
the nose.

"OK. Now we add facial wrinkles." Willis brought up a screen of
forehead lines, lines for between the eyes, at the outer edges of the
eye, across the bridge of the nose, from nose to mouth, and around the
mouth.

"Haphazard forehead lines," Krycek muttered. "Just one line trailing
from the eyes.... One vertical line between the eyes. Lines from nose
to mouth."

"OK. Now, to add some age, I deepen the lines and put on a little
weight, sag a few jowls, add a touch of grey, bag up the eyes a bit
and voila! Our perp." He swung the screen back to show Krycek the
results.

Krycek shuddered. "Damn! That's good enough to creep me out."

Willis grinned. "Good. I'll print a couple dozen out and you can pass
'em out to the boys when you get to the cemetery." He promptly hit the
print button and set up a copy run.

"Yeah, about the cemetery," Skinner asked. "Where is the Greenlawn
Memorial Park, in Colma, and how do we get there?" he asked as he
showed the paper to Willis.

"OK. You get in your car and make like you're heading back to the
Federal Building, only you keep going straight until you get to 6th
street. Turn right on 6th and you'll see the on-ramp for Interstate
280 south. Get on the 280 south until you get to the Junipero Serra
Boulevard exit, go south, it parallels the free way, until you get to
Colma Boulevard, then go left, the cemetery will be on your right all
the way to El Camino Real. You make a right at El Camino Real, and
look for the information booth at the entrance. They'll give you a map
to the actual grave site.

"Although, let's see...the Eternal Rest Funeral Home is on F street.
So, when you get off on Junipero Serra, turn left on D street, when it
makes a ninety degree turn, you'll be on F street. Just keep an eye
peeled it'll be along there somewhere. Just be careful. There are
actually ten cemeteries right together there --and a golf course, too.
That's so the doctors can visit their mistakes while they have a round
of golf and deduct the greens fees as business expenses," he joked.
"Anyway, don't just head for the first cemetery you see," he grinned.

Skinner went through the details of the directions once more in his
head, then nodded. He looked at Krycek. "You get that, Mr. Tucci?"

"Yeah. Got it. Why?"

"'Cause you're driving," Skinner said as Willis took the sheaf of
composites and shuffled them into a neat pile.

"Why me?" Krycek asked.

"Well, I figure you should know your way so you can drive yourself
home after. Lone bait is so much more attractive. I can catch a ride
back with Mulder."

"You mean, I'm going to be all alone, without an escort, all the way
back to the hotel?"

"That's why they call it 'bait,'" Skinner said. "Do *you* think he'd
bite if you were with somebody?"

"No. Oh. Wow. OK." Krycek took a steeling breath. "I can do this," he
said softly to himself.

Willis caught Skinner's eye and they nodded at each other. Willis
handed Skinner the composites. "How long will it take us to drive to
the cemetery?" Skinner asked.

"Oh, depending on traffic, of course, about fifteen, twenty-five
minutes. It's only, like, ten miles."

Skinner checked his watch. "It's nine o'clock. You want to grab a bite
to eat before we head out to the cemetery or after we're in the
vicinity?"

Krycek bit his lower lip. "...After," he decided. "I want to be sure
to get there on time."

"Sounds good to me. Let's hit the road, then," Skinner said. "Thanks
for your help, uh, Officer Willis."

"Officer Hammond."

"Hm?"

"My last name's 'Hammond.' 'Willis' is my given name. As in 'What'choo
talkin' 'bout, Willis?'"

"Oh. My mistake. Officer Hammond," Skinner amended.

"Eh! Honest mistake, uh, Mr. Skinner, sir. 

"And hey, good luck to you, Val," Willis said to Krycek, with a
friendly slap on the arm.

"Thanks," Krycek acknowledged as he trailed Skinner out the door.

Skinner handed Krycek the keys when they got back to the car, and
Krycek sank into the driver's seat with a sigh. "Do you think they'll
have audio surveillance of the funeral, too?" he asked Skinner as the
AD buckled up.

"I don't know. Why?"

"Blake and the rest of Derek's friends don't know that I'm supposed to
be Percival Tucci."

"Oh. Well,...guess we'll have to cross that bridge when we get to it,"
Skinner said.

Krycek nodded. "Where do you want to eat?" 

"Suit yourself," Skinner told him. "You're the one with the nervous
stomach."

Krycek snorted weakly. "How about we stop at a drug store and buy a
bottle of Maalox for breakfast?"

Skinner shrugged his lips. "We could stop and buy some buttermilk," he
suggested.

"I usually have hot tapioca pudding and toast with weak tea," Krycek
said.

"The family tummy soother?"

"Krycek's family --Kevin's, that is, yeah. Works for me --though I'd
prefer hot chocolate pudding. He'd never hear of it. 'Too rich,' he
said. Tapioca, now, that's just right. According to Kev, anyway. Me,
I've never met a chocolate I didn't like. In fact, one of the world's
best chocolatiers is right here in Frisco: Scharffen Berger. Mmm...."
Krycek moaned with ecstasy just thinking  about it. Then he jerked
upright. "Flowers. I need to buy some flowers for Derek. There's a
florist at Union Square. Won't take a minute," Krycek promised as he
made a left instead of a right.

Krycek had flowers in hand fifteen minutes later. Purple violets, blue
columbines, and lilacs. "Derek's favorites," he said as he got back
into the car, where Skinner had waited. They were wrapped in black
paper and tied off with a black ribbon. "They grew in his yard when he
was a kid so, when he and Blake got a place of their own, he filled
the yard with them. They always made
him think of home."

Krycek took a moment to collect himself --not that he seemed
distressed to Skinner. Outwardly, he was his usual composed self. He
cleared his throat, laid the flowers on the back seat, and started the
engine. A few minutes later, they were tooling down the Interstate.

Skinner took out his cell phone and called Mulder, letting him know
their E.T.A.

It was a mild day, the early morning fog was burning off, allowing
patches of blue to spot the sky. It warmed the air and made the inside
of the car cozy without recourse to the heater.

Being a Saturday, there were few commuters on the road, but most were
heading into Frisco, not away from it, so they made F street in
fifteen minutes flat. They cruised up the quiet avenue, which seemed
to mainly consist of gas stations alternating with funeral parlors,
and the occasional diner. Krycek spotted the Eternal Rest Funeral Home
between an Arco gas station/mini-mart and a diner thats sign declared:
"Mabel's 4 meals like Mom used 2 make."

Mulder was standing outside the Funeral Home dangling a camcorder from
a lanky wrist.

Krycek pulled into the parking lot and turned off the ignition. "We've
got half an hour," he said as he grabbed the flowers from the back
seat.

Skinner grabbed the composites and nodded. "Mini-mart fast food or
'mom's home cooking'?" he inquired.

"Somehow, I don't think Mabel's 'mom' made borscht."

Skinner grinned. "It's America, Mr. Tucci, you can't make blanket
statements like that in America. But odds are there's no borscht on
the menu."

"Sir. Krycek," Mulder greeted as they passed him and the walk-way
leading to the Funeral Home's front door.

Skinner nodded, but Krycek ignored him. "All I ask is that their food
be better than their grammar."

Skinner chuckled. "With any luck at all they'll have real buttermilk
on hand to make the biscuits. It would be better for your stomach than
coffee, and more filling than weak tea."

"Hmph! Wonder what the other meals are like?" Krycek sighed.

"What do you mean, *Percy*?" Mulder asked, putting emphasis on the
alias as he trailed them to the restaurant.

"The sign says: 'Four meals like mom used to make,'" Krycek explained.
"I was just wondering how the other meals were made."

"Oh, hardy-dee-har-har," Mulder said dryly. "Maybe she only knows how
to cook four meals."

"Is someone else covering the Funeral Home?" Skinner asked as it
became apparent that Mulder was accompanying them.

"Oh, sure," Mulder said artlessly.  "Couple of Lloyd's boys.
Uh...Franklin and Jardine. Everything's all arranged. I was just, uh,
getting licence plates, peripheral shots, that sort of thing."

Skinner grunted. 

Krycek was first through the diner's doors. He paused a second to scan
the room, noting the two occupied tables, picking out the best spot:
away from any windows, with a view of the front door, the kitchen
door, and the hallway leading to the bathrooms and back door. He
walked over to his chosen table and sat with his back to the wall.
Skinner sat to Krycek's right, and Mulder took the chair opposite him.
Skinner laid the composites down on the banquette beside him, Krycek
laid the flowers on the table's empty place setting.

The lone waitress picked up three menus and abandoned the counter
she'd been policing to deliver them. "Hi, there. My name's Daisy.
Would any of you gentlemen care for a cup of coffee this morning?"

"Yes!" Mulder said immediately. 

Skinner shook his head and turned his cup upside-down. "I'd prefer a
glass of buttermilk, if you have any?"

"Oh, well, I could ask Mabel." 

Skinner looked at Krycek. "I'd like a glass of buttermilk, too. And
some hot water with a tea bag on the side. And two slices of dry toast
and some hot tapioca pudding."