The cab let me off at the Miami-Dade County Medical Examiner's facility. I rang the bell to roust the guard. He remembered me from the old days when I'd worked for Dr. Westley as a lab technician. The M.E. on call that night remembered me, too -- but not well enough to grant my request on his own authority.
So I dialed Dr. Westley's home number. He picked up on the seventh ring.
"Dr. Westley, I'm at your facility. I need your approval. Need to have a medical examiner do a complete workup on me, including toxicology."
"But, whatever for? You are clearly not dead."
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