The heavy burst of air pressure shock rather than the cracking noise of the explosions made my ears buzz like a bad radio. I shook my head against the static. It didn't help.

"What the hell was that?" Nevis wanted to know. He started to rise, but I shoved him down again.

"Crawl," I ordered, pointing at the stairs.

He seemed inclined to argue, but one look at my face changed his mind. He scrambled along, all knees and elbows, with me holding in place listening for further clunks. The hall was littered with glass exploded out from the transom. Slivers cascaded from my clothes when I stood, slamming home an ugly deja vu feeling from last night.

I cautiously angled an eye around the door frame, alert to duck at the least sign of movement.

Smoke and the sharp stink of cordite. There was less damage than I'd expected, but it was bad enough: two blackened pits surrounded by uneven star-shaped scorch patterns smoldering in the floor. The walls and ceiling were pierced in a hundred places by shrapnel. As with the transom, the window glass was gone, blown out to the street below. My table was oddly untouched except for some holes and being knocked a foot out of place, only the papers were scattered. Nevis's chair, however, had been converted in an instant to kindling. Splinters were everywhere, one of the legs freakishly embedded next to the doorjamb. I cringed at the thought of those flying shards spearing through my body, the wood as deadly to me as the grenades would have been to Nevis. We'd escaped by scant seconds.

"My God," said Nevis. From the hall he stared past me.

Deciding to risk it, I crossed the room to look out the windows. He followed. The street was still empty-it would have to be clear of witnesses-except for a lone man walking swiftly toward the green Ford.

"That son of a bitch!" Nevis snapped, recognizing him. He shot out the door for the stairs. Too angry to think about the height, I went transparent and shot out the window, dropping swiftly to hit the sidewalk running.

The man glanced back at the sound, froze only a moment, then ran full tilt toward his one hope of escape. I snagged him just as he reached for the door handle. He yelped and struggled, getting in a couple of solid slugs, which didn't affect me. He tried to pull the gun I knew he carried. I slapped him once on the side of his head, which took all the vinegar out of him.

Nevis suddenly charged in, knocking me out of the way. Too angry to wonder how I'd gotten there ahead of him, he breathlessly cursed, hitting hard and connecting each time he said "shit," which was a lot. Our mutual quarry was on the pavement in short order. I dragged Nevis away before he could start kicking. He was red-faced pissed, and I felt the same, but was still sensible to practicalities. We couldn't question Tony Upshaw if Nevis beat him to death.

Nevis was a handful for a few minutes until the momentum of his rage slowed, combining with his weariness to leave him wheezing and sweating and hardly able to stand. Only then did I let him go so I could see about Upshaw.

His gun had fallen clear; I scooped up the little .22 and tucked it into a pocket. As much as he wanted to be thought tough I wondered why he carried such a small caliber, then concluded he didn't care to ruin the lines of his suit. No need to worry about that now-Nevis had done a thorough job of demolishment. Upshaw was curled into a protective posture, his arms blocking my view of his face, though I could smell the blood. I got a good grip and dragged him toward the club, not bothering to look back for Nevis.

I didn't stop until reaching the lobby stairs, when Upshaw's usually nimble feet went clumsy. He stumbled and collapsed on the steps.

"It wasn't me, it wasn't me," he said with the panicked conviction of a kid caught playing with matches rather than a mob killer who'd missed his target. The whine in his voice was almost funny. Almost.

"You little shit-" began Nevis. He'd recovered enough for a second round, and I got between them again.

"You can have him later," I had to shout to make him hear. Maybe his ears were buzzing, too, but more likely it was sheer emotion making him deaf. "Go bolt the doors so we don't get more booms." I repeated variations of this twice over before he got it, then he moved quick enough, his good eye blazing with fury for Upshaw.

I held still, glaring at Upshaw myself while silently counting to twenty, needing the calm. I counted slowly. Nevis scowled, but kept his distance; Upshaw peered out from between his arms, clearly concluding that I was building up to something. When I moved-merely to lean forward-he covered up again, bracing for another beating.

"Not the face," he pleaded.

Nevis snarled, fists ready. "I'll give you face, you little son of a bitch."

I waved him away. "Upshaw, you answer me straight or I let him go to work on you. Once he's done, the only movie part you'll get is playing stand-in for Boris Karloff."

Upshaw moaned agony and tried to all-four it up the stairs. My guess about his greatest fear had been a bull's-eye. I grabbed his feet and hauled him back, the steps bumping the breath out of him. "I didn't do it," he insisted, the whine more pronounced. His nose streamed red, the stain all over his mug and his once perfect clothing. The slicked-down hair was now sticking comically up in all directions. The supreme self-command he showed on the dance floor was quite shattered. Real life, real death can do that to a person.

Now that his arms were down, I fixed him with a look. It was hard getting through all that fear, but soon his mouth sagged, and his struggles ceased. "Who sent you?"

"Sh-shivvey."

What a surprise. "Okay. You tell us the whole thing, top to bottom."

I had to prompt him, and Nevis's frequent belligerent interruptions didn't help, but the story finally came out.

Shivvey Coker had phoned Upshaw this afternoon to have a private meeting just outside the dance studio. Upshaw was used to such casual calls, it usually meant he was to run a minor errand. Not this time. Coker was quite the artist at persuasion and knew how to play his fish. A bald instruction to kill Nevis would have been refused, but sitting together in his car and sharing a friendly bottle for a couple of hours took the horror out of the task for Upshaw. Coker had worked gradually up to it, making it seem part-game, part-initiation, part-duty. If Upshaw really wanted to play with the big boys, he had to prove his loyalty and willingness to follow orders.

The offer was a cliche straight out of a dime magazine and shouldn't have swayed anyone with real sense, but Upshaw's ambitions made him vulnerable. He wanted the prestige and respect of the tough guys and obviously hadn't put too much thought into questioning Coker's motive for suddenly making use of him for so important a job. The deal had also been sweetened with the promise of enough cash for Upshaw to make a splashy entrance in Hollywood.

By the time they'd finished the bottle, Upshaw wanted to prove himself so badly he'd not even asked for half the money in advance, as was usual in such deals. He hadn't been reeled in so much as thrown himself bodily into the boat, ready for gutting.

All Upshaw had to do was find Nevis, wait for the right moment, and pull a couple of pins on the grenades Coker happened to have along to give him. Upshaw had put Rita in a cab and followed Nevis from the services. He had no astonishment for my still being alive; Coker must not have informed him.

Upshaw had parked, strolled right up to the club, and waited under the open, well-lighted windows until the street was clear for him to make his lethal pitches. He'd heard nothing of our talk.

"I guess we both know who killed Welsh Lennet way back when," I said to Nevis. "Not many people keep grenades on hand."

"Who cares?" Nevis rumbled. Through it all he paced up and down, slowly, too worked up to notice anything amiss about Upshaw's extraordinary cooperation. He kept looking at Upshaw, murderous revenge pouring off him like smoke from a fire.

This I understood perfectly. Upshaw had been willing to smear me, a bystander, all over the room right along with Nevis. I was hard-pressed to keep Nevis from going to work on him. It could not be me. In my own anger I'd have killed Upshaw. Too quickly.

I counted again until I could look at him and not twist his head off. There were still questions needing answers.

"Upshaw... did you kill Lena Ashley?"

"What?" This from a startled Nevis. He transferred his focus to me. "What makes you think he-"

"I don't, but I'm asking all the same. Why the hell not?"

He had no reply and subsided, watching Upshaw with new interest.

I repeated my query.

"No, I didn't kill her," Upshaw murmured, his blank eyes looking at nothing. "Not nobody. This was my first..."

"He could be lying," said Nevis, but without much conviction.

I shook my head. "He's too wet-eared to lie. I didn't much figure him for it, anyway."

"Then why ask?"

"Just covering all the bases. You never know." And that negative answer took away my last suspect. Unless someone else turned up, Lena's murderer would go unpunished.

But at least we had Shivvey Coker, or would before the night was out.

"Where's Shivvey?" I asked Upshaw.

"Waiting at the Ace."

An exclamation of disgust from Nevis.

I shot him a look. "Can you think of a better place to lie low than one the cops have shut down?" I was ready to kick myself, since I'd not thought of it.

"He'll give me the money there," said Upshaw.

Or more likely give the coroner another corpse. Coker could put one of those .22 bullets into Upshaw's head, a suicide in a fit of remorse over his murders. Maybe there would be another grenade planted on his body to clench things. The cops would have Nevis's killer, and, on a good day, considering Lady Crymsyn's history, might even blame Upshaw for Welsh Lennet's explosive demise. It would have been a puzzling bonus for Coker: how I'd managed to survive only to be blown up with his boss, but he'd not have worried about it for long. The new responsibilities of running the Ace would have kept him profitably busy.

We'd see about that.

I drove. Nevis was too nerved, and Upshaw was huddled down in the backseat of his green Ford being agreeably unconscious. It cost me a twinge or three behind the eyes to deal with the both of them, but I'd talked Nevis out of doing murder for the time being and put Upshaw out for the count. Neither of them would remember much about tonight except what I'd told them. Upshaw would only know that he'd been asked by Coker to do a minor tailing job-not murder-on Nevis and had fallen asleep while sitting in his car.

Nevis would recall the grenade attack but Shivvey had been the one with the pitching arm. It seemed the best for all concerned. Sparing Upshaw's life didn't mean that I'd forgiven him. The truth was I'd done it for Rita's sake. She seemed to like him and didn't need to attend another memorial service so soon after Lena's.

Once Shivvey was dealt with, things could settle down to business as usual. Upshaw could go back to dancing, and Nevis could run his club. Shivvey, some still-virtuous part of me hoped, would soon turn himself in to the cops with a full confession about the barbershop murders. This would happen with a nudge from me and only after I'd gotten the records book from him. No need to complicate things. My landlord in jail on tax fraud charges was something I could do without.

"Back door?" I asked Nevis as I began a circle around the Flying Ace's block.

"Yeah, he'd leave it open. We usually did for special work."

I didn't bother asking him what that work might be, just filed it away for a future conversation. Since the darkened club-with police department signs posted on the doors and windows-was very visibly closed, parking wasn't the usual problem tonight. I found a spot close to the back and cut the motor.

"Lemme go in first," I said on the walk toward the alley.

"This is my fight," Nevis protested.

I paused him. "The shape you're in you couldn't go two rounds with a drunk hamster."

"It's me he tried to kill; I want to break him in two."

"You won't miss a thing, I promise, but I've got a better chance of getting the drop on him than you. You watch my back, and I'll see to it he's awake when you walk in. Make a good entrance."

That provided him an acceptable out as well as appealed to his vanity, so he gave me the nod and stepped to one side.

I reflected, as I approached the club's door, that I was falling into the role of mob muscle just a little too easily. Maybe I'd been hanging around with guys like Nevis a whole lot too much. Their casual, if practical acceptance of violence to solve most problems was not only rubbing off, I was enjoying it far too much.

My furtive pleasure ground to a quick stop as I rounded the corner and came face-to-face with Rita Robillard standing in the alley. She was still darkly fetching in her mourning clothes, and in the deep shadows between the buildings was invisible to everyone but me. She held a good-size revolver clutched in one gloved hand.

"You!" we said in unison.

I gaped down at the gun. She didn't shift its aim from my midsection.

"Rita, honey, why the hell are you here?"

"I'm asking you the same."

"I told you-"

She scowled. "Yeah, yeah, a lotta mugs tell me a lotta things. It don't mean I gotta believe 'em."

"You're trying to find Nevis? Is that it?"

"Uh-huh. Sooner or later he's gotta come back here. After what you fed me at the services I wanted to see for myself what he had to do with Lena... and I'll know that when I see his face."

"Know what?" asked Nevis, coming up. The immediate effect his presence made was to shift the muzzle from my midsection to his. "Hey, Rita, what is this?"

"A misunderstanding," I said, but didn't get any further. The lady with the gun was running things for the moment, particularly when she swung it up to point it right between his eyes.

Despite this he didn't look very alarmed. "Is this a joke? Rita-"

"You-" She got that much out. She was visibly trying to put the words into the right order. "Booth, did you kill Lena?"

"What?"

"Did you?" Her voice rose and her hand trembled.

"No, I did not. Who put that crazy idea into your head?"

Her gaze touched on me for an instant.

"Covering the bases?" he asked, looking at me with no little disgust.

I shrugged, having no need to defend myself. "Rita, I've talked with him since seeing you, he had nothing to do with it. I was wrong. I promise you he's clean." Of Lena's death, anyway.

"You're sure?"

"Scout's honor."

"Really sure?"

Insufficient light to work with to compel her to believe, but whether or not she recalled it I'd forged a very strong bond of trust between us last night. That she so readily turned to me for reassurance was proof of its actuality. My word would be enough for her. "He did not kill Lena."

"Damn!"

"Huh?" Nevis, just a fraction behind things, but then he was tired.

"She was all worked up to shoot you," I informed him after Rita lowered the revolver. "Be glad she's not and let her have her disappointment."

"Well, if he didn't do it, who did?" she demanded. "Shivvey? Jack, was it Shivvey? Is that why you told me to keep clear of him?"

Again, I regretted having been unable to adjust her memory about our last interview. "This is something we can talk about later."

"Why? Why not now?"

Any second she could blurt out something about that damned records book. Nevis didn't need to know about it just now. If ever.

Before I could come up with a reasonable placation, he stepped in. "We're here on business, Rita. And you know what that means."

Another scowl. Thankfully it was one of grudging acceptance. "Yeah, I get it. I just don't want it." She opened her big purse and put the gun inside. If she'd been packing that thing at the service, then it was no wonder she'd walloped the photographer flat. "One of you mugs call me and tell me what's going on." She began to turn away, then paused. "Booth, I'm sorry I did that. Ya believe me?"

"Yeah, I believe you, now beat it."

"Couldn't we have a drink before you start all your business? I could really use a beer."

"I would, doll, but the cops didn't leave anything after the raid. I'll buy you one later."

"Me too," I said, taking her arm and leading her toward the other end of the alley. "You got a ride home?"

"I took the El in. There's a stop just up the-"

"Great. You take it right back again."

"This is a bum's rush, and don't think I don't know it," she said crossly.

"You got that right, honey, but me and your boss have got business. We'll get together afterward and have a drink to Lena."

That promise sat well with her, and she became more cooperative. I walked her to within sight of the El and waved her on, then hurried back to the alley.

Nevis was no longer alone. The door to the club was wide-open, spilling out a fan of faint light from some distant source within. Shivvey Coker stood on the threshold. He had a gun pointed at Nevis. This time Nevis looked worried. He held his hands clear of his body and kept himself very still.

Focused on each other, neither of them noticed me in the dark, and it seemed prudent to leave things as was. I got fairly close on foot, then vanished and floated the rest of the way, moving quick. Coker could pull the trigger any instant he chose.

I bumped and blundered along until I was exactly behind him, but he was moving now, backing up.

"That's it," he said. "Come on and easy does it."

I wasn't prepared for the surge of rage that flooded me at the sound of Coker's voice. All I wanted to do was go solid and smash his face in. Roaring instinct said kill him, kill the man who'd tried to kill me. Reason, thin and small, said wait, learn more. For the crucial moment I hesitated. It was long enough to hold me in check until curiosity kicked in. I wanted to know what they'd have to say to each other. Things would be more candid between them without my presence.

"Come on. Shut the door. Don't slam it."

Had to remember that Coker was speaking to Nevis, not me. The door closed softly, the latch snicking firmly into place.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Nevis asked. He sounded more irked than afraid.

"The office," Coker told him.

They walked to the office; another latch snicked.

"Have a seat," he said expansively. "On the couch. Take a night off from the desk work."

"It's not too late to cut a deal, Shivvey. I can be generous."

Coker laughed. "I'm gonna miss your jokes."

"Yeah, well, what have I got to lose?"

"Nothing at all, but you won't win. Not this game."

"You're holding off. What are you waiting for?"

"I got a friend coming in."

"Little Tony the dancer? 'Fraid not. He's been sidetracked." Nevis was taking a chance with that one. I hoped he wasn't speeding up his imminent demise.

Silence for a moment as Coker digested the bad news. I positioned myself next to him. He stood before the desk, the better to face down the couch-seated Nevis. I thought about blanketing Coker. When I touched people while in this form the effect was a profound icy-to-the-bone chill. Coker might have a hair trigger on his gun; it could go off if he shivered too hard. Stranger things had happened.

"What'd you do to Tony?" he asked, sounding casual.

"Nothing. Yet. Sure you don't want to deal?"

"I might change my mind. Where is he?"

"Don't kid a kidder, Shivvey. You don't give a tinker's damn about the little bastard. What you want to know is if he'll rat on you because your game with the grenades didn't work."

Coker gave a snort. "He won't talk."

"He already did. You should have offered to pay him more." Nevis was buying himself time, then, probably hoping I'd come charging in to the rescue, or at least provide a diversion so he could make his own move. Seated on that low couch had him at a disadvantage, which is why Coker put him there.

"So what'd he say?"

"Enough about you to get me in good with the cops. It was stupid to use grenades again, especially at Lennet's old place. What the hell were you thinking? When they start sweating you you're gonna need a friend with influence, not some jumped-up hoofer in a monkey suit. You need me, Shivvey. You need me alive and on your side."

"Lennet's place? What were you doing there?"

Damn. Maybe I shouldn't have altered Nevis's memory. What I'd put there didn't jibe with Coker's talk.

"Don't change the subject," Nevis purred. "You missed me tonight, and I could still kill you for it, but for old time's sake I can let it slide."

"You could kill me? I'm the one with the gun."

"True, but I'm the one with the money. You'll need it to get the Ace up and running again. Taking me out of the picture would complicate everything for you."

"Not really. No one has to know you're dead. With the cops giving you the eye like today, no one'll blame you if you skip town and don't leave an address."

Nevis snorted. "You think with me out of the way you can waltz in here and take over like Gordy did with the Nightcrawler? That won't happen for you, my friend. You like to play too much. And there's not a lot of time off when you're being boss. When you're running things it means you have to be here all night every night, in good health or on your deathbed. You don't have the head for the paperwork, or the patience to deal with every drunken asshole who thinks he's Diamond Jim Brady on a roll. In a month the new would wear off for you along with all the fun, and you'd suddenly realize you're not the owner of the club, the club owns you. It's too late to get away then because you have to have the money like a train needs tracks."

Jeez. And I thought I was good at hypnotizing people. Nevis had me half-convinced.

"Having this club means no more time for skirt-chasing unless you settle down with Rita, and she's too smart to get stuck with you."

"Shut up, Nevis."

"If this annoys you, then that means I pegged it. Face the facts, Shivvey, you want the money, but not the work that goes with it. Believe me, you're much better off with the job you've got. If you want a raise, you can have one; all you had to do was ask."

Somewhere along the way Coker had lost control of the conversation, and I doubted that he was aware of it.

"I see now that's what you tried to do with Lennet way back when. You figured to bump him and I get the blame and you take over running the club, only it didn't work out like you wanted. Lennet's joint gets boarded up and you're out of a job, so you came over to my payroll, liked how I do things, and settled in for a few years. They were pretty good years-until Fleming opens the old joint up again and finds what's in the cellar. Is that what set this off for you, Shivvey? Did his finding Lena set it off?"

Coker didn't answer immediately. I wanted to see his face. He could be raising the gun right then.

"It did and it didn't," he muttered instead.

"Come on and spill." Nevis sounded more like an understanding big brother than a man seated six feet away from a bullet.

"I figured if the cops put you away for her, then I might as well be here to take over. Just makes sense to make another try when the odds favor."

"Yeah, that does make sense," agreed Nevis. "I might have done the same thing myself. But they're not going to put me away. Not enough evidence."

That's when Coker woke out of Nevis's spell and laughed. "You don't know everything. Boss."

"Fill me in. I'm not going anywhere."

"No, you're not. For one thing, you're sweet little twist Lena was stealing from you."

"Tell me what I don't know."

"Good, Nevis. I didn't think you were that dumb. Why'd you let her get away with it? Were you in love?"

Nevis kept his temper against the inherent contempt. "It didn't bother me is all. Anything else?"

"Oh, yeah. Plenty. Lena kept a record of every bet she made. I think it was some kind of insurance for her in case you decided to fall out of love."

Great. One cat out of the bag. One can of worms opened wide. One pot of beans spilled to hell and gone all over the floor. I suppose I could edit Nevis's memory later. What's a splitting headache or two between friends?

"A record?"

"She had a little book. The only thing in it was your name and a lot of numbers and dates of all the work you had for her with the bookies. Very incriminating. It wouldn't take the cops very long to-"

"You're lying."

I could almost see Coker's shrug. "Doesn't matter. I was going to give it to them to nail you to the wall, but then they'd close this place down for good. Or make it too expensive for me to pay them off."

"So you forget the book and kill me instead? And who do you think they'd pick as the most likely suspect?"

"Me, of course. Only I'll have plenty of alibi. Same as the other time." He didn't have to add that last bit. It was his way of informing Nevis his end was definitely nigh, just as it'd been for Welsh Lennet.

"The other time it went bust on you."

"Not my fault. I got things better prepared now."

"Sure you have. You think I wouldn't know? Or allowed for it? You bump me, and you won't see one thin dime off this place. I made a will."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Something happens to me, and it all goes to my uncle in San Francisco. I figure it might make up for some bad blood between us."

"Well, you said it yourself, don't kid a kidder."

"You'll find out the truth of it soon enough."

"Maybe so," Coker said after a minute. "But even if it does go to him, he'll need someone local to run things. I still get the club. Why you shaking your head?"

"Because my uncle is anything but stupid, except when it comes to women-which runs in the family if I'm any judge of myself. He may not like me, but he'd get over it once I'm dead. He's funny that way about relatives. He can hit them, but no one else can. He will turn this town inside out, call in every favor to get my killer. You, my old buddy, would lose, because you don't have that many friends willing to keep their yaps shut once he starts waving the cash around. Then, when he closes on you..."

"Yeah, what?"

"You'll end up wishing your ma and pa never made eyes at each other. I've seen Uncle Grim at work." Nevis drew a breath between his teeth to make a hissing sound. "It's ugly. You have to have a strong stomach to watch, but he's kind of an artist about it. The results are impressive. It's amazing how long he can keep them alive, too. You wouldn't think-"

"That's good, Nevis. I almost believe you, but if any of that were true, you'd have said something about it a long time back. You like to talk too much, but you've never mentioned any of this before."

"I've never had a man holding a gun on me for this long before. It's downright inspiring to the memory."

"You're boring me."

"I'm just getting to the good part, though, the part where we both come up smelling like roses."

This was something I wanted to hear as well.

"The part where I make you a real deal-one we can both live with."

A pause. "Okay, go ahead. Surprise me."

"I just might. Lena had a practical streak in her, maybe that's why she didn't want to hook up with me permanent. If she'd ever wanted out and I said no, she'd have had that book to convince me to back off. Something simple and easy. You can use it the same way."

"Which is... ?"

"I run the club, you pull the strings. You get ten percent of the weekly take after it's cleaned up. You've got the book to keep me from killing you, and you don't kill me because I'm doing the work."

"Keep talking."

"All you have to do is fix up a dead man's switch with the book. If you're ever killed or you disappear, the book is delivered to the cops with an appropriate note about me. You can find a lawyer somewhere who'll do it for you. You will always be safe from me. Actually, I'll have a vested interest in keeping you safe and healthy for years to come."

"What keeps me from killing you? I forget."

"My business sense. You don't really want to run the club, you just want to be boss. This way you get to be boss, but without the responsibilities."

"And what do you get out of it?"

"I get to live. Which I want more than this club. I could sign the place over to you, but it wouldn't be the same. You wouldn't trust me not to sneak up on you someday, dead man switch or no, and you'd have to bump me. But this way we both win. We both get something."

Coker fell silent. I couldn't tell if he was fuming or thinking. "I want fifty percent."

"Fifteen is as high as I can go. Ten's pushing it as it is. The people I report to will notice a drop in the profits. Fifteen I can blame on hard times; any more, and you risk getting noticed."

I couldn't laugh in this form, but wanted to; I should have been taking notes.

"What's to keep you from bumping me until I get this lawyer thing set up?"

"Nothing, but you're a smart boy, Shivvey, and there's the phone. You can find someone to sit with me until you're squared away."

"Sure, so you talk to them like you did with Tony? Turn them against me?"

"Then tie and gag me for the duration. I'd prefer that to a grenade or bullet."

"You got all the angles figured, don't you?"

"It's what I'm good at. Is it too early to start calling you boss?"

Coker took a long time thinking, probably thinking very hard, then he laughed once. "Hell, why not?"

Something banged and thumped-a door opening violently-and a woman's shrill voice cut in on what might have been their pending handshake.

"You goddamn bastards!"

"Rita?"

Couldn't tell which of them said it; I was too busy hauling ass.

I got to her a fraction too late, a gun went off just as I materialized in the hall next to her.

She gave a loud, full-throated screech of pure outrage as I pummeled against her big body, pushing her out of the doorway. She staggered and fell, cursing. Good. If she could do that, then she'd not been shot.

"Let me go!" she bellowed, struggling to rise. I'd planted a foot square between her shoulders and bent to take her gun. Awkward, but I managed to pull it clear without breaking her fingers or having it fire.

The muzzle was hot. I left her. Looked inside the office.

Nevis was on the floor in front of the couch, having apparently ducked. He didn't seem to be injured and was staring at Coker, who stood next to the desk. He had his gun on Nevis, but swung it toward me. Slack-jawed shock rocked him on his heels.

"Fleming? How the hell... ?"

Another fast move for me, risking a bullet to melt the few steps between us. I expected Coker to be surprised just long enough for me to turn things in my favor, but he didn't try to shoot. I took his gun without even token resistance.

"You're dead," he whispered, all astonishment as I backed off, covering him. "Dead... oh. Oh, shit."

Then Coker settled unsteadily into the chair behind the desk. He'd gone abruptly gray-faced.

"You lemme finish!" shouted Rita, surging in like the marines. I put an arm out and kept her from hitting him.

"Never mind, honey, that's enough for now," I said, for by then I'd caught the whiff of bloodsmell.

Coker put a hand to his chest. The hole there wasn't big, but colorful. Red pumped down his white shirtfront. "Damn," he said. "That hurts like hell. That-"

He bowed his head and kept bowing until he slipped untidily from the chair. His body struggled with a long ugly spasm and made ugly sounds as it fought against inevitability.

I watched without pity, without any emotion at all, remembering what he and his men had done to me and what he'd done to his men. Maybe now I'd be able to forget about that one mug and his burned-down cigarette.

Nevis was the first to wake out of the spell. He went to Coker and checked him over, slowly straightening. He looked at me, then Rita, who'd gone quiet. He shrugged and sat on the couch. He pulled out a cigarette. His hands were steady.

"Gimme," said Rita. This time I let her push past. She dropped heavily next to Nevis, who gave her one from his pack and a light. I had to turn away. I wasn't beyond feeling after all, but this one was of nausea for a memory, not for what lay on the floor.

"What did you think you were doing?" Nevis asked her. "Were you gonna get me next?"

"No-yes-I don't know. You two were-oh, jeez, Booth, after what he did to Lena how could you hop into bed with him like that?" She got up and came to stand on my right. I put the guns in my coat pockets. Quite a collection I had, including Upshaw's.

"He was making a deal to stay alive," I explained. "He had no intention of turning the club over to Shivvey. He was buying time."

Nevis snorted. "Hell, yes. You stop to ask directions or something? I was running out of ideas."

That'd be the day, I thought.

She looked up at me. "Really? He was just shooting bull?"

"Yeah, really. I was in the next room over, heard the whole thing."

"But I was going to-"

"The less said the better, honey."

She frowned fiercely at the body. "What do I do?"

"Nothing," said Nevis. "It's all figured. You go home."

"Then what?"

"You go home, you forget about it."

"Can you?" There was no reproach in her question; she wanted to know what he intended toward her.

He smiled. It was a death's-head kind of grin on his gaunt face. "You did me a favor. I don't forget favors. Maybe you were gonna plug me, too, but it didn't happen, so get out. Me and Fleming got work to do."

"Work?"

"Cleanup," I said, nodding down at Coker's mortal and quite solid remains. They wouldn't be going anywhere without help.

"Oh."

"You'll be all right?"

She took a heavy draw on her cigarette, and my gaze slipped elsewhere for a second, then returned. "I donno. What's gonna happen to me?"

"Nothing. You go home and have a drink for Lena. You did the right thing for her."

She had to know that, to believe it. Maybe I could help her out with a mental push and nudge later on if it was necessary, but for now she needed to be sure of the rightness of her action. It would make the nights to come easier.

That's what I always told myself when I thought about the people I'd killed.

This time I made sure that Rita actually boarded the El, then went back to help Nevis. He had a plan, the first part requiring we back Upshaw's car into the alley. We parked it close to the door, then hauled Coker's body out, tucking it into the trunk.

Next I drove us to a diner, where Nevis bought a couple cups of coffee and some sandwiches. All of it was for him, and he did not enjoy the coffee to judge by his expression as he drank. He gave me terse directions between bites as he wolfed the sandwiches.

We ended up at a small airport. It seemed closed for the night, but no one challenged us as we went through the gates and up to a cluster of small buildings where lights still shone. They were surmounted by a tower that vaguely reminded me of a lighthouse. I waited in the car while Nevis bolted out and did whatever business was required. I didn't ask, as it would have made a delay. When you have a body in your trunk, you don't want things like delays.

It took him just under ten minutes.

"Goddamn cops," he grumbled, climbing into the passenger seat. He now wore a fleece-lined leather jacket over his suit and had pulled on another pair of pants made of heavy wool. It looked bulky, but warm.

"Cops?"

"They were here earlier. Told the guy running this place that he should make sure I didn't try to skip off to Canada in my plane. Told him to put it out of commission and call them if I showed up."

"Did he?"

"Of course not." He sounded pained. "We go back a long ways. Besides, the cops don't pay him, I do. Take us over to that hangar that's opening up."

I took us. The hangar was massive, holding several different small planes. The man who had opened the wide doors turned the lights on, gave us a friendly wave, and walked unconcernedly off toward the tall tower. Whether it was on purpose or not, he never once looked back.

Nevis had me park next to one of the planes. I didn't know much about them, only that they were heavier than air. Given that important fact, I knew I would stick to trains, cars, or my own feet when it came to travel. Nevis concentrated on checking his machine over top to bottom. He made a thorough job of it, his engrossment such that even I could see he was probably a very good pilot. I stayed quiet and out of his way until, satisfied, he motioned for me to open the trunk.

The hangar lights recklessly on, we loaded Coker into the passenger seat of the plane. It was a good-size craft, with space for two more seats in the rear, only those had been removed to make room for a small cargo. I wondered if Nevis missed his days as a rumrunner of select, expensive booze.

We belted Coker in. He kept bowing forward until Nevis found a strap to tie him in place.

"That'll hold long enough," he said. "Just until I can get rid of him."

"You'll want some weights so he doesn't float."

"What? I'm not dumping him in the lake. No need." He picked Coker's pockets clean of wallet, keys, and other items-including the little records book.

"Where then?"

"Not sure exactly. They got some good thick woods up in Wisconsin. They'll do fine."

"You're burying him in the woods?"

"No, I'm dropping him."

I wasn't sure that I'd heard him right and said as much.

He closed the passenger door and ducked under it to come up the other side. I followed.

"I just keep flying north," he said. "It's easy at night, you can see where the lights give out. When I find a big enough patch of black below I just push our friend here out. From that height, the body pretty much goes to pieces when it hits the ground. The bears and other animals take care of the rest."

Not a picture I wanted in my head, but I had worse things there. This one at least explained something about that fragment of a phone conversation I'd overheard the other night.

He shot me another grin like death, then opened the book. He flipped through the pages, giving them the same concentration he'd afforded his plane. "That's her writing," he concluded, sounding resigned. "I remember this bet- it was a hell of a payoff, and on my birthday, too. Made me wish I'd placed some real money on that nag. Lena took a fifty from that one."

"You sure you're not sore at her?"

"I'm sure. She wasn't obvious about it, and she never acted guilty. I've had other girls who tried to steal off the top, and they did both. Annoyed the hell outta me. Lena... well..." He released a short breath and shut the book. "I don't like to think of her dying like she did. If that's how it happened, then he got off too easy, too quick." He looked toward the plane.

Coker's body was in shadow, but you could tell it was a man sitting there. Sitting a lot too still to be right.

"Maybe... maybe her heart gave out. I mean she'd have been scared, and bad off, but that's better than-"

"It happened a long time ago, Nevis. She's not hurting now."

A small kind of shift took place in him. "Okay, you're right. I better get in the air before the coffee wears off.

Thanks for the help."

"You're welcome. You mean that about Rita? You going to leave her alone?"

"Like I said, she did me a favor. You don't need to worry about her. We'll get together tomorrow sometime and have that drink to Lena, huh?"

"Sure."

"You seeing Rita tonight?"

"I got a mess of my own to clear up." I nodded at the car, where Upshaw sprawled out of sight in the back.

"Heh, when you sock 'em they stay socked. Looks like some of the stuff I've heard about you is true."

"Maybe." I would have liked to have found out what he'd heard, but this wasn't the time.

I hung around long enough to watch him take off, following the retreating shape of his sleek silver plane against what to me was a pale gray sky. The haze of distance soon blended the silver with the gray until it was quite invisible. After that I returned to the city, satisfied that most of my problems were over, or could be shoved aside for later consideration.

There was one left to me I felt would never be resolved, though. Nevis and Rita thought that Lena's murderer was dead.

Only I knew better.