They held to the blindfold routine all the way into the city. I didn't care much for it, but if they felt safer and left me alone, then I was willing to put up with the farce.

It spared me from having to look at the drab streets again, but I found myself fighting an unexpected and embarrassing bout of car sickness. The vehicle's motion was silk-smooth, swaying only at the turns, which was enough to set me off. It had to mean I was tired, not so much physically, but certainly in the mind and soul. The night had been too busy already and wasn't nearly over yet.

A quiet bunch for the first few miles, Baker, who was driving, finally broke the silence. "You trust this Sullivan?"

Calloway didn't take much time to answer. "No. Can't trust any of 'em."

"Then why work for him?"

"Because we don't have a choice. We're in too far."

"What about the boys at the hotel? What if they screwed up or tip on us?"

"Then we say we don't know what they're talking about and stick to it, no more and no less. You guys got that?"

The men on each side of me in the backseat murmured agreement. I kept my trap shut and didn't join in the chorus. Now wasn't the time to play wiseacre. Swallowed some of my spit and took a deep breath, hoping my guts would settle soon. I'd read someplace that dizziness had to do with your ears, so why was it that your stomach was always the focus of all the misery?

"What about the punk, then? Sullivan doesn't trust him, why should we? All he has to do is blab in the wrong ear."

"Our word against his. We're safe. You hear that, Fleming?"

"I heard. I'm not gonna make trouble for you. I was straight up with Sullivan. All I want is out of this mess with a whole skin."

Another one of his short, unpleasant laughs. I knew I sounded like a sucker to him, but didn't give a tinker's damn for his opinion. He'd also just given me confirmation that letting me go free and clear wasn't going to happen if he had anything to do with it. Once the books were back with Sullivan, I'd be written up in them as a new liability vs. an old asset. Though I could hope to avert a major war between the gangs, I couldn't kid myself into thinking either side would let me loose with what I knew on them. The one thing in my favor was that Sullivan didn't quite buy Calloway's suspicions about me. All I had to do was ditch the cop, corner Sullivan alone for a private talk, and the world would be mine again, with me in charge for a change.

Of course, first I had to talk to Angela, since the same and more went for her. At some point before I saw her, Calloway would have to let me go, if only to avoid getting shot by her as a turncoat to Daddy Frank, then I could really get the show on the road. Well, something like that was easily arranged, just wait until he was off guard and jump in with both feet. He looked like he could use a long nap.

We slowed and stopped once or twice, probably for traffic and signal lights. My dizziness eased during the pauses. I tried to guess where we were, then gave it up. So long as the trip ended at the hotel I didn't need to trouble myself on details- except where it came to time. I had only until midnight. I wondered if there was a reason for that particular hour, or if Maxwell was just being dramatic.

Final stop. I could tell because Baker set the hand brake just before cutting the motor. A door was opened and the rush of chill air brushed away the last of my nausea. Next time I'd ask to travel in the front seat with the window slightly cracked.

"You might want to take this thing off me, Calloway," I said, indicating the blindfold. "It's a little too noticeable."

I heard some shifting around and one of the cops pulled the cloth up over my head, nearly taking my eyebrows along for the ride. Had to blink a few times against what seemed to be sudden brightness to me, though the inside of the car was still in normal darkness. The first thing I focused on was a gun muzzle hovering a few inches from my nose. Calloway's. It was all loaded again. I could see the rounded nubs of the bullets tucked inside the chambers.

His face was ugly, his tone worse. "You try anything fancy and you'll wish to God you hadn't. You understand me?"

Mouth dry, I nodded. I've survived getting shot, but would just as soon go on living without further experiences of that sort.

"Okay. Get him out, but take the cuffs off. I don't want anyone asking about him.

Fleming..."

"I'm not gonna make trouble."

"Just try, and see what happens."

It took a minute for us all to trade the shelter of the car for the cutting wind of the sidewalk. Baker had parked half a block down under a broken streetlight and now stood behind me with Calloway, who kept his revolver jammed against my back as a constant reminder to be good.

We made a slow approach. They must have wanted to make sure it was safe for them, but there was no need to worry. By now most of the fuss from the shooting was over. The trip out to the roadhouse and back and all the talking in between had chewed up a lot of time. Whatever police investigation had taken place here was mostly gone now. Whether any of Angela's goons were hanging about we had yet to see. I tried to check the darker nooks along the street, but that gun in my spine was a hell of a distraction.

The front of the hotel still showed some light and life. Sawhorse barriers had been set up around it to keep people clear. A single cop car with two men inside was parked right at the curb. They were in sight of the bloodstains and the chalk outline where the body had fallen on the pavement. Someone had forgotten to sweep the street: Brass shell casings from the machine gun were all over the place. Maybe tomorrow the morbidly curious would have their chance to collect a memento.

Calloway left guard duty to Baker and walked ahead to the car to speak with the officers. From his manner I couldn't tell if they were in on the take with him or not.

They didn't bother to get out into the wind. I strained to hear, but they were too far away even for me to pick up a stray word. Calloway gestured at the mess on the walk once or twice, looking serious and sympathetic. The driver glanced back at our group and shrugged, nodding. Calloway had apparently convinced him we had business at the hotel; there was no hitch about any of us going in.

The bullet-pocked entry doors were in the same condition as the ones in the radio room now, gaping wide and empty with the etched glass gone, only it was much draftier as the winter wind slipped through. The old manager, in an ancient coat with a tattered wool muffler wrapped around his head, had a box of thumbtacks in hand and was busy pinning flapping layers of newspaper over the openings. He also had the nervous twitches, looking up fast the instant he heard us coming. He recognized me and the boys right off, if I could judge anything from his terrified expression, and got out of the way to let us pass. No questions for us, though.

Probably too scared.

Broken glass from the doors and windows was scattered all over the marble floor, which also showed damage. Stray bullets had created brief plow lines in its surface where it hadn't cracked apart altogether. Wherever you looked at eye level from the street, you could spot bullet holes in the walls, along the stairs. They only went up so high, like some kind of rock stratum, indicating the limits of the range of fire from the street. The killers had sprayed the place pretty good, though. It must have been some kind of big kick for them to blast the hell out of something and too tough for anybody who'd been in the way.

I wondered if the shooting would hurt or help the business. Probably the latter, once word got out. When the feds and the East Chicago police had taken down Dillinger a couple years back, the Biograph Theater had done a boom in ticket sales.

Of course, anyone making the pilgrimage had to stop after the show to stare at the alleyway where he'd fallen and look for blood. Nothing of it was left, though; previous souvenir hunters had seen to that, sopping it up with handkerchiefs, scrap paper, and bits of torn cardboard, or so Escott had told me.

On the other hand, the dead man for this one wasn't John Dillinger, but a crooked cop who'd run out of luck. By the time the papers came out tomorrow, the world would know the truth or honor him for a hero.

Calloway motioned for the manager to come in and we all gathered at the front desk. It was at a right angle to the street, parallel to the bullet paths. No holes in the wood except for the ones already there.

"Yeah?" The manager shifted on his feet and looked like nothing would please him more than to be miles away from us.

Everyone stared expectantly at me. "I want you to call Angela Paco," I said. "Tell her Jack Fleming's back and needs to talk. I'll be in the same room as before."

"Huh?" As an imitation of lack of comprehension, it was awful.

"You know what I mean. If you don't have her number, you'll know someone who does. Make whatever calls you need to contact her, but do it fast."

He shook his head, gaze darting nervously over us all, silently pleading for me to go away. "I don't get you, mister."

Calloway showed him his gun. Shoved it up under the old man's chin, in fact. The lobby was empty of patrons, but I knew he'd have done the same thing with or without witnesses. "You get this, Pops? I thought so. Go do what you're told." He lowered the muzzle and signaled to the two uniforms. "Stay with him and see to it he doesn't get funny. I don't want Angela doing a repeat of what happened here."

"So you think she was behind the hit?" I asked him as we trudged up the stairs.

"Who else would have a reason? Probably still pissed that we stuck with Sullivan instead of her after Kyler bought the farm."

"What about your new boss? Could have been him. You see the look on his face when I mentioned it?"

A hesitation. Then: "Why should he?"

"Human nature. Every job I've ever had, whenever they changed the top men, they'd fire the workers and bring in their own people to take their place. Don't tell me you've never been through those hoops."

"It ain't like that here. Not with this setup."

"Sure about that? Maybe Sullivan was thinking of trimming the fat so he looks good to the New York bosses. What's a few cops more or less to him?"

"Shaddup," said Baker, who was just behind me.

I shut up. Since I'd gotten a rise out of him it meant he'd been thinking along similar lines. Now he was thinking that way again, maybe both of them, since Calloway's jaw was visibly clenching as he ground his teeth. Didn't know what good it might do me to throw down a false trail, but having them off balance and even more mistrustful of Sullivan couldn't hurt.

We reached the door at the end of the hall. It was half off its hinges where they'd broken through earlier. I'd left Calloway right up against it before hightailing out the fire escape, so you could make book that the bruises he took were probably giving him twinges now that there were fewer distractions. Have to allow he'd be in a bad temper from the discomfort, maybe even find a way to take advantage of it.

Inside, the room was the same as before, but much colder. Apparently no one had troubled to close the window I'd used. Calloway covered me, keeping his distance, and sent Baker to take care of the problem and look at the heater.

"It's on," he reported from the back. "Just not working so good."

"What's the time?" I asked.

Calloway checked his watch. "Half-past ten. Better hope your girlfriend wants to talk soon. Or else."

"Maxwell didn't say anything about an 'or else.' I'm just supposed to call him then." I dropped into the chair by the phone. Calloway, gun in hand, tossed the blindfold in my lap.

"Put it on."

"Jeez, are you kidding? What the hell do you think I-"

"I don't know, but until I do, you're gonna wear that. Put it on."

Arguing wouldn't have gotten me anywhere, so I wrapped it loosely around my head, tied off the ends, and sat there feeling like an idiot.

"What the hell's this?" asked Baker, coming in.

I turned my head in his general direction, crossing my arms. "Haven't you heard?

They're making a talkie of The Sheik and I got the lead."

"You're cute, so cute I should drop you off a bridge. Can we do that after this is done, Lieutenant?"

"Maybe if we ask Sullivan real nice," answered Calloway. I didn't need to see to know about the smirk on his narrow face. The whole of it was in his voice. He should have been on radio.

Baker groused on. "God, but I hate punks like him."

"Who?" I asked with bright interest. "Punks like me or punks like Sullivan?"

"No one's talkin' to you."

"Just wanted some clarification is all," I said, all injured innocence.

"That's what I'm talkin' about. Smart-ass bastards like him coming out with the five-dollar college words and pretending to be so tough. Well, you ain't so frigging tough, pretty boy. You don't have any idea what tough really is."

"Calloway, make him stop, he's scaring me so bad I wanna puke."

"Both of you lay off, before you give me a headache," Calloway snarled.

Baker growled something under his breath I didn't catch, but it must have been aimed at me since Calloway didn't take exception to it. I kept shut and let him have the last word for now. My turn would come later, after the blindfold was off.

Sitting around listening to them breathe was only slightly less boring than actually watching the process. That I was spared from seeing their faces for the time being was another consolation. Calloway would just throw me more hate-filled looks, and then I'd probably sniff and rub my nose the wrong way, and Baker would try hitting me again. Try. Now that Opal was out of the reckoning, I was more or less free to take some chances.

God, I hoped she'd be okay.

Just have to wait on that one. Find out later. Bide my time-what there was of it until midnight came or Angela called-and take my best chance when it offered itself.

Soon now. Maybe.

Calloway had the right idea with the blindfold. There's a lot of power in the eyes.

You don't need to be a vampire to influence others with a stare, just have to have the knack for it. Some people are naturals, others learn how to control it. How much is bluff and how much is real depends on the individual and how others react to them. I had a reporter friend back in New York who once saw Hitler in person and said it was the look in his eyes that grabbed people first and pinned 'em to the wall. You either fell under his spell and loved him or came up with an instant and irrational urge to shoot him. My friend wanted to shoot, which he found to be extremely upsetting since he'd been raised a Quaker.

Maybe Calloway, now that he'd had a sample of my unnatural talent when I'd gone overboard using it, was having a similar reaction to me. Only in this case he didn't have any objections to using violence based on his religion, or based on anything else for that matter. If Sullivan gave him the go-ahead, he'd scrag me willingly enough. Nuts to that, he'd do it without a go-ahead, like he'd tried in front of the hotel, only this time there would be bullets in the gun.

I gave a shudder in spite of myself.

"Whatsamatter? You cold?" Baker turned it into a jeer.

I wasn't but said I was. "Must not have done such a great job with the heater."

"I'll give you heat, you-"

"He's right," said Calloway. "Go turn it up."

"It is turned up."

"Then check it again and see what's wrong. I can see my breath hanging in the air."

Soon.

I leaned my head back as though to rest against the wall. It allowed me to just see under the bottom edge of the blindfold. A slice of floor and Calloway's feet slid into view. He was in the chair by the radio I'd used earlier when I'd been here with Opal.

Heard Baker tinkering with the heater, muttering to himself.

He'd be back any second.

No time like the present.

Calloway had suspicions about the hypnosis, but not a single clue about my other major talent.

Vanishing.

One instant in front of him, solid and real as an anvil, and the next gone and on the move, leaving him an abruptly empty chair to gape at.

In this state a blindfold is a pretty useless hindrance against me, since I can't see anyway. I used my memory and what sense of touch remained to whip around behind Calloway. It happened so fast he had no time to react either verbally or physically. He was still seated and trying to take in the impossible when I re-formed, tore off the cloth, snaked a hand around to cover his mouth, and used the other to fix his gun in place.

Now he did start a ruckus, kicking and flailing like a crazy man. He rose high out of the chair, making it crash over. I dragged him clear, then spun him around and did the same as before, focusing on his wide-open eyes and telling him to take a nap.

He slowed, but didn't collapse. Too on guard against me, I guess. He got out a couple of sobbing sounds- it was fear, absolute terror-and tried to wrest his gun free. My hand was closed tight around the cylinder, else he'd have fired it by now; I'd already felt his trigger finger making the attempt.

Hypnosis was out, but another fighting instinct kicked in, and I tried a less exotic but highly effective fist on his jaw, my arm going too fast for him to follow. Kept the punch pulled, though; I didn't want to kill him. He thumped straight to the floor, a bag of rags.

Baker was next on my list of chores. From the bedroom he'd heard me dancing around with his pal and charged in all ready for the worst. I went semi-transparent, which isn't easy to maintain, but is great for avoiding bullets while still being able to see the shooter.

He froze, absolutely froze, mouth sagging, eyes popping. Couldn't blame him.

Suddenly being able to look right through a guy to see the room beyond must be pretty hard on the old rational facilities. Must have been especially hard on Baker; from the expression on his mug his brain must have completely closed down for the winter. Or maybe even until further notice. Since I didn't have that long to play games I got within a yard of him and gradually went solid. His whole horrified attention was on me, so I had an easy time convincing him to hand me his gun, go back to the other room, and climb into the bed for a nice nap.

Oh, yeah-I told him to forget all about my imitation of a ghost. It was for his own good. That kind of inexplicable thing is hard for a person to live with, better for everyone that he not remember any of it.

I surveyed the battlefield-no permanent casualties and me with all the weapons-then gave myself a mental pat on the back. Damn, but it felt good to be in charge again.

* * *

Just to give myself something constructive to do until Angela called, I righted the toppled chair and dragged Calloway's extremely unconscious body into the other room to get him out of sight. While I was at it I lifted his watch from his wrist to mine. It was a cheap thing. Whatever money he got on the side, he was smart enough not to give away easy clues to it like wearing something pricey from the Boston Store.

No heirloom, so my conscience didn't chafe much. He could afford a replacement-

that is, he could if Sullivan still wanted him on the payoff roster after this latest failure.

I watched the minute hand of my new property shift from one marking to the next a few times and wondered how long before Calloway woke up so I could whammy him like Baker. My idea was to make sure their stories matched-the details of which would depend on the outcome of my talk with Angela.

Who was taking her own sweet time.

Full of nervous energy again now that I was back in control of this little piece of my world, I paced around as before to work it off. Didn't feel like dancing, though.

No partner. I circled the room, chewed the inside of my lower lip, and offered a prayer or two for Opal. God, she was only a kid with a raw deal on life, so raw that she didn't really know how to live yet. The potential was there, if only she could have the chance to see it, reach for it. Sullivan had damned well better be taking good care of her or I'd take it out of his Harvard hide.

Wanted to make some calls, but didn't dare. Talking to Escott and Coldfield would have to wait to keep the line free.

Line. What if it wasn't working? Picked up the receiver, very quickly. Heard the reassuring hum of the dial tone. Okay, the phone was fine. Good, great, wonderful.

Now everything depended on the scared old man below. I couldn't run down to check on him, to make sure he'd done his phoning, not with the other two cops on duty.

Kept telling myself there was really no need. If there'd been a problem, one of them would have come up to report it to Calloway by now. I almost wish they would so I could get the drop on them. That would simplify my exit from this joint when the time came.

Checked the hall. Empty. Pushed the door more securely shut. If anyone knocked, chances were it'd fall down from the force of the raps, but I wanted the feeling of privacy a closed door imparted. It's all in the mind, like most things, the same as pulling blankets up over your head to keep out the bogeyman. If he really wanted to get you, he would, but until that time came, you were safe under the covers with your illusions.

Phone.

I let it ring a couple times, then picked up.

"Fleming, you son of a bitch, what the hell kind of scam are you pulling?" Angela yelled in my ear.

Things were off to a flying start. "So nice to hear from you, too, sweetheart."

"First you pull a raid-"

"Not me, I told you that was Sullivan's-"

"Then a hit on the hotel. You were trying to set me up."

"And did a piss-poor job of it since you weren't anywhere around when it happened."

"You were trying to get me killed."

"Get sensible, I was right in front of the guns while they were shooting, not you."

"Fleming!"

So the lady wasn't interested in making sense just yet. She'd probably been storing this up for hours and needed a release. I was just the man to help her do it.

"Angela, calm down, count to ten, and then I'll be glad to let you know what's been going on between me and your Irish friend."

"You're a dead man, you bastard!"

I bit my tongue so as not to tell her she was way too late for that and waited until she'd cooled enough to talk. After a minute her curiosity would win out over W

temper, and I could begin the preliminaries.

"Well?" she demanded after a stretch, when I'd stopped responding to her cursing and threats.

"First off, Opal's still alive."

"Alive?" That changed her tune. "I thought-"

"She took a bullet, but they have Doc looking after her."

"What? Doc's supposed to be... he hadn't called in and I thought he'd gone on a drunk."

"Nope, they snagged him at the studio raid. Roughed him up some, but he's alive, mostly well, and drinking as usual. I think the idea is to use him as a hostage like Kyler used your father."

She gave a snort. "Doc's not my father, and he knows it. What about Opal?"

"She's not feeling so good, no thanks to the hit on the hotel, Doc's pretty worried about her. You should have sent your boys to collect us faster and we might have avoided a lot of trouble."

"Don't go blaming that on me, you frigging snake. Sullivan's the one behind it."

Right, so Sullivan thought Angela had made the hit, and unless she was lying she thought him to be responsible. That left one other possible player, and I still hated the idea: Gordy. Damnation. Escott was right. When it came to this kind of cold-blooded business, no one could be your friend. I still hadn't figured what specific advantage killing Opal would gain him, but in general terms it would throw both sides off balance. The fact that I might get hit in the process, too, was part of it, and that made me want to punch holes in the wall, or in him. Gordy, along with very, very few others, knew I could survive such an attack.

"I'll have that Irish bastard's balls on a meat hook before this is over," said Angela, still going on about her new competition.

"And he sends you his love, as well." No point in mentioning Gordy to her right now. I'd have to take care of him later.

"All right, Fleming, what's your angle?"

"That's where it gets complicated. I need to talk to you face-to-face. You never know who might be listening."

"I'm sure. You're just trying to finish what he started."

"If that was the case then I'd have a much better story to feed you than the truth, which is pretty grim, lady. Doc and your wizard accountant are in Sullivan's hands and the only person who has a chance in hell of getting them clear is me- with your help."

A very long pause.

"Angela?"

"Yeah, okay." She sounded more subdued. "What is it you want?"

"Just a little talk so we can get some stuff straightened out."

She laughed once, a hard metallic sound. "I'm not gonna let you within a mile of me. You're stooging for Sullivan and just looking for another chance to finish the job.

The manager said you walked in with those dime an hour cops like you owned the place."

"So I did, but your manager missed the fact those cops had a couple of guns jabbing into my back at the time. He's too scared to notice much because they're watching him."

"And how is it you're able to-"

"Oh, I was under guard, but these mugs have mackerel for brains. Two of them took me upstairs to wait to hear from you. I grabbed an opportunity and got the drop on them. They're having a nice snooze in the honeymoon suite."

"Uh-huh." By her tone she didn't believe any of it. Too bad.

"All I have to do is slip out the back way and meet you anywhere you name. Bring all the muscle you want, make it public or private, let 'em search me to the skin, and you call the shots. I'm telling you I just want to talk."

"Anywhere, huh?"

I was gambling that it wouldn't be over running water, like the lake. Had a way clear of that hitch, though. "There's one thing: I gotta be able to get to a phone. I'm supposed to call Sullivan at midnight or he starts playing hardball with Doc. He could also get mean with Opal, but she's too far gone to notice."

"You mean she's dying?"

"I don't know. Doc didn't look too happy. They promised to take care of her, but I don't trust 'em much. The faster we get things resolved the better, otherwise Sullivan promised to dump her in a field."

"Where are they?"

"I'll tell you that when I see you."

"You'll tell me now."

"So you can hit him back and get them killed? I don't think so."

Another long pause.

"Angela? I know this sounds fishy as hell, but this is all I've got to play with."

"Then it's not enough. For all I know, Doc and Opal are dead and you're setting up a trap for Sullivan to get me as well."

"Don't be a sap, Angela. Use your instincts, you must know I'm not that kind of a player."

"Mister, I don't know who the hell you are. You talk a good line, but my dad taught me that those are the ones to watch out for more than any of the others."

"And any other time he'd be right. Come on and fix a meeting, on your terms, wherever you want."

"Over the phone or nothing at all."

"No can do."

"He must be paying you a bundle."

"He's paying me jackshit. All he's done for me is keep me alive a few more hours, and I don't know how much longer that's going to last if you don't want to listen to-"

"I can listen right here and now."

Had to stop, take a breath and let it out slow. I knew she'd be stubborn about a meeting, but hadn't anticipated that she'd be so irritating as well. "Look, I'll tell you what I told Sullivan: I'm only trying to get out of this with a whole skin. He was the one who decided I should be the go-between so you two can settle your differences before things get even more out of hand than they are."

"This after he raids my place and shoots Opal?"

"On his terms he was just flexing his muscles. Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same given the chance."

"I'll tell you what I'll do to that-"

"And I'm sure it involves the use of hand grenades, but they're not the answer to everything. Just give me the chance to tell you what he has in mind."

"Sure, go ahead."

"In person, sweetheart, in person. It's too risky on a phone. The cops might be listening in and we've said much too much already." . "Then find another phone to call from."

"You'd have to give me a number, which could give away your location."

"So would my giving you directions on where to find me."

"Okay, okay. How about I just leave the hotel and start walking? You can have someone pick me up while I'm on the move. I won't kick a fuss."

"No thanks, you're too anxious to deal, Fleming."

"I'm not exactly in a real good spot not to be! I got two unconscious cops up here, two more downstairs I have to get past, Sean Sullivan ready to scrag me if I screw this up, and you've already told me you want me dead-you're damn right I'm anxious!"

"Then why not leave town, disappear?"

I shut my eyes a moment. God knows walking away from this was looking better and better. "You wouldn't believe me."

"Uh-huh. You've got that pegged. What's this midnight call to Sullivan about?"

"It's so I can let him know what's going on. He's given me that long to find out if you wanna play ball with him or not. What I tell him is gonna affect Opal and Doc.

The way things are going now, they're both gonna end up in a field with no headstone."

"I figured that already." She didn't sound like it mattered all that much to her, either. "Okay, if you're not in his pocket, why should he pick you for this job?"

"I had to do some fast talking to stay alive, so I made him think we had something between us."

"You and me? That's a laugh."

"Sweetheart, you're hurting my feelings with this talk."

"And I'm choking up, too."

"The idea was to help me stay alive; it worked and I'm only trying to keep it working. So come on and let's get together and-"

"It's not gonna happen, Fleming. If you can't do business over the phone-"

"What about Opal and Doc?"

"You're so worried about 'em, you tell me. Phone or nothing. It's in your hands."

"You'd let 'em die?"

"If I have to. Sullivan wants to play tough, then that's the way it is."

Jeez. I wasn't talking to a human being, but to a block of ice.

"Fleming, I'm not saying I want them to die, but I'm not risking myself for anyone. You want to take chances, go right ahead."

"But they're the ones who-" but I cut the rest off. No point talking in circles.

She'd made up her mind and was willing to throw away two lives to keep from changing it. Apparently she didn't mind noisy fun and games like the raid or tossing grenades around her backyard, but to stick her neck out in the cold on purpose was something else again. Too bad for Doc and Opal. I'd have to stop pushing the personal-interview stuff and try a different angle.

"Okay, Angela, there's gotta be a way we can work something out here. You at least want to get Opal back, without her the books are useless."

"The books. I wondered when you'd get around to them. That's what this is all about, isn't it?"

"Sullivan mentioned them, yes."

"Well, he's out of luck. He's not getting them."

"He's willing to buy them from you."

"What's his offer? I can use another laugh."

"Enough to put you and your father up in style. Enough to allow you to afford the best head doctors in Europe to treat him, get him better again."

Long silence for that one. I let her think it over.

"Europe?"

"Maybe take him to Switzerland. They got more shrinks than mountains there.

You could get your father help-real help-for what's happened to him."

"And when he's better he'll have nothing to come back to. The business he spent his life building gone, sold for a song by me? I'm not gonna do that to him."

"It's got more going for it than the road you're on now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's stuff I heard at Sullivan's. The New York bosses think you're too flashy and dangerous. Even if you dump Sullivan down a drain, they'll just send out someone else to take his place and another one after that and another, until you end up on a slab and your father is wrapped tight in a straitjacket in some state institution for what's left of his life."

"No! You shut the hell up!"

"That's how the world works, you can't change it, but if you're smart you can fix things so you're sitting pretty, play it dumb and everyone loses, especially your father."

"No!"

"If something happens to you, who's gonna take care of him? He'll be in a white room somewhere with some guy spoon-feeding him oatmeal three times a day in between basket-weaving sessions-"

" No!" A real shriek. She didn't hang up, but did slam the phone down hard on something. Several times.

As Escott could have said, I'd touched a nerve. A mighty sensitive one to judge by the crashing sounds and her language. It was a few long minutes before she came back. At least she had a chance to rant and blow off steam. I had to sit still and hang on to the line, feeling like a dog on a short leash tied to a bomb.

"Fleming." She sounded breathless.

"Yeah?"

"God damn you to hell." Now she sounded tired. Very tired.

"No doubt."

"Fleming?"

"Right here."

"What's... what's that bastard's offer?"

Bowed my head. Tried not to get too hopeful. "I don't know, but the two of you can negotiate it, set up a delivery."

"Why should he even bother paying me off?"

"Because it's not as noisy as a war and a lot less expensive. The boys in New York don't like that kind of noise."

Pause on her end. A long one. I tried not to fidget.

"Fleming."

"Yeah?"

"You said you could get Doc and Opal out?"

"Maybe I could."

"Then you do that. I'll deal with Sullivan on condition I get them back."

"He won't give you Opal. Not willingly. He needs her to decode the books."

"Doc, then. I'll trade Doc for the books and the payoff. As a sign of good faith."

I didn't want to trust her. That little double back she'd pulled on the stairway tonight left a bad taste in my mouth. "You'll stick to any deal you strike?"

"Not just any deal, this is only if I get enough cash."

Words were easy to say, and neither of us had mentioned that seven hundred grand sitting in the roadhouse basement, either. She probably didn't want to remind me of it, and I sure as hell didn't want her going there, though it was a surety that she'd run out and try to pick it up before the dust settled.

"Get Doc released, and I'll hand over the books for the money," she said.

"It'll take time for me to work this." I wanted plenty of maneuvering room as far as the ticking clock went.

"I'm in no hurry."

"And I'll need a better way to contact you than to keep coming to this dump.

Something more direct."

"If you get Doc out, he'll do that for you. He knows what places to find me."

"Come on, Angela."

"You just get Doc and he'll take care of it; otherwise, no deal. That's all you need to worry about."

It was more than enough.

"You want some muscle, some guns?"

I thought about it. Asking for them just might put me next to her. "What if I do?"

"Then I'd tell you where to go to get them."

Cagey girl. "Nah, I'll be fine without."

"What'll you say to Sullivan when you call him?"

"That you're willing to deal, but it won't be easy. I'll make you look good."

"I don't need your help for that, and you're damn right it won't be easy. If he doesn't cough up enough money to suit me, he'll have a fight on his hands."

"I'll make sure he understands."

"You do that. And one other thing, Fleming." Her voice came back stronger, like it was from the start, but darker and sleet-cold. "You pull anything cute, I mean anything, and I'll hang your carcass from a meat hook right next to Sullivan's. You won't be able to hide from me; no matter how this turns out, I'll come after you and make it happen. Take that as a promise."

"I believe you, lady," I whispered.

Calloway was awake finally, sort of, if you didn't mind him looking like he was having an open-eyed cataleptic fit. Before I could call Sullivan I had to have his stooge up and ready to talk. I got tired of waiting for him to come around naturally and tried the cold-water-in-the-face routine along with some hard shaking and a few face slaps. They worked just fine, and while he was still in a highly receptive state for it I gave him my best evil-eye. Now he was sitting in the chair by the phone, quiet as a cat and ready to do a bit part in White Zombie.

I'd primed him with a bogus memory of my conversation with Angela, then gave instructions on exactly what I wanted from him in reaction. I hoped it would cover every point Sullivan might raise, but the effort had given me one hell of a headache.

It felt like someone had tied a tourniquet to my skull and was squeezing it too tight. I vanished once to see if that would make the pain go away, but it didn't seem to have much effect, which was a disappointment. Usually that cleared up things like cuts and bruises pretty fast; maybe I needed to not be solid for a longer period. No time to experiment. It wasn't near to midnight yet, but I didn't want Sullivan to get the sweats waiting. He'd seemed confident when I'd left, and I wanted to bolster that feeling with an early report of success.

I dialed the number Maxwell had given me. Two rings and he answered. Low voice, as well modulated as a radio announcer, very civilized.

"Yes?"

"It's Fleming. Is Opal okay?"

"She was when I last saw her."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said."

"Did you bring in a real doctor for her?"

"She's being carefully looked after in a very safe place, I assure you."

Didn't know how much of that I could believe, if any. Sure I'd been able to give him a last order, a slight push in the right direction, but was uncertain whether it'd taken a solid enough hold in his mind to do Opal any good. I'd find out soon enough, though. "I've talked with Angela. You want your boss to hear the news?"

Apparently he did. The next one on the line was Sullivan.

"What have you to say?" Cultured, with that flat Boston accent. A Boston roach.

He was probably a real pip scuttling around the football field. Or maybe it was polo.

"I think I've got a deal for you."

"You only think you have it?"

"I'll know for sure once I meet with the lady. She's pretty skittish after all the fireworks tonight. She wants your guarantee you'll lay off for the time being, call a truce."

"So she has a chance to hit back?"

"At the moment she's got very little to hit you with and no idea where you are. I'm going to meet with her, but Calloway's kicking a fuss about letting me out. She won't talk if I've got fleas on my tail. I wouldn't put it past her to plug me if she thinks I've turned and gone over to your side."

"Nice girlfriend you've got."

"It's the same as for any girlfriends you might have. Would you let one of them stand between you and the organization? Didn't think so. She's soft for me, but only to a point."

"Smart gal."

"I've always thought so. Now how about calling off Calloway so I can get some work done?"

"What sort of work?'

"I'm gonna meet her at some place on the road in Indiana. No one else knows about it. No address, I just know how to get there. It's gonna take a while, too; I won't be able to call until morning, if that soon."

"That's too long."

"She's a stubborn gal. I'm gonna have to do a lot of sweet talkin' to get her to come around to your way of seeing things. If I'm not careful about this she'll dangle me from a meat hook. Talking her into dealing with you means I get out of it alive."

"Sounds like you're trying to skip."

"I'm not trying to-"

"Put Calloway on."

"But-"

"Put him on, Fleming."

I grumbled and growled for effect, then passed the receiver over. Calloway pressed it against his ear. No worry from me. He was my creature, I owned him. His voice sounded perfectly normal, but his face was still quite blank. Creepy.

"Yeah, Mr. Sullivan?"

"What's this deal about him meeting Angela?"

"I listened to both sides, he's on the up-and-up with it far as I can tell. She wants to see him, but I still don't trust him. He needs to be watched."

"Of course he does, but from a distance might be better. Can you trail him?"

"Yeah, I can do that."

"Very well. Don't be caught or things could get complicated."

"I won't."

"Put him back on."

He handed it over.

Sullivan sounded reassuring, like a teacher with a not too bright student. "I got things straightened out with the lieutenant, so you won't have any trouble from him now."

"That was easy. Maybe too easy. He swallowed that without any choking."

"He knows what's good for him and how to obey orders. I'm hoping you do as well."

"We both want the same thing, Mr. Sullivan. You hold to your part and I'll hold to mine and then everyone's happy. But if Calloway screws this up for me..." I thought I'd give him a chance to adjust things. If I really did have a meeting with Angela, Sullivan's orders to Calloway could get us both killed.

"He won't."

Why did I even bother to hope he'd smarten up and play square? Okay, to hell with him and all his cousins. "All right. I'll call in the morning around ten."

"That late?"

I gave a snotty chuckle, the sort he'd expect from someone who was quite a bit less than a gentleman. "Well, Angela's a pretty hot little twist. I may have to be sleeping in from all the-"

"Eight o'clock, Fleming," he said in a world-weary and rather patronizing tone.

"Hey, I can't-"

"Eight, no later." He hung up. Probably thought he'd scored a point or two. Fine, far be it from me to disillusion him. By this time tomorrow, if I had any luck at all, he wouldn't even remember my name.