This story is based on the 'Gunsmith Cats' manga by Kenichi Sonoda, with a few elements from the 'Riding Bean' OAV (1989). It is set after the last published manga in English as of March 2005.

Tell me what you thought of it, no matter what you have to say. I'm a big girl. :) I always welcome reader reactions, especially ones that go into detail. Please email me at MmeManga "at" aol dot com (address spelled out because this site strips all email addys and URLS) or leave your comments here.

NOTE: The complete version of this story is housed at my Livejournal, which is linked on my main page on this site. I have removed large sections of chapters Two, Eight and Thirty from the postings here because of the current site rules, although this story existed on the site long before those rules went into effect. I am sorry for any inconvenience to readers; this factor is unfortunately not under my control. The complete version will also be posted at Mediaminer. My former dedicated Gunsmith Cats site no longer exists.

DISCLAIMER: Characters of RALLY VINCENT, BEAN BANDIT, MAY HOPKINS, ROY COLEMAN, KEN TAKI copyright Kenichi Sonoda. All other characters, and story, copyright 2000--2005 by Madame Manga. Contact by email at MmeManga "at" aol dot com. Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author. Do not archive. Permission is granted to circulate this text in electronic form, free of charge and with this disclaimer and the author's name attached. Do not plagiarize, alter, or appropriate this text in any way. This story is intended for personal entertainment purposes only. No infringement of any copyrights or other rights is intended.

ADULT CONTENT WARNING IN BOLD CAPS!

This story is not for kids or the easily offended. It contains explicit violence and extreme profanity. If you object to reading such things, do not read this story.

Chasing the Dragon
by Madame Manga
Chapter Six

"God, Roy! I can't tell you what a friendly face means to me right now." Rally gave Roy Coleman a quick hug and patted his .38 revolver through his coat. "Did you have breakfast yet?"

"On the plane." Roy looked a little weary, but squeezed her arm in return. "If you can call coffee and a miniature croissant-wich at 5 A.M. 'breakfast'. These two shady characters met me at the airport, but I rented a car."

"Oh, hi." She smiled at the two black-suited FBI agents behind him in the lobby of the Sandpiper Inn. "I'm Rally Vincent. Roy tell you all about me?"

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Vincent." The older of the two, a burly, crew-cut man, shook her hand. "I'm Agent Smith. And this is Agent Wesson—never mind the joke, hmm? We've heard it a few too many times." His companion, about Brown's age and studious-looking, rolled his eyes.

"Perish the thought." Rally's smile wilted. "Come on up to the room and we can talk there."

In the elevator, she gave Roy another impulsive hug. Roy cleared his throat and patted her shoulder. "Glad to see you too, kid." His black beard twitched with a smile. "But I thought you didn't want me to take the trouble."

"Oh, that was stupid of me. I'm glad you did. Not that I couldn't have handled it on my own, of course!" Rally stuck out her tongue.

"Where's this hired muscle of yours?"

"Not in my hotel room, Roy!" She gave a suddenly nervous giggle and put a hand over her mouth. Smith and Wesson looked at each other. Roy cleared his throat again and put his hands in his pockets, raising his eyebrows in their direction. Rally got the message and subsided. The rest of the ride to the eighth floor was silent.


"So how bad does it stink, Bob?" said Agent Smith to Agent Wesson as they rode down to the lobby alone three quarters of an hour later. "Army latrine, or rotting fish heads? No, a maggoty piece of road kill, sizzling on the pavement on a hot summer day...surrounded by rotting fish heads."

"You're a fucking poet, Pete."

Smith grinned, his heavy face lighting up with quirky humor. "You want to go to the wharf for lunch? I got a coupon for a steak and chowder special."

"Ah...I'm going to eat at my desk today, thanks."

"Heh, heh. What, waiting for Brown to call YOU? If he hasn't done it already, my friend, I don't think he will. This is his deal and there's nothing we can do about it."

Wesson shook his head and pushed his glasses up his nose. "This makes no sense. Why drag a Chicago bounty hunter into it?"

Smith shrugged eloquently. "How the hell should I know? I gave him the info he asked for, but he never said why he wanted it. He's a squirrely bastard, but he's not dumb, so he must have a reason. He might be playing Vincent for a fool, but I don't know. Her street rep is pretty high. The SAC in Chicago had some good things to say. Maybe we're missing something."

"How? Did Brown meet her last week on his trip East? And suddenly decide to do the silly kid a big favor for no discernible reason?"

"If we had the budget to chase him all over the damn country, I'd have gone out to Chicago too and kept an eye on him. Obviously more went on last week than his little 'recruitment drive'."

"Does Vincent have any connection to that Chicago courier? The guy Brown was trying to hire?"

"Nothing in the file about her, no." Smith scratched the back of his neck. "But then that file doesn't even have a name on it, besides 'Roadbuster'. Mostly holes in place of facts. She could be his frickin' business partner for all we know." Both agents laughed sarcastically. "No, if Brown has something to give to the kid, I'd bet it's below the belt..."

"You might be right, considering that he's never given a damn how young they are." Wesson pinched his lips together.

"Oh, that reminds me." Smith pointed a finger at him. "How's the extraction operation coming?"

"Not so fast—that is, I'm stalling until he gets us some more information." Wesson pushed his glasses up again. "Both on the situation at his house, and on that courier. He's been claiming he's got a big file on the guy."

"I'm gonna believe that when I see it." Smith snorted.

"Ditto. So now what?"

"Sit tight and wait. If Brown's serious about giving himself up, at least we've bagged him. If not, why interfere when we don't know his intentions? This might be something personal with Miss Vincent. We give her any info or tell her about our contacts with Brown, we probably sink our own operation. She got herself into it and she can get herself out."

"Not our business, then."

"Not our business." Smith smiled, and Wesson did as well. "Never let it be said that the Bureau doesn't mind its own business."


"Oooh," moaned Rally as she shut the door behind Smith and Wesson. "How did that go, Roy?"

Roy made a noncommittal face. "OK, I guess."

"Do you think they even believed me? That Wesson guy hardly said a word, and I don't think Smith ever heard there was such a thing as women's liberation. I haven't been called 'little lady' since I was in school!"

"Mmm." Roy looked out the window at the grimy street. "It's not like there aren't some strange aspects to this deal, Rally. I'm glad they're gone—I wish I could have discussed the whole thing with you beforehand. I wanted to let you thrash out all the details without two Feds staring at you." He faced around and folded his arms. "So now's the time. I want the whole truth, kid, and I want it now."

"Uh…"

A knock sounded on the door, and Rally jumped. It couldn't be Bean, could it? But he wasn't supposed to show his face in the hotel while Roy was here, let alone FBI agents. Another knock.

"You going to get that?" Roy looked at her.

Rally reluctantly touched the knob. "Who is it?"

"Ms. Rally Vincent?"

"Yes..." Rally opened the door a crack but kept the chain in place. "What is it?"

"Package for you, ma'am. I'm a courier."

"Courier?" She opened the door a little wider.

A young woman, neatly dressed in a miniskirted suit. She held up a small red bag with cord handles and smiled. "Special delivery."

Roy peered over her shoulder. "That looks like it's from a store."

"Yes, sir. "

"Who's it from?" said Rally suspiciously.

"Ma'am, I got a call to pick this up and deliver it to you. That's all I can tell you."

"All right..." Rally took the bag. "Do I need to sign anything?"

"No, ma'am. Bye now." She bowed slightly and left.

"What the hell is it?" asked Roy.

Rally put the bag down on the table and looked it over carefully. "Doesn't weigh much. Not enough for a bomb." She sniffed the air above the bag. "No smell. I wish May were here to check it, but it seems to be kosher." She lifted out the small box the bag contained. "What? This looks like...jewelry?"

"There's a card," said Roy.

Rally retrieved it and read.

With sincerest apologies and hope for your understanding and forgiveness. Rally, I am deeply ashamed of my weakness and I place myself at your mercy. Please accept this token of my esteem and regard me evermore as

Your humble servant, S.G.B.

"This is from Brown?" Roy made a face.

"Who else? God, he lays it on thick." She examined the little box; red satin with gold-embossed Chinese characters. "From a Chinatown jewelry store? How fancy could that be?" She flipped it open, and gasped.

"Holy name." Two deep-blue oval stones set in diamond frames glittered in the sunlight from the window. Roy picked up one of the earrings and squinted at it.

"Are th-those REAL?" stammered Rally. "They're bigger than nickels!"

"Yeah. I took a gemology course when I was on the anti-fencing task force. That's a Sri Lankan sapphire...or rather, two perfectly matched ones of about forty carats each." He whistled. "These must have cost him twice my annual salary, and I've got twenty-eight years of seniority."

Rally grabbed the earring from Roy, thrust it back in the box, and threw the box in the bag. "Maybe I can catch her. There is no way in hell I am keeping these!" She put on her jacket and opened the door.

"Hold on! Why not?"

"I'll explain later! I don't want this package in my hands one second longer!" She ran down the hallway to the elevator. Just as she arrived in the lobby, a car pulled away from the curb outside: a new red Mustang GT. The courier was gone. "Damn!" She briefly considered throwing the bag into the gutter for some passerby to find, but decided against it. Brown had to get it back intact. She rode back up to the eighth floor and returned to the room where Roy waited.

"Too late?"

"Yes, damn it all. I do NOT want his presents!" She threw the bag on the table.

"Explain?"

"He...he's apologizing for finding me a little too attractive last night. I had to show him a gun to get him to understand plain English."

"He what?" Roy stood up.

"What did you expect from a guy who's used to buying anything he wants?" Rally shrugged her shoulders. "I got his number now—for a smart man, he's pretty stupid about some things. I mean, sending me jewelry? I'd've thought it was obvious I'm not the kind to go all soft over some rocks!"

"Pretty handsome apology." Roy took out the box and opened it again.

"Oh, he's got the moves down, if he remembers to keep the charm turned on. It's all a game to him. I don't have to deal with him past tonight, so I don't care. I'll take these with me and put them right back in his hand. He bought these with drug money." Rally sniffed and averted her gaze from the gems glowing in Roy's hand.

"He sure can pick 'em, though." Roy shook his head, looking at the earrings and then glancing at her face. "They match just about exactly."

"What, the stones? Didn't the jeweler do that?"

"No, the stones match your eyes." His smile was sincere, but a little rueful. "It's a wonderful choice. I wish I could see you wear them, just once."

"Roy!"

"Sorry."

"I don't need YOU tempting me, too!"

"Good, you're not impervious!"

"Of course not! They're beautiful! I know better than to go trying on things I know I can't have!" She sat down hard on the hide-a-bed where Bean had slept the night before, and a hint of his scent welled up around her. "Uhh...usually." She got up again and sat in the lone upholstered chair.

"All right, you'll give them back. Can't say I blame you. But now…" Roy sat opposite her. "I was asking you about—"

Rally's cell phone rang, and Roy rolled his eyes and leaned back on the hide-a-bed. She answered. "Rally Vincent here."

"Good morning, Rally." It was Brown. Great timing!

"Hello, Brown." She darted a glance at Roy, who sat up straight. "Sleep well?"

"In point of fact, no. I'm devastated at the thought that I may have offended you. I am deeply—"

"OK, whatever. Let me tell you something, Sly. I am not interested in your personal integrity or your lack of same or the soft, slimy underbelly of your psyche. All I want to do is turn you in to the FBI and let you take down the Dragons, and you could be Jack the Ripper and the Boston Strangler combined, and I still would not want to hear about it. Got that? Good. Now, let's talk turkey. Tonight, eleven o'clock. Anything changed?"

"Unfortunately, yes. The Dragons know who you are."

Rally felt a shock go through her. "Oh, no."

"Someone identified you last night. They know you are a bounty hunter, and they know you are working with Bean Bandit." Brown sounded shaky. "I've just been released from an all-night grilling session. I managed to convince the leadership that my assignation with you was all part of my plan to recruit Mr. Bandit. But it wasn't easy."

"Excuse me? Recruit…him?" She glanced at Roy.

"Ah…" That was a gasp of sheer panic. "Ah, no; I hadn't told you about the details of that. I'm still supposed to be attempting to hire Mr. Bandit as a courier for the Dragons. If I fail, it's the death sentence. But of course the effort is futile—"

"So you called me instead."

"Exactly." The man sounded desperate. Strained and ragged: he seemed to be breathing through a constricted throat. "Please, Rally. I know I'm not a shining specimen of humanity, but you've got to get me out. You've got to."

"I'd like to know how you think it's going to get done now. If they know who I am—and I have to say, the only one you've got to blame for that is yourself—then I can't get anywhere near that pier." A sudden thought sent a grin across her face. "Hey, I do know someone who can get me in there! And out again, which is more important."

"What? Who?"

"Expect your visit, Brown. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel." She laughed out loud. The initials did match, though 'sidekick' was not her job description! "I'll be there, and we'll go ahead as planned."

"But…but…who are you bringing with you? What if they—"

"Nope. No details this time. This one's my call, and I'm doing it my way. If you think I'm going to tell you what's on my mind after last night…"

"A-all right." Brown didn't sound happy. "I should get off this line anyway. I'll call again later." He hung up.

"Well, he's sure lost a few points in self-esteem since I saw him." Rally hung up with a laugh.

"All to the good, I'd say."

"Sounds like it. Does that mean you can trust his intentions now?" Roy raised a brow.

"Mmm." That she couldn't promise, but if Brown could keep his fool mouth shut when he found out that Bean Bandit was on the rescue team, maybe he could still come out of this alive...


"Tom, you got a minute?"

O'Toole looked up from his Colt .45, which he had disassembled over the surface of a scratched formica table. Beside it lay rags and a can of gun-cleaning fluid. The stink of the fluid mixed with the smell of the firing range on his coveralls, perfuming the entire room: a small kitchenette at the back of a large house. "Yeah, whad'a ye want?"

Manichetti pulled out a plastic patio chair and sat down at the table, running a shaky hand over his pale forehead. "I got to talk to you, man."

"Mr. Brown all right?" O'Toole sat up straighter.

"He's upstairs and just dandy. Went to bed, and I'm gonna do the same. Lucky he told me what the story was before they separated us." Manichetti took a deep breath. "I found out something last night. You ain't gonna believe this."

O'Toole grunted and pulled a rag through the barrel of the Colt.

"He wasn't just tryin' to recruit that gal to take care of Bandit for us. He had a couple plane tickets to Milan. Threw 'em in the front seat, then he grabbed 'em and tore 'em up." Manichetti waited for a response. "Dont'cha want to know who for?"

"Ye're tellin' the yarn, boyo."

"For him and for the Vincent gal." Again he waited for a response. "Man, dont'cha see? He was gonna make a break for it!"

"Ain't that the idea?" said O'Toole, imperturbable.

"Without us? Without Sarah—the missus and the kid? He was gonna leave Miss Tiffany to that goddamn child-killin' 426?" His voice rose an octave, his face reddening.

"'Course not." O'Toole's expression finally changed. He began to reassemble the gun. "He's all set up fer us in Switzerland. And didn't he say himself it was all under control?"

"He ain't done shit! So he talked to the frickin' Eff Bee Aye! How're a buncha damn Feds gonna figure out how to get past that Dragon cordon around the L.A. house? Hell, I know guys that could do it without breakin' a sweat, but they don't work in no office building."

O'Toole finished his work, filled the magazine and shoved it into the Colt's butt. He got up and opened the refrigerator to peer at its grimy interior. "Yeh drink all that Guinness?"

"No, you SOB, you drunk it. I think it tastes like burned toast, remember? You listenin' to me?"

O'Toole took out a bottle and scrabbled among the dirty dishes in the sink for a glass. Pulling out the cork with his teeth, he upended the bottle over the smeary glass. Only a trickle came out. "Shite, out've whiskey too. What'm I goin' ta have fer breakfast?"

"Don't you get it? He was gonna dump us!" Manichetti shouted. "Mr. Brown's gonna let the Chinks waste us and kill the girls too! He don't give a shit! All he cares about is his own goddamn skin! That fuckin' ass—"

A cold barrel dented the end of his nose with a pair of fiery eyes above it. The sound of glass and bottle shattering against the wall reached Manichetti's ears only after the Colt hit his face. "Yeh shut up now, yeh hear?" hissed O'Toole. "If ye care about yer own Eye-tie skin, that is!"

"Get that thing off me, you Irish moron!"

"I don't want to hear nothin' against Mr. Brown, see? Keep yer damn mouth off him! He's takin' care of it, isn't he now? It's 'is own wife and kid to deal with, isn't it? What the hell do ye care about that hoity-toity snip an' her snotty brat?"

"Yeah, I know," sneered Manichetti. "You wouldn't give a damn if Mrs. Brown got strangled with a bit of wire, wouldja? I been wonderin' how long it was gonna take you!"

"What d'ye mean?"

"You'd like him all to yourself, wouldn'tcha, Tommy? I seen you lookin' at him undressin' in the bedroom! Every time you get good and drunk you start in about his ass an' his goddamn pretty face—"

"Fock yeh to hell!" yelled O'Toole, turning dark red. "I ain't no fockin' sodomite!" He jammed the gun viciously into Manichetti's nose. "Yeh take that back now!"

"Man, I didn't say that."

"Yeh think I'm a focking pervert with me hands in a fella's drawers? Yeh think I want ta have it up th' shitter? Yeh think I want him suckin' on me—" O'Toole stopped abruptly, his posture changing and gaze sliding away.

"You ain't been thinkin' about it none, I see." Manichetti shrugged and pushed the barrel aside with two fingers. "You better go out and get your damn breakfast—an empty stomach in the morning don't improve your pleasant disposition."

O'Toole made a snarling sound and shoved the Colt into his shoulder holster. Pulling a windbreaker over it, he kicked the outside door open and left.

Manichetti watched him through the kitchen window with narrowed eyes until he had turned the corner. He took a cell phone out of his jacket, glanced at the door that led to the cramped servant's quarters at the back of the house, then went through the outside door and unlocked one of the cars that stood in the driveway. When he had started the engine, he dialed a number. "Hey, Breaker," he said over the engine's roar. "It's ol' Manny. Yeah, long time, hey? You still got the boys in L.A.? Say, I got a big favor to ask, stat, and I don't care what the hell it costs."


"Did he say that bunch know who you are now?" Roy shifted uneasily. "Are you considering breaking it off?"

"When we've just spilled all the—uh, the beans to the Feds?" Rally laughed. "No, I'm set. He's been trying to control this all along, but I'm in charge now." She rubbed her hands in satisfaction. "Much better."

"Something to do with your hired muscle? Look, I have to say—"

"Uh, yeah." Rally put the earring box in the bag. "Let's go down to the lobby. I want to put these in the safe until tonight."

Roy followed her out and down the hall. "Rally, this whole thing is giving me the creeps. I have to tell you that. I got that feeling on the phone in Chicago, and I've got it even stronger now. It's just crawling up my spine and tickling the back of my neck." Roy pushed the button for the lobby and the elevator doors closed.

"The Feds didn't bat an eye." Rally frowned at the wall of the elevator. "Frankly, they hardly said a word..."

"They are not the ones taking the risk. Like walking into a den of mobsters alone!"

"No, not alone."

"With your mystery man? Rally, I think I want to take this guy's measure before the operation goes down."

"Uh...oh, Roy, I don't think that's necessary."

"Why not?"

Meet Bean? Roy didn't know him by sight, but introducing the two men could be an even bigger risk than anything she would run into tonight. "I'm not going unarmed, for heaven's sake. You know me—I'm far from defenseless!"

"I suppose not. What are you going to use?"

"I didn't bring all that much with me—I've got my little .25 auto, the one I usually put on the wrist slide."

"Not a lot of stopping power!"

"No, but I can't get anything else in time! Who's going to waive the California TEN-day wait for me out here in the Bay Area, ground zero for gun control? It'll have to do. If all goes as planned, I won't have to bring it into play." The elevator doors opened to the lobby. Rally checked the earring bag in with the desk clerk and saw it locked into the hotel safe. She tucked her receipt into a pocket. "All set!"

"What about some cover?"

"Hmm—you know, I'm thinking about that. Going in as myself is not what I had in mind…but I have an idea. I'm going to have to go shopping—nothing I have fits the bill."

"Such as?" Roy looked suspicious.

"The obvious, I guess." Rally cocked a hip and fluffed her hair. "Let's just say I'll try to draw attention away from my face! But when May gets here, she can help me make up. She, uh, kind of knows the style."

"Wonderful. So where we going now?"

"To the garage." She pointed at the door of the separate garage elevator opposite the hotel bar. "Where's your rental car?"

"I parked it in the visitor's spaces on the first level."

"OK, take me out for breakfast! All I've had this morning is coffee, and it sounds like you're hungry too."

"So where are you keeping your hired man?"

"Well, he's not really hired. He's working for...percentages." The garage elevator started downwards.

"Oh, he heard about the reward? Hope you didn't promise him too much of it."

"We're still kind of haggling over that." Rally grimaced. "He's pretty independent."

"He is starting to sound like a wild card, Rally. Is that why he's staying in hiding?"

Rally looked up at Roy, startled. He'd used her phrase to describe Bean without ever having seen him! "I promised him I wouldn't let the Feds see him. But there are no warrants out for him, Roy—it's not like that. He's just being careful."

"I'll bet." They left the elevator and walked towards a silver Ford Focus in the visitor spaces. "All right, Rally; out with it. This man's not exactly an upstanding citizen, is he?"

She gulped. "Um..."

"I see. Look, I understand if he was the best you could get on short notice, but you should have just told me."

Rally chewed her lips. "I gave him my word I wouldn't expose him. Roy, he's not dangerous! I mean..."

"I'm just an out-of-state cop. If he's a local, I wouldn't have a clue about his background, and frankly, I don't care if he's some kind of small-time operator. I know we good guys sometimes have to make use of all possible resources to get things accomplished, and I won't pass judgment. I only want to get a sense if you are likely to be facing a problem from both sides tonight. In all my years on the force, I've learned to pay attention to my gut instincts about people." Roy took her by the shoulders and examined her face with a serious expression. "Maybe this man has some kind of expertise you need. But so do I, Rally, and I'm your friend."

"...All right, Roy." Rally took out her cell phone. "I need to give him some warning."

"Fine, you do that." Roy got into his car and closed the door. She walked a few steps away and called Bean's number. The connection in the garage wasn't very good; his voice sounded dim and distorted when he picked up.

"Yeah? Who's callin'?"

"Rally. Are you still nearby?"

"Yeah, I was takin' a nap in the car." He yawned; after another short night, they had risen at five. "What's up?"

"We've seen the Feds, and they've left. Brown sent me a package and called when he knew I'd gotten it, to apologize. Everything's still on for tonight, though with a few changes of plan. I've been talking to Roy..."

"OK."

"Bean, he insists he has to meet you. I'm afraid he's not going to give up the idea. Can you pull it off face to face?"

"Pull what off?"

"Give him a fake name and make small talk for a few minutes. I think he's imagining you're some low-life who's going to stab me in the back the moment I turn around!"

Bean muttered something indistinguishable.

"I'm sorry, but it'll be over quick! Please, Bean? Just smile and act natural, OK? We should let the air out of his worries before they get too oversized."

"Yeah, whatever. Just a damn Chicago cop, huh?" Bean yawned again.

"He's not dumb, but there's nothing to tell him you two run on the same home streets. For all he knows, you're from around here, so let him think that. Do you want me to bring him to you, or will you come instead?"

"I'm right where you parked me, babe." Bean clicked off.

"Hey, if your Cobra's wrecked, what are you driving? A rental?" Roy grinned at her as he drove down to the third level of the parking garage. "What did they give you—a Geo Metro?"

"Ha, ha. No, we've been using his car." They drew abreast of Buff. "Here we are. This is the wild card."

"What? This car?" Roy braked and pulled into an empty spot. "Wow. That's a hell of a machine." He stopped the Ford and both of them got out. "Whoa. I've seen that before, somewhere."

"Oh. Really?" Rally felt a little jolt of alarm, but rapped on the driver's window. She could see Bean stretched out in the seat, which was reclined all the way back. With a newspaper draped over his chest, his hands behind his head and his mouth open, he seemed to have fallen asleep again. "Hey! Wake up!" Buff's armor plate and bulletproof glass blocked nearly all sound unless the external mike was on. Bean didn't stir.

"What's his name, anyway?"

"I think I'll let him introduce himself. If he ever comes to, that is." Rally kicked the driver's door, barely rocking the car. She drew her CZ75 and rapped sharply on the glass with the butt. "Dammit! Wake up!"

Roy shaded his eyes and peered through the windshield. "I know I've seen this car." He cocked his head and looked up and down Buff's lines. "Huh—it looks like a picture someone showed me—"

Bean opened one eye and turned his head. Rally pounded on the window again and gestured. He yawned cavernously, stretched his elbows back and tossed the newspaper onto the passenger seat before reaching for the door handle.

"Holy shit." Roy stepped back defensively as Bean got out and straightened up. He overtopped the compactly built detective by an easy ten inches.

"You Roy Coleman?" Bean gave him a pleasant nod.

"Yeah. Chicago PD. I'm an old friend of Rally's. Who the hell are you?"

Bean glanced at Rally. "What'd she tell you?"

"Nothing. Just that she was riding with you for the moment. In that car, I assume." Roy examined Bean's face and build with an analytical eye.

"Yeah, it's my car. Call me Bill." Bean extended a hand to Roy, who took it after a moment's hesitation.

"Bill, huh?" Roy dropped the handshake. "You're from Chicago, aren't you?"

"Chicago?" The line of Bean's shoulders went rigid; his eyes flashed momentarily to Rally. "I got California plates on this jalopy, 'case you ain't noticed."

"Yes, you do. Very nice: current registration and everything. Whose car do they actually belong to…Bill?"

Bean said nothing, but chewed his jaw back and forth. Rally's stomach turned over; she had dreaded something exactly like this.

Roy smiled. "Yes, I know that car. And I know you."

"Got the advantage of me there, Detective." Bean hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets with an indifferent air.

"Then I'll tell you a little story about a colleague of mine named Percy. He had a picture of that car from an investigation he was on. The getaway vehicle from the First Bank of Chicago heist last November. And he had a picture of the driver, taken through the windshield." Bean raised his eyebrows and put on his sunglasses. Roy gave an amused snort, as if he'd scored a point. "Wasn't a real clear shot, as I recall. Percy was mad about that. He filled in some details for me, since he'd seen him firsthand. He said 'Long jaw, X-shaped scar over nose, shit-eating grin. Built like a Sherman tank on stilts.'"

"My man Percy," said Bean, exhibiting the described grin.

"He also said, 'Arrest on sight.'"

"Roy! You can't arrest him!"

"I can't arrest him here anyway." Roy looked at her. "I don't have a warrant and I haven't seen him do anything illegal. But this guy's way past a small-time operator, Rally. I hope you know that."

Bean and Rally looked at each other blankly. Bean smirked, Rally giggled, and suddenly they laughed out loud together. Bean held his ribs, whooping, and Rally wiped tears of mirth from her eyes.

"Believe me, Roy, I do know that. Stop being such a nanny-goat!"

Roy was doing a slow burn.

"C'mon, I've had some run-ins with him before in Chicago. He's not misleading me about his intentions." She patted Roy's shoulder. "He led me to Brown and he's interested in getting me the snatch. Don't ask for details. All I need is a guarantee that the Feds and the San Francisco PD aren't going to nab him while he's helping me."

"I can't give you a guarantee like that! The Feds do what they damn well please, you know that. I don't even have any relatives on the force here. And I do need the details, dammit!" Roy turned red. "You think you can tell me nothing about your dealings with a guy I know is involved in some pretty heavy criminal activity? What's the angle here? He porking you?"

"Roy!" Rally flinched back from him. Bean sucked his lower lip against his teeth with a slight sound.

Roy gritted his teeth in chagrin and klonked a fist to his forehead. "Sorry. That is none of my business, Rally, and I apologize." He glared at Bean. "But you tell me everything about this deal, and I do mean everything, or I can't guarantee jack-shit."

"What do you say?" Rally raised her brows at Bean.

He heaved a sigh and took off his sunglasses. "Hey, Detective. My name's Bean Bandit."

"No...fucking...shit," said Roy, his voice drenched with sarcasm.


"HALF A MILLION DOLLARS! Jesus H. Christ, Rally! You LIED to me—" A couple of heads in the little sidewalk café snapped around when Roy shouted, and he quickly dropped his voice.

"I left some of it out, Roy. And I know I shouldn't have. But I didn't know you were going to come out here at first, and then...well, I made him a promise and I wanted to keep it." Rally gulped her latte and laced her fingers together on the small marble-topped table. "I told you this in confidence. It's not a way for me to get out of my obligations."

"What obligations? Sounds like you've done him a lot more favors than he's done you." Roy slumped in his chair, his cheese omelet congealing untouched on his plate. "What's he really done, besides give you a lift here and there?"

"This was his deal. I'm the one that made it my business. I don't know—what's that old proverb? Save someone's life and he becomes your responsibility?"

"That's a Chinese proverb, I think." Roy downed his orange juice as if it were a boilermaker. "What the hell have I got myself into?"

"And this isn't over yet. We have no idea what is going to happen tonight. We scouted out the pier last night. There was a lot of activity until about one in the morning, and then they posted a few guards and it went quiet."

"And you go in at eleven?"

"Yeah, me and my little pistol."

"What about Bean?"

"Bean's going to drive me there and...well, he's coming in with me. I haven't outlined my whole plan to him yet, but I'm sure he won't mind."

"What? I thought Brown—"

"Yes, I know. I'll transfer Brown to my car at the hotel, leave Bean and the suitcase there and then deliver my prize to the FBI. If he loses his lunch at the sight of Bean, tough. He deserves a good scare, the slimy creep."

"Maybe he does. Does Bean deserve half a million dollars in drug money?"

"Of course not. But, Roy, please—you made me tell you, but please don't make me tell the FBI! I'm insisting that half of it go to them—I'll deliver it later. They'll be happy to get it if they don't know there's another quarter million involved. Brown won't tell them that part. He's too scared of Bean."

"Has Bean agreed to this? Splitting it, I mean?"

"Not quite, no. But we're partners. He wouldn't get any of it if it weren't for my help. He knows that. He's still haggling, sure, but we do have an agreement."

"Just what the hell makes you so sure he's going to keep his part of the bargain? I mean, for a fraction of that kind of money, I've seen murders done."

"Heh..." Rally thought about Bean's cold rage in the car duel on I-5. "I don't know, Roy. It's just a feeling I have."

"Maybe you're right." Roy threw up his hands. "I could tell he likes you. Sorry about that comment."

"It's all right. I know you're only concerned about me. Bean, um, isn't my lover, by the way."

"You don't have to tell me that, Rally. It really is none of my business." Roy paused a moment. "But thanks, anyway. How about your source?"

"I'm going to visit him for lunch. He sets a good table."

"Saving room?" Roy looked at her bran muffin.

"Want it? I'm not all that hungry."

"Sure, thanks." He took it and broke it in half. "I should not be doing this, Rally. I'm biting my tongue here. I'm a cop and I should be swearing out a warrant on that man, because he's been a thorn in the side of the Chicago PD for years. You may have your obligations, but I've got my duty."

"I know, Roy."

"I'm not in Chicago, though. This is California, and if the SFPD doesn't have a beef with Bean, it's not strictly my business to create one for them. And frankly..." Roy smiled and took a bite of bran muffin. "I am no more a fan of the Men in Black than any city cop is. They actually ordered me not to contact the SFPD on Brown, as if that would dilute their credit. If they can't figure out what's right under their noses, screw 'em."

"You didn't cotton to Smith and Wesson either, huh?"

"Christ. I'd rather have Mulder and Scully. How about that cute red-head lady?" They had a companionable laugh, and finished breakfast.

After they'd paid their bill, they walked back to where Roy had parked his rental car on the street. The air sparkled with morning sunlight and a whiff of the ocean, though the water wasn't visible from this part of the city. It was warm enough for her jacket to seem a little too much, but a hint of mist hung in the air, just a suggestion of damp and fog. "What's your plan for today, Roy?"

"You want me to come along to see your source?" He unlocked the passenger door and held it for her.

"No...he might spook. I've sort of got a personal angle on him..."

"Oh yeah? Is it going to be a date?" Roy grinned and started the car.

"Not really. A working lunch. But I was wondering what to do until then...it's barely eight-thirty, the stores aren't going to open until ten, and I really wanted to do my shopping with May. When she gets here."

"And she's due when?"

"They got the part last night and they are going to install it this morning. So she'll be able to leave about noon and it's less than three hours from Buttonkettle to here. Plenty of time to hit the malls."

"That's less than three hours...when you're riding in that car, huh?" The silver Focus wheezed up a hill.

"He calls it 'The Buff'."

"No kidding. What's he up to right now?"

"I don't know." She thought about the previous night; she and Bean had scouted the pier on foot after leaving Buff a few blocks away, though the pier was only a walk from the hotel. They'd worked smoothly and unremarkably together, with neither arguments nor embarrassing heat, for about two hours. Then they'd retired to the hotel, eaten a late snack, and gone to bed in their separate rooms. Bean had said something about having some bases to cover the next day, and they had settled that he should leave the room early in the morning and stay clear of the hotel after meeting Roy so as not to run into the FBI agents. Rally had decided both of them needed a break from each other's company; at this point, it wasn't likely that he would strike out on his own. If he wanted his share of the money, his best interest lay in sticking with her. She wasn't expecting to see him again until after lunch. "He's working on his end of the deal, I think."

"Let's hope so. Christ, Bean Bandit? He could be up to anything."

"I know you don't approve of this, Roy, or of him. He IS a wild card. But I honestly don't believe he'd ever try to hurt me. And his help could be essential if things get sticky. You know him as a driver, but he's incredible in a fight. I saw him one-on-one versus Gray and a twelve-gauge and that sword Gray used for a hook."

"When the hell was that? I thought you were the one who killed Gray."

"I did. Because Bean lost the fight—barely. Gray was about to shoot him in the head. He was already badly injured, but he almost beat him, Roy. Barehanded. I've never seen anything like it."

"OK, he's a fighter. The odds are still going to be two versus an entire gang, if something goes wrong."

"Yes. Obviously there are some risks involved, and Brown isn't the least of them. That's why I thought that he should come along, though Brown isn't expecting that. I think the plan's pretty tight, but it doesn't hurt to...have an ace up my sleeve."

Roy was shaking his head, his jaw tight. "I don't like it. It smells. Besides the obvious, I can't get a grasp on just why."

"I'm as prepared as I can be right now, and I'm going to try to get more from my source. Is there anything else you can think of?"

A long harsh sigh. "That gun of yours. It's just too damn small."

"It's got to be compact if I'm going to conceal it. I'm probably going to get frisked."

"You going to use a garter holster?"

"I've got one with me, though the pouch is only a magazine holster—I was going to tinker with it to make it do for the .25, but maybe I should go to a gun store and see if I can get something better. Want to shop with me?"

"I've...got an alternative." Roy stopped at a red light.

"What do you mean?"

Roy's eyes scanned the intersection, his expression faintly guilty. "I want you to get a real gun for this operation. Something I know will protect you. How do you feel about a loaner?"

"You have something?"

"Not me. All I have is my .38 Special."

"That's not much more concealable than my CZ!"

"Of course not. If you could pick any gun, what would you want?"

Rally thought for a moment, mentally scanning catalog pages. "Oooh...I saw something in this year's Autopistols...A North American Arms mini-.32. It's got a two-inch barrel and a six-shot magazine, and they claim you can shoot good groups at up to ten yards...of course, this is me we're talking about, so make that fifteen yards!" She grinned, and Roy rolled his eyes. "That's nothing compared to my CZ75, of course, but impressive for such an itty-bitty gun. If I could get one of those, I'd be happy! It was sooo cute!"

"You scare me sometimes, girl. A cute .32?" The light turned green and Roy moved forward. "That caliber hasn't got massive punch, but I guess I'd feel a little better if you had that rather than that dinky .25. Well, let's go check it out. I don't know if I can get you that exact model, but probably something like it."

"Where?"

"You have to promise me something, Rally..." Roy slowly rubbed the lower part of his face with one hand. "Don't tell anyone where you got the gun. Especially not Smith and Wesson. I don't think they'd approve of a lowly city cop doing an end run around a Federal law. And...well, I could lose my badge for what I'm about to do. If something goes wrong, that is, though I doubt it will." He took a left turn.

"God, Roy, I'll go with the .25!"

"No, you won't. Like I told you yesterday—if something happened because I wasn't there, or didn't do everything I could, I'd never forgive myself. I trust you to pull this off even if I'm feeling cautious. And hell, this is for me in a way. To get a little of that creepy feeling off my back."

"Nothing like firepower for that!"

"Actually, Rally, there's something better." Roy smiled. "Going home to my wife at the end of the day. That's what blows the bad things away for me."

"Oh, Roy, I didn't mean to drag you all the way out here..."

"No, kid, that isn't what I meant. Right now I'm on a job, I guess, even if it's only semi-official. I'm a cop and I do my duty as I see it. That doesn't always mean following the exact letter of the law—sue me, I'm a practical guy—but it does mean I have to do what I believe is right even if there's a risk attached, so I can face myself. That's what keeps me going when the going gets rough. After it's all over, I can put my arms around that lady and forget it all for a little while..." Roy had a faraway look, smiling up at the sky through the windshield.

"Sounds nice."

Roy started and flushed slightly. "Um, well, not to get too personal, but just remembering she's rooting for me pulls me through the worst. And it keeps me honest. I don't want to do anything, or omit anything, that would make her ashamed of me."

"Even when you're thousands of miles away?"

"Especially then. The anticipation of homecoming is the source of the energy. Being away from her just makes it all the stronger."

"Yeah, and in the mean time no one takes out the garbage?"

Roy laughed. "A detective's wife has to put up with a lot. Be careful who you hitch up with, kid. Considering your lifestyle, you are going to have to pick either a homebody or someone who can pace you all the way."

"Like Bean, huh?" It slipped out, spoken as soon as thought, and Rally colored pink. "That's a joke, I think."

"Christ, I hope so." Roy looked grave. "Look, I know he might be the kind who seems sort of...well, I don't know how women think about these things. He's good-looking in his way, and he knocks you over with something—size, maybe, but it's more than that."

"Yes...I know."

"That might seem attractive, um, to girls...but consider what he is. You're right, he has no criminal record. That's because he's been too clever and too ruthless for anyone to arrest him. You know that better than I do. He was on his good behavior when I spoke to him, obviously, but he puts me on my guard, Rally. Especially in regard to you, and I don't mean just...sex. Be careful around him, for God's sake."

"Gosh, Roy, I'm not a baby! He doesn't fool me."

She spoke brashly, but a little incident of the early morning moved up from the depths like a forgotten dream. She'd slept more solidly than she had the night before, but at four she'd risen to visit the bathroom for a drink of water.

The first time she had passed by Bean's bed in the sitting area, he had been asleep and snoring on his back, one arm thrown over his head and the other hand resting on his bare chest. In the light of the city that rose up the hill behind the hotel and shone through the thin curtains, she saw his face clearly. Not exactly softened from its waking aspect, but calm and still, his eyes closed and his lashes resting on his lower lids.

The clarity and power of his face and body stopped her dead for a moment. He had never looked so beautiful to her, like a finely made hunting piece put away in its cabinet. The action had been cleaned and oiled, the stock rubbed until it glowed, the ammunition removed and stored until it would be needed again. Until the danger had to wake in the morning with the sun.

The second time she had passed him on the way back from the bathroom, Bean had been lying on his stomach with his arms wrapped around the pillow. His breathing told her he was awake and she tried to move quickly into her room. At the door, she turned to look back and saw that he had raised his head to watch her. Their eyes met, his shadowed by tendrils of his hair. His expression wasn't something she could read by streetlight. The pull between them felt like a descending piston in the core of her stomach, a hollow vacuum drawing in a volatile mixture.

The danger never slept. If he had moved, if she had taken even one step towards him, the spark would have cracked the cylinder. But she backed through the door and shut it behind her, and then laid her ear against it to hear his long, sighing, quiet groan. For the hour that remained of the night's darkness, she had barely closed her eyes.

"Here we are," said Roy, indicating a large modern concrete and glass building and waiting to make a left turn into its parking garage. "I'll do the talking. You just stand there like a responsible professional."

"This is the main police department offices! You said you didn't know anyone on the SFPD."

"I don't. They're still cops." Roy took out his badge.

"The blue fraternity?"

"Yep. If I can find the right guy to talk to, I know I can scare up some equipment for you."

"Thank you, Roy. I'm so glad you came!" Rally grabbed his arm and hugged it as he pulled into a parking space.

"Whoa, whoa." Roy grinned at her. "Wait until I get some results!"


"Oooh! It's ADORABLE! Just look at those tiny little sights...and that elegant black stock, too! I can't wait to see how it shoots." Rally held up the mini-.32 and pulled back the slide. The gun was so small it fit on her palm, and its weight felt like nothing.

"You like your firearms, I can tell," said the grinning SFPD armorer. "It feels good in the hand, I can tell you that—and your hands are smaller than mine. You can get a two-finger grip where I can only get one and a half."

"And people wonder why a nice young woman like me wants to be a bounty hunter! When I get to play with toys like these?" Rally sighted at the clock on the wall, her trigger finger held straight out. "May I use your firing range, please?"

"Be my guest. I'm curious to see how well the 'Guardian' performs for you. I've only issued it once, for an undercover operation, and it never was used. Only got it last month, and I sighted it in, but I never did better than three-inch groups at ten yards. I'm more of a Colt .45 guy." He opened a cabinet and took out a box. "Silver Tips. Stick with Winchester ammo in this one."

Down in the basement room, Rally put on a pair of ear protectors as a couple of curious onlookers jockeyed for position behind her with Roy and the armorer. One of them was a tall blonde patrolman she recognized from the day before, in front of the Eight Dragon Delight.

"Hi, Officer White! Surprised to see me?" Rally pulled the ear protectors down and stuck out her hand.

"Not really, ma'am." He smiled and nodded at Roy, who shook hands with him as well.

"Roy Coleman. I'm a detective with the Chicago PD."

"Officer Tony White. Pleased to meet you, sir." White looked at Rally. "Where's...uh, Bill?"

"He's on his own today. Roy's better company anyway!"

White raised his brows. "Better connections, yeah. I put a make on that guy and I didn't get any results, but he raised my hackles. You know him, sir? Big and black-haired, drives a custom job—?"

"I've met him," said Roy neutrally.

"Oh. Well, I guess he's all right then, if you're vouching for—"

"I didn't say I was vouching for him, White. I said I'd met him." Roy's expression darkened. White glanced at Rally again in some confusion.

She smiled with a touch of nervousness. "I'm going to try a ten yard range first." Everyone put on ear protectors and she turned to her stall and sent out the target. BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM said the Guardian as she emptied the magazine as fast as she could shoot, the trigger pull stiff but smooth. Back came the target, and she unclipped it. Several pairs of hands seized it at once, and four men stared at her in awe.

"You sure you never fired one of these before?" said the armorer.

"Nope, I never did!" Rally stuck her finger through the one-inch hole in the center of the group, then flicked at the one stray shot. "That's the second one. I'm a little more used to my CZ and I didn't pull hard enough after the first shot. Double-action-only is consistent, but it's different. Spare mag?"

"One." The armorer passed it to her. "The release doesn't pop it out, you'll notice. Get a fingernail under the flange." Rally changed magazines and put the empty one down. "You want to try five yards now?"

"No, let's go for broke. Twenty-five, as far as we can go!" She clipped on a new target and sent it out. This time she shot a little more deliberately, but with one hand. The recoil wasn't extreme and she felt a warm glow to see her shots puncture the paper in a tight bunch. "What a sweet little thing." Rally took off the ear protectors again. "Can I really borrow it for tonight?"

"Ma'am," said the armorer, reeling in the target and spreading it out on the counter for the onlookers to see, "for shooting like that, you can borrow the gun, my car, and the key to my condo."

"Thank you SO much! I'll be sure to have it back to you in the morning. Now I just have to get a holster..."

"Here you go. Custom made for that undercover job. This one's meant to thread on a belt or a garter."

"Perfect!"

"Now, ma'am, this gun is registered to the SFPD. But this is an under the table transaction, of course. I figure it's worth taking a little risk to haul in a big dealer like this Brown guy. I'm going on Detective Coleman's word here..."

"And you can count on it," said Rally. "Oh, Roy! Can I thank you now?"

"Just come back safe," said Roy as she hugged him. "That's all I ask."


Larry Sam smiled.

"C'mon. I'm walking into a hornet's nest tonight. I could really use some more solid leads."

A Chinese couple walked into the half-full restaurant. "Excuse me." Larry got up from Rally's table to seat the customers, and rapped on the kitchen door as he came back. Mengleng Wu emerged with a teapot and a tray of condiment bottles. The noise level was sufficient to damp their voices from eavesdroppers.

"You're very persuasive, Ms. Vincent. Where's Mr. Bandit today?"

"I took a cab. He's doing his own thing for a while. I'm free until evening." She twirled her chopsticks at him.

"Very persuasive indeed. How's the mu shu pork?"

"Delicious, of course. Your dad's an artist."

"He's had a lot of practice. Been cooking professionally since he was ten."

"I'll have to order that banana fritter. Larry, we already made good use of the tip about the pier. You were absolutely correct about it, and it may make all the difference that we were able to get a place nearby. And that bit about Brown. Every bit of information helps. I'm going to go in there tonight with only one concealable handgun, which eliminates my CZ75—the big one you saw me use. It's going to be me, Bean, and one itty bitty .32 auto, with one spare magazine, against the Eight Dragon Triad. Help me out here."

"I do have more. I'm not sure what good it will do you if you get into a firefight." Larry pulled in his lips and scratched his chin. "I'd hate to think I was encouraging you to go into danger. This guns and fists thing—not my style."

"How about kung fu?"

"Do I look like Bruce Lee?"

"Yeah, a little..." she sighed. He was just as handsome today as he had been on Monday, and she was doing her best to encourage her own mild attraction to him. But he seemed to have changed his mind about giving her better information; perhaps he had realized how sensitive the topic of Brown's impending execution was. Who was his informant?

"Well, I couldn't fight my way out of a take-out container. With the lid open. I know you're better at that kind of thing than I am—I saw you in action. But these people do not fight fair, Rally. You'd be better off walking away from this deal entirely. I know the means they use to dispose of anyone who gets in their way."

"Are you afraid of them?"

"Damn straight I am." His manner lacked nothing in sincerity, but Rally still had the feeling that he held something back, something hidden so deep that it couldn't be as obvious as membership in the Triad. A note of falseness that she had intended to look for simply wasn't there. "I'm not going to apologize for that—I'm a highly visible target. This business of mine isn't easily portable. I can't drop everything and run back East if something goes badly. I'm stuck on the streets of San Francisco." He gestured out at the sunny scene through his sparkling glass windows, the big tank of live carp at the front swirling with activity. "That's why I'm afraid, and that's why I am committed to fighting the gangsters. You don't have that problem, Rally. You want my advice? Get out while you still can."

"I am on this job, Larry. I am not going to drop it until Brown is in FBI custody. And maybe not even then. It's getting personal."

"Personal..." said Larry. He heaved a sigh. "All right. I'll give you more information, even if it's not relevant to Brown. I have a file box of clippings and Internet printouts, and a notebook. Everything's organized by category. There are photos and some charts I worked out—patterns of gang activity, that kind of thing. Pretty dry stuff. But I will loan you the whole pile."

"Larry, you're a prince." It was probably useless, but it was a start.

"I doubt you will get much out of it. Nothing that will help you in the kind of work you do. This isn't going to lessen the risk to you."

"Then give me something that will." They locked gazes for a moment. Rally saw something move across Larry's face, something she couldn't quite read. It might have been suspicion.

"How do I know what you will do with that kind of information?"

"Then you do have it."

"Hey, I'm just a guy with a restaurant. Where would I run across anything truly important on the Eight Dragon Triad?"

Rally's eyes narrowed. "You're thinking aloud, Larry."

"I suppose I am. All right, for the sake of negotiation, let's say I have something that would help you. If I tell you, and the Dragons find out where it came from, I am dead meat. What can you offer me as a defense against that possibility?"

"I'd never tell anyone where it came from. How would they find out?"

"It wouldn't be difficult." A shadow passed over his face. "I think he—they can put two and two together without a lot of counting on their fingers."

"Really? I thought you didn't associate with these people. Why would they ever think of you?"

Larry looked at her with that peculiar expression again, then got up and took a pad from the host desk, crossing to the Chinese couple's table. "Are you ready to order?" he said. "I can recommend the minced squab. We don't get the pigeons from Union Square, you know, unlike the Hong Sing Teahouse."

The couple laughed and ordered something in Cantonese. Larry replied in that language, his voice taking on a singsong quality, scribbled a few Chinese characters on the pad, and stuck the order inside the kitchen door. He held the swinging door open and spoke again in Cantonese, apparently to his father. Rally could hear the sound of a cleaver hitting a chopping block, over and over.

Three business-suited Chinese men came in and sat down; Mengleng took their order. When Larry emerged from the kitchen, he looked carefully at them before he returned to Rally's table. He didn't sit down, standing quietly with his arms folded and his eyes haunted. "I'm sorry, Rally," he began. "It's not that I don't think you'll make good use of it. But I only met you yesterday. I can't place my future, and my family's future, in your hands that quickly. I guess I'm more of a conservative Chinese than I thought I was. You are not from my world. It's not easy for me to trust you."

"You...you mentioned defense against them. Do you mean you want a bodyguard for a while?"

He let out a breath, raising his brows. "Not really. That's too limited. You have a job to do, anyway. You couldn't hang out here all the time."

"Do you want...money?"

His face changed oddly. "That's one of the few all-purpose defenses, I suppose."

"It doesn't stop bullets."

"No...but it can buy them off."

"That's a strange thing to say!"

"Never mind then." He turned to the kitchen and passed through the swinging doors, then emerged with two sizzling platters for the Chinese couple. They exchanged a few pleasantries in Cantonese and Larry headed back towards the doors.

"Larry..." Rally got up from her table and stopped him as he passed. "I...I can offer you some money. If that's what you think will protect you, then I can cut you in on the deal. Information is even more important to me than firepower right now, and I'm willing to pay for it. Though frankly, if you have such good information, I'm wondering why you haven't turned it over to the police."

He twitched one corner of his mouth. "They wouldn't approve of how I got it."

"No? Well, I'm not a cop. A bounty hunter's a private citizen. You'd be amazed at what I can legally do." Rally smiled conspiratorially. "I don't even have to get search warrants! Just waltz in and say, 'You're coming with me, buddy!'"

"That must be handy." Larry drew her back to her table. "All right. For the sake of argument, again—how much money are we talking about here?"

What did she have to play with? One hundred thousand of honest money. And a quarter of a million in tainted cash...all of which had to go to the FBI. "It really depends on how good your information is. I pay my informants accordingly."

"Are they usually running any personal risk in giving it to you?"

"Er...sometimes."

"Do you ever agree on percentages?" They sat down.

A little red warning light flashed in her brain. "Percentages?"

"Of the money you will gain in the operation. For instance...ten percent."

Out of a hundred thousand in reward money? Ten thousand seemed steep, but if he was right about his risk, he might be selling himself cheap. "How about five percent?" Five thousand she could handle—and with an intelligent, good-looking young man, it wasn't even that painful a deal.

"I see you are familiar with the ancient Chinese custom of haggling." Larry smiled.

"I do it Chicago style."

"I like your style. Probably to my regret. Well, there's money, when we agree on the amount. And one other thing."

"What is it?" She smiled, thinking she knew what the answer would be.

"You're not going to like it."

"Huh? Why wouldn't I like going on a date—"

"No, that's not it. Not that I wouldn't like—well, you aren't going to want to go out with me in a minute, anyway. The other condition is your silence. Don't tell the FBI, don't tell your friend Roy, and for God's sake, don't tell Bean."

"What? Why would that matter? There's a hundred thousand on Brown, and your cut—"

He drew a deep sigh, looked in her eyes with a touch of regret, and said, "You and Bean are chasing five hundred thousand dollars in Dragon money. Ten percent for my cooperation would be fifty thousand dollars. That's enough for me to hire protection, or help me relocate if it comes to that."

Rally couldn't have told anyone anything at that moment; she was so flabbergasted her mouth opened and shut as if she were one of the fish in the restaurant tank. Eventually she found a whispering voice an octave or so higher than her usual one. "How...who...how the HELL did you hear that?"

"That leaves you two hundred thousand from your half. Fair enough?"

"Who told you that? WHO?"

"No one told me. I overheard. Or rather..." Larry glanced around, saw that everyone was busily eating and quickly pulled up the tablecloth, putting his hand under the stained particle-board surface beneath the clean white linen. A small tearing sound, and he came up with a little wireless microphone, a self-adhesive Velcro button attached to it. He placed it on the tablecloth near her, cupping his hand half over it. "My sister Vanessa, the one who's at Berkeley? She's an engineering major. She made these for me and chipped them up with transmitters and hearing-aid batteries. The speaker's in the kitchen. I can switch on any table I want." He put the microphone in his shirt pocket.

"What the hell for?"

"Originally, so I could hear what people were really saying about the food." Larry shrugged with a small laugh. "She wanted a project. It started as a joke. Then she came in with all these little components and her soldering iron..."

"You listened in on me and Bean." Rally scanned her eyes back and forth over the dishes, trying to recall what had been said out of Larry Sam's earshot.

"Not for very long. I was at the table with you most of the time, remember? It was Monday lunch. Not very busy. But after Bean called himself a dirty job and you mentioned that the Dragons had tried to recruit him, I stepped out for a few minutes and turned on the speaker. When Bean walked out, I came out again and told you I'd been upstairs. I hadn't been. But what I heard made me decide to give you some more solid information. I made up that story about Mama and the gossip so I could tell you where the pier was. And I will give you more. For a share in that money."

"Why do you want their money? It's drug and crime profits! It ought to go to the government!"

"How about back to the people who do something to stop the crimes? Bean was right about dirty money. It's only money. What matters is what it's used for, not where it came from."

"That's not true. I wouldn't keep one dollar of it for myself!"

Larry laughed disbelievingly. "I heard you say he was only getting half. So who gets the rest, if not you?"

"The FBI. I'd rather they got all of it, but I couldn't get him to agree to that. Actually, he hasn't agreed to getting only half. He wants it all."

"So I gathered. And that's not all he wants, is it?" Larry looked obliquely at her, pinching his upper lip.

"What do you mean?"

"You said he wasn't your boyfriend. You didn't tell me he wants you so badly. I've never heard a man so jealous of a woman he wasn't sleeping with. That scared me."

"That why you offered me your bedroom? I can handle Bean. And I sure as hell can handle you."

"I never said you couldn't. You've got guns. And Bean, if he saw fit, could tear me limb from limb, I have no doubt. I almost pissed myself when I heard what he said to you about me—'that college boy'. Not fair warning, Rally. I asked you about that pretty carefully, you recall, and it seems I had reason to."

"I didn't…I mean, he's always been kind of distant until recently, and right then it didn't seem like anything, um, profound…" She recalled what Brown had said about Bean's attachment to her; taking Brown's assessment of anything at all as even partly true didn't agree with her at the moment.

"Has he tried to assault you? Is that it?"

"No!" Their voices had risen, and the couple across the room looked at them. Larry got up again and spoke to them with a smiling tone. They returned to their meal, and he circulated through the dining room before he came back again.

"I guess it's not my business what your relationship is with Bean," he said quietly. "I wish it were, Rally. But you are not from my world and you are not ever going to be the kind of woman I can introduce to my parents, even if I wanted to risk Bean's wrath, which I don't."

"He doesn't own me!"

"Tell that to him. That doesn't even factor in the racial question, which is still important to them. And to people like the Dragons. Keep that in mind when you deal with them. They don't operate by the rules with which you are familiar, and they have different sets for Chinese and for White Ghosts. For you—I don't know what category they might put you into. Obviously you are Anglo-Indian, or something of the kind. That might help, but only by moving you into the general Asian sphere. A little closer to the Middle Kingdom than Brown."

"The Middle Kingdom?"

"China is the center of the universe, didn't you know that?" He gave her a smile, but Rally could not muster one in return. "I'm going to wish you luck, Rally. And I'm going to give you those files, if you want them."

"For a whopping ten percent of the take?"

"You want to haggle some more? Got to keep up the old Chinese traditions."

"Like bugging the tables?"

Larry set his jaw, looking into the distance. "I'm not saying it's wise to personally involve myself in things like this. It's ironic that I'm warning you about them when I myself…may well have…gone too far." He took a deep breath. "I left those things there because...some day, the right conversation is going to take place, here in my restaurant. Someone is going to haggle over a drug deal, someone is going to plan a murder. I will know them when they come in, because I have photographs and I've memorized the names and a lot of license plates that belong to expensive cars. And I'm going to turn on the tape recorder that is part of the whole system, and I will have something that I can use for a real bargaining chip. Some day."

"That's a very interesting statement, Larry. Gangsters eating in your nice restaurant? When you tell the flunkies to go fuck themselves in perfect Cantonese?"

His gaze flickered. "I do things my way, Rally. It's not yours. Neither of us is really going to understand the other. But we are fighting the same fight. I'll go get that file box."

"Five percent, Larry. Twenty-five thousand, if we get that suitcase."

"Done," he said softly, and went into the kitchen.


"I'm going to have to go shopping pretty soon...Roy?" Rally put down the sheaf of printouts she was studying at the sitting room table and looked over the back of the hide-a-bed at the detective, who had a pie chart in hand and turned around with a glazed expression. Bean didn't move, as he was absorbed in the TV.

"What's that got to do with me? Go shopping." Roy checked his watch. "Cripes, it's 4:45. Where the hell is May? It took you two less than three hours from Buttonkettle? How'd she spend FIVE?"

"I don't know! But I need someone to drive me to the Galleria. C'mon, guys, this isn't your average dress hunt! I'm going to need help to pick out the right thing to wear tonight. Something cute and casual that I can move in, but able to hide a .32 in an accessible spot..."

"No, please, let me off the hook for that one." Roy shook his head. "Fifteen minutes into any shopping trip with my wife and I'd rather see her in a torn shower curtain than try to give my opinion on anything women wear. I'm fashion-impaired."

"Bean?" said Rally doubtfully. "You up for shopping?"

Bean grunted, his eyes glued to the TV. He and Roy had been sitting on opposite ends of the hide-a-bed since Rally had returned from lunch, as far from each other as possible. While Rally and Roy studied Larry Sam's research and notes, Bean had been watching ESPN with total attention. At this moment, the screen showed NASCAR results and highlights. A few cars spiraled on a track and burst into flames as the rest of the pack zoomed past. Bean chuckled and looked up. "Shopping? For what?"

"Forget I asked." Rally got up to look out the window for the sixth time that half-hour.

Bean cracked another walnut and spat the shells on the floor. Roy didn't look in his direction, but shifted slightly on the couch and crossed his legs. "You still taking his present back?" he asked Rally, obviously to make conversation, and got up, stretching.

"Oh, yeah," said Rally with conviction.

"Why'd you get it out of the safe, then?" He pointed his chin at the red bag on the table.

"Uh…well, I was going to show them to May," said Rally with a guilty smile. Roy laughed and headed to the bathroom.

Bean's head turned. "What present?"

"Brown sent me a little something this morning, to make up for being the biggest asshole in the known universe. What a maroon."

"Yeah? What'd he give you?"

"Jewelry. Don't worry, I'm taking it right back to him! If he objects, I'm going to chew his ear off."

"What for?"

"Geez, use your head! I don't want his presents!"

"Dirty money, huh?"

"Yep."

"So let's take a look at it."

"Why?"

"Just curious. Engagement ring?" He grinned at her.

"Oh, God, Bean!" She tossed the box at him, and he caught it out of the air and snapped the lid up.

His brows went up at the sight of the earrings and he took a sideways glance at her. "Worth a lot, huh? Bet they look good on ya."

"I KNEW I shouldn't have showed them to you..." groaned Rally.

"What's the harm? They're just rocks."

"They're from BROWN!"

"Yeah, but they're yours now."

"No, they are not. I am never going to wear them. I do not take expensive jewelry from drug dealers."

"Whatever." He closed the box and threw it back to her. "Guess you can do what you want with your own property."

Roy came out of the bathroom. "I see you're looking at them again, Rally," he said with a smile.

"All right, dammit. Just to stop everyone from bugging me about it, I am going to put these earrings on once. Then they are going straight back in the box and back to Brown." Rally put the box on the dresser, tucked her hair behind her ears and clipped the earrings on. "OK, Roy, take a look. You won't get another chance."

Roy scanned her face for a moment when she turned around, and nodded smilingly. "Yeah, he sure can pick 'em. Thanks. You're a picture."

"Bean?"

He glanced up and shrugged. "Looks expensive." His eyes lingered, but not on the jewelry.

Rally rolled her eyes and turned to the dresser again. The mirror caught the swirl of her hair and a glint of sparkling blue at her earlobes. Involuntarily she moved her head, tilting it to let the sapphires flash. They were the most beautiful earrings she'd ever seen, and they did match her eyes, in a way that brought out the elusive color of her irises and lit up her whole face. "Oh...shit." An odd regret maneuvered its way into her thoughts. "I have to give these back."

"Mmm-hmm." Roy covered a smile.

"I'm going to kill you, Roy. You suggested I put these on, and now I've done it!"

"Don't blame yourself for being a woman."

Bean snorted at Roy's comment and turned back to ESPN, which now showed baseball highlights. A pitcher threw a beanball and the benches cleared.

"What, is that defined by liking sparkly things? You chauvinist oinker! Sounds like a magpie." She took the earrings off and put them in the box.

"People enjoy beauty." Roy laughed and shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Unless it makes them ignore what's underneath, or reject anything that isn't beautiful on the surface!" Rally stalked across the room to look out the window again. "Brown himself is a goddamn case study—"

"Somehow I don't think that's a problem of yours," said Roy. "Relax."

"MAY!" shrieked Rally. "Look! It's my COBRA!" She blew kisses at a blue and white dot eight stories below. "Oh, darn, she missed the green light!"

"God, at last." Roy clapped a hand over his forehead and then leaned over to look at the TV. "Hey, was that the Cubs?"

"Yeah, the bums dropped another one." Bean turned toward the window. "You gotta give that kid some driving lessons, babe. She just get her license or something?"

"Don't be silly! She's just not an assertive driver. But right now, I don't care! My baby Cobra! Yes!" She dashed for the door. Bean got up to follow her, and bumped into Roy as he did the same thing. Roy stumbled and almost fell over the end of the couch, but Bean caught his arm and set him upright again.

"Sorry, Detective."

Rally caught a flash of real hatred in Roy's expression as he looked up at Bean and straightened his tie. "No problem," he said evenly. "Let's go say hello to May."

The two men stood against opposite walls of the elevator, both with arms crossed. Rally jumped up and down between them in impatience. When the elevator reached the lobby, she shot out and over to the garage elevator, the men following, jamming themselves into the door opening as they both tried to exit at once. Again Bean nearly knocked Roy down. Rally heard Roy growling under his breath and brushing off his coat behind her. She rolled her eyes. Bean seemed impeturbable.

"She even legal for a license yet?" he asked Rally in the garage elevator.

"Huh? May? Yeah, just about!" Rally grinned. Bean always seemed to be under the impression that May was much younger than she was. "But I was driving when I was twelve! How about you?"

"Yeah, I got started young. Kind of amazing I ever learned to walk."

"Coulda fooled me," muttered Roy, refolding his lapels.

"Minnie-May!" said Rally as the doors opened. May had just gotten out of the Cobra and was hauling her suitcase out of the front passenger seat. She turned at the greeting and gave a sourish smile. She wore shorts and a tight little T-shirt that prominently displayed her pregnancy.

"Hi, Ral. Hi, Roy. Hi..." She glanced at Rally, who nodded. "Hi, Bean. How's it hanging?"

Rally heard Bean let out a long wheezing breath, and turned to see him staring in disbelief at May. "Uh..." he said, only the second time she'd ever seen him at a loss for words. "Hi...kid." He looked sharply at Rally. She returned his gaze with an innocently confused blink and turned back to May.

"How you feeling? Morning sickness bothering you? How was the drive?" She took May's suitcase and passed it to Roy.

"Hot and buggy. And boring! Until I got to Casa de Fruta, that is!"

"To what?"

"Oh, it was sooo cute! Right on the highway after I turned off into the mountains! I saw signs for it but I didn't realize it was more than a restaurant! They had a train ride and a candy parlor..."

"That place? We filled up there and Bean got some walnuts at the fruit stand and in five minutes we LEFT! You spent all this time at a TOURIST TRAP!"

May crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip. "After Buttonkettle, I figured I was entitled!"

"I've been waiting HOURS for you to show up! And you were goofing off at CASA DE FRUITLOOP!"

"Oh, shut up!" wailed May. "I'm tired and I'm hot and I want something to drink! Roooy!" She flung her arms around Roy and buried her face in his shirt front. "Rally's being mean to meee!" Roy patted May's blonde head and made a face at Rally, who moaned in annoyance.

"God, May! Roy, take her to the coffee shop, would you? We'll get the luggage—just leave that suitcase there." Roy escorted May into the elevator and punched the button. As the doors closed, May turned and stuck out her tongue at Rally.

"That kid! Oh, well, she's tired. And that baby's weighing her down." Rally got out her keys and examined the trunk lock before opening it. "Good...looks like no one's tampered with this." She raised the lid and lifted up her rifle bag to check the shotgun. "I had a special lock installed to keep my arsenal secure. Don't want anyone messing with my precious small-arms!"

"How about messing with your small friends?" said Bean with venom.

"What? May?"

"Who the hell knocked HER up?"

"Her boyfriend. Ken Takizawa. You met him." The jack had shifted to the back of the trunk, so Rally leaned far over and retrieved it.

"The bomb builder? That guy's thirty-five if he's a day! Why ain't he in JAIL? What's the damn police department for?"

"Bean—"

"Ol' Coleman wants to arrest me for a few moving violations or some eight-month-old getaway job? How about nabbing a freakin' chicken hawk right under his goddamn nose?"

"Calm down, Bean! May's twenty."

He abruptly lost his indignant stance. "You're jokin'."

"Nope. Appearances are deceiving. You just made an assumption."

"I'll be damned." Bean scratched his head. "She acts like such a kid."

"You still think I'm a kid, Bean?"

He looked at her and his brows came down. "No."

In one sense, she felt triumph, as if she'd proved herself to him. In another, she realized he meant she was now fair game. For anything. He reserved a protected status for anyone he thought was too young to play by the rules. Lacking that, she might expect him to pitch hardball. Certainly he'd done so yesterday, until they'd reconfirmed their pact and set the tone steady again. Today Bean had never broken his even mood until he'd seen May. One moment he could laugh and joke with her, the next he darkened like a fog bank rolling in from the sea to cut off the sun.

Rally turned, flipped the driver's seat forward, and pulled her suitcase out of the back seat. Kneeling to peer under the Cobra, she felt for her big black Magnalite flashlight by the driver's door. "I wish I'd been able to supervise the repairs. Not that I'm such a great mechanic myself. I always concentrated more on gunsmithing."

"Want me to check it out? I'm kinda curious to look this car over anyway."

"Sure." Rally retrieved the flashlight. "You work on your cars yourself, don't you?"

"'Course I do." Bean unclipped the tie-downs, popped the hood and played his penlight over the engine. "I know Mustangs and 'Vettes better than anybody I ever met. Sweet machine you got here." He leaned in over the big V-8 and took the folding multi-tool from his jacket. "Twin four-barrel Holleys, ram scoops, the whole nine yards. Never found one like this for sale or I might have bought it." Bean took a deep sniff of the hot air from the engine as he tested some hose fittings.

"Thanks. I like it too. Comes in handy for chasing Corvettes."

"Except for taking corners at speed, babe." He smiled and gave one of the cast aluminum valve covers a ringing tap. "GT-500s are kinda nose-heavy with this mother under the hood. Reckon you need that power steering."

"Works for me."

"You ain't heated this up any? No add-ons?"

"No, I'm numbers-matching and smog-legal. As legal as these grand old machines get! One of these days they're going to try to take them all away, I'll bet."

Bean creased his brow. "You could get another fifty ponies outta this block, easy. Not livin' up to its potential." He gave the engine another fond tap and straightened.

"You think so?"

"Hey, I own a '69 Mach 1 with the same powerplant. Got that baby haulin' ass just tinkering with the carburation, and then I really got to work on it. Exhaust headers, reamed out the ports, bored it out to the max, and even upgraded the damn air filter. Figure I'm pushing five hundred horses to the ground now."

"You're kidding."

"Nope." He grinned at her over the air cleaner. "No use riding like the devil if you ain't sittin' in the right saddle."

"You did all right with this car that time you, ah, 'borrowed' it to get Gray to New York! Drove it about a thousand miles, didn't you?"

"Not quite that far. Part of the way was in the back of a truck, remember?" Bean replaced the hood and reclipped the tie-downs.

"Sure. I just got reminded you like to stick cars in the backs of trucks!" Rally sat sideways in the driver's seat, her feet out the open door.

Bean laughed and got down on the floor on the opposite side of the Cobra. "If it gets me where I'm goin', I'll hitch a ride in anything." He took the jack and hoisted up the car until the right rear tire was off the ground.

"Except a plane."

"Yeah, well, we all got our hangups." He lay down on his back and scooted under the car. "Man, your undercarriage took a beating."

"Geez, don't burn yourself!" Rallly shivered a little at the memory of Bean's late Corvette. The smell of blistering fiberglass still seemed to cling to her.

"Naw, I can keep my nose off the tailpipes!" He flashed the penlight up and down, then reached out a hand beside her feet and snapped his fingers. "Loan me that big flashlight, babe." Rally clicked it on and dropped it into his palm. "Thanks." She heard Bean's jacket rasp on the concrete and his voice emerge from under her. "Hmm...not too bad a job—it's all scraped to hell, but nothing's drippin' that I can see. It all looks tight as a nun's—ahem—nice and tidy. You're gonna want to get it rust-coated before winter, but I'd figure you can take this thing on home without a problem."

"Home..." Rally dropped her head on her knees. "I came out to California to get away from all the excitement in Chicago. Ha, ha."

"Get away from it? Either it's chasin' you or you're chasin' it!" Bean scooted out from under the Cobra and rolled to his feet, brushing off. "You're the one tailed me in Hollywood, babe." He lowered the jack, took it out and came around the back of the car, handing her the flashlight. On the end of his chin, he had a smear of black oil.

Yes, Bean and excitement were roughly equivalent in her mind. She dealt with a lot of dangerous people in the course of her work; somehow he was the most dangerous one she knew, both for his abilities and for himself. At the most intense moments of her life, he was always there—he seemed as elemental as thunder, and as unstoppable. When lightning struck, he was inevitable. Deep in her gut, the physical awareness crawled and rumbled.

She took the flashlight from him and stowed it in the car again, the grip warm from his hand. "You got...some oil on your face," Rally said, making a vague gesture toward her own. Bean took out a bandanna and scrubbed his nose, then looked at the cloth. "No, not there." He rubbed his cheekbones. "Nope."

He grinned and handed the bandanna to her. Rally took it with a gulp, then looked up at him. Bean raised his brows and tilted his face, and she stood up and wiped his chin clean, her heart thumping. When he took the bandanna again, his expression had a veiled, unusually thoughtful quality. Their eyes met and his fingers bumped hers in deliberate clumsiness. For a moment, Bean's face angled as if he were about to lean down and try to kiss her, though he did not move to do so. Rally felt a quick stab of panic; his eyes lost their sudden warmth and he tucked the bandanna away.

"Let's get that luggage." Bean picked up both suitcases in one arm. "You bringing the guns up?"

"No, I don't want to carry those through the lobby! They'll be fine here in the trunk—more secure than in the room. I don't trust hotel locks, especially when every janitor has a skeleton key!"

"Gotta keep your valuables tight, babe," said Bean, and headed to the elevator.


"Don't go in THERE, Rally!" yelled May from twenty feet away. "If you're in such a big hurry—"

"I am!"

"You are not going to find a bimbo dress in Talbots! Get moving!" May gestured at the spiral escalator that led up the center of the sparkling mall. Even though it was Tuesday evening, the place bustled with well-dressed shoppers.

"Oh, you're a fine one to tell me to move! We could have done this hours ago if you'd gotten here on time!"

"You want my help or not!" May stood with arms akimbo, her purse dangling from one wrist. "God, you'd think YOU were the pregnant one, the mood you're in!" Rally's face burned. That at least wasn't possible, though she had come close! "Who gets the benefit of this outfit, anyway? Not Roy the ol' married man?"

"Of course not! It's for tonight when we—"

"Woh-ho-ho! So it's for Bean after all?" May made a vulgar hip-thrusting motion. "You think that's the kind of woman he likes? Could be right! Can you handle all that hot male meat, virgin mother? Need some instruction?"

"SHUT UP, YOU LITTLE TRAMP!"

"HEY!" yelled May. "THAT'S LITTLE EX-TRAMP TO YOU!" People were beginning to stare.

"Oooh!" Rally stalked off towards the escalator and May trotted after her, still talking loudly.

"What's the matter? Did I hit a nerve? You two been going like rabbits two nights in a row? How does he FUCK, huh, Ral? Is he hung like his shoe size or like his thumb?" May cackled wickedly. "C'mon, give!"

"I don't KNOW how he—does it! WE DIDN'T HAVE SEX! And that's the truth!"

"'I did not have sexual relations with that man, Mr. Bandit,'" intoned May, shaking her finger. "Define 'sex'!"

"Not in public, for crying out loud!"

"Oh, you ARE using the presidential definition, huh? You ever kiss him?"

"Why would I want to kiss him!"

"Oh, he does it rough, huh?" May waggled her eyebrows. "Tackles you face down and rams it in doggy-style? Or he likes to screw you up the ass?" A woman next to them covered her little boy's ears and glared at Rally.

Rally's face burned even hotter, but she managed to get her voice under control. "I... did... not... have... sexual... intercourse... with... Bean. Or any other kind of sex." She secretly crossed her fingers, but tried to maintain to herself that manual contact didn't count.

"Mommy, what does 'screw you up the ass' mean?" asked a childish voice behind them.

Rally seized May's arm and hustled her away at the top of the escalator. "Now, if you're quite finished making a public spectacle of my non-sex life, can we do what we came here to do?"

"Get you a dress built for action? Try THAT store!" May pointed at a sign reading 'Bebe'. "This place is a San Francisco legend!"

"No kidding. How do you know that?"

"Guess!" May pushed Rally inside and past a headless mannequin in a sky-blue stretch mini. "Hi! she said to a salesclerk. "Bring us everything you've got in a six!"

Three-quarters of an hour later, Rally stood in front of a three-way mirror and stared at herself. This was certainly the tightest dress she had ever put on, and with the lowest neckline. The ruched hem reached barely three inches below the crotch when she yanked on it, and that maneuver made her breasts nearly pop out of the scooped and contoured decolletage. It was more like a racy swimsuit than a dress, and made of shiny red spandex material that made her look like a medium-priced hooker. "I don't know, May," she said, shivering in the thin-strapped dress. "Isn't this a little...much?"

May slumped on top of a pile of discarded clothing. "This is the only one that has a lot of detail on the hem, and you said you could move in it. If you are going to hide that gun, you can't have something plainer."

"Yes, it does hide the holster pretty well." She hoisted the hem and looked at the garter strapped around her thigh. The dress was so short that the Guardian rode directly on her left hip. "But it's so...obvious."

"Add that little velvet jacket." May rooted through the clothes pile. "That'll cover you up on top."

"I think I'm going to need a jacket, all right...it was starting to look like a chilly night when we came in here." Rally put the jacket on and fastened the single rhinestone button. "There—that's better." It reached only to the bottom of her breasts, but now that her arms and cleavage were concealed, the dress seemed less precarious. "I am never going to be able to wear this anywhere else! How much is this going to be?"

"Two-twenty-five for the dress, two hundred for the jacket."

"Yipe! And I need shoes, too...all I have with me is trainers and flats! This is getting expensive."

"So take it out of the half-million bucks! Who cares about five hundred bucks worth of clothes?"

"I don't get the half-million, May! Just a hundred grand, if Brown comes in one piece."

"Oh, that's a sure thing! And why not that suitcase?"

"It's DRUG MONEY! It's for the FBI!"

"For Smith and Wesson, those nice men who think you're a ditz, but don't care if you get yourself killed? Roy filled me in."

"Not for them personally! Crime profits get confiscated and used AGAINST the criminals!"

"Sure. So they say. C'mon, Ral, you of all people ought to know the system doesn't always work as advertised! If the FBI don't even know about this suitcase yet, don't tip 'em off by giving them half of it. They'll find out about the other half, and both you and Bean will get screwed." May laughed. "Out of the money, that is! And probably straight into jail."

Rally dropped her face into her hands. "I promised him. Maybe I shouldn't have, but at the time it seemed the only thing to do. He hasn't even really accepted that deal, though...he still says he wants the entire half-million."

"Then it's not a binding agreement, is it?"

"It is from my end! I'm not going to split hairs and I'm not going to leave him with nothing. It's...a point of honor by now."

"Why? What's he ever done for you? How do you owe him?"

"It's not a horse trade. It's...about being able to face myself later. I owe MYSELF that."

"Wait a minute. Do you owe him something? I mean, besides the fact that he led you to Brown?" May got up to help Rally peel off the spandex dress. "Why is keeping a promise you made to a criminal, under stress, so damn important?"

"It just is." Rally stood with the dress pooled around her feet, braless and in pantyhose.

"Did you do him a bad turn? Is the money a payoff for that?"

"No! I...we had a misunderstanding." Rally reached for her bra and blouse and hurriedly dressed. "I didn't set out to cause trouble with him, but...well, we're even now anyway. He kept an ace up his sleeve and I threw him a curve ball..."

"What kind of game were you playing?" snickered May. "You need a referee?"

"No. I can handle it."

"Oh, I got it. He snuggled up to you in that motel room and made a move? And you turned him down flat? Something like that?" Rally didn't reply. "Okay. So he's miffed. That doesn't mean you owe him anything."

"Yes, I do. We are partners for this job, and I will not break that promise even if he hasn't accepted it. He kept his word about running drugs, and I am not going to let him outdo me."

"Oookaaay," said May. "You going to buy that dress and jacket?"

"And shoes, and new hose, and a little purse and some black lingerie...God! Why couldn't I have thought of playing the janitor instead of a party girl?"

"I don't think you'd pass for the janitor, sweetheart..."

Rally's cell phone rang. "Hello?" she said, putting on her skirt. "Rally Vincent here."

"Uh...hello," said a voice she recognized as Larry Sam's. "Can you talk?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"I have something for you. No charge. I doubt you've gotten much useful information out of all those notes and clippings."

Rally sighed. "Roy and I spent quite a while on them. Interesting stuff, but lightning didn't strike."

"I thought so. But I just overheard a conversation between two dinner customers."

"Someone you thought was worth monitoring?"

"Exactly. Chinese men, well dressed—they looked like businessmen, but I thought I recognized one of them from a very old mug shot. I turned on the table mike and recorded them. I won't play it back—they were speaking Cantonese—but the gist of it was that they were talking about Brown. They mentioned that he was about to be 'let go' for incompetence and treachery, they bandied some racial slurs on Caucasians, and one of them asked the other if he thought the site was appropriate. The other thought so, but said that backup was in place just in case. Then they talked about getting together the next morning to go over the results. It certainly sounds to me as if Brown is going to be killed some time tonight."

"I think you may be right. Damn, and I'm supposed to go get him tonight—I wonder if they know he's going to make a break for it?"

"I don't think so. They didn't seem concerned about the timing. Rally, is there anything I can say to make you break this off? If you run into a Chinese hit man..."

"Don't worry about me. I wish I could contact Brown discreetly, though—I don't have any way to do that. I have to wait for him to call me."

"Is Bean pushing you to go through with this?"

"I thought Bean was none of your business, Larry."

She heard him let out a choking breath. "He's not. But if something happens to you, I'm going to feel responsible."

"Don't. Your information is going to make me safer, not more vulnerable. That's why I agreed to pay for it."

Larry sighed. "If I get any money out of this, it's going to feel like I fished it out of the kitchen garbage. You may have been right about that. But I'm going to have to take the consequences. I'll just have to hope that money actually functions as a shield in the long run."

"Better than a bulletproof jacket? May it do you good."

"Can I take that as good wishes? I hope you don't hate me for this."

"I don't hate you, Larry. I...I like you, OK? I guess you're right that we are from different worlds. But when I see you again...I'll give you another kiss."

"I'll live in hope," said Larry.


"Heh heh heh...OK, look in the mirror," ordered May. "You are all gussied up."

Rally turned, her eyes watering from false eyelashes and three applications of mascara. Her scalp burned from hot rollers, hairpins and an itchy wig, and her face felt stiff under what felt like half an inch of foundation and powder. For a moment, her vison was too blurred to make out much in the mirror over the dresser. She blinked away the tears and stared.

"Oh, my God," was all she could say.

"You definitely look the part, sweetheart," chortled May.

"I look like... Holy crap, May, I look like Ru-Paul in pink greasepaint! I won't have to vamp my way past the guards—they will just SCREAM and RUN!"

"Oh, come on, it's not THAT bad!"

"I have never seen this much makeup on anyone short of Tammy Faye Bakker! And what have you done to my nice WIG!" It stood up in a profusion of blonde curls and tendrils, but was so thickly reinforced with chemical goop that it barely moved when she turned her head. "You're really pissed off at me, aren't you?"

"You wanted to look like Bean's girlfriend. You look like Bean's—"

"Yeah, but even Bean has some TASTE! At least—uhm." She broke off. "Hell, I look like I cost fifteen bucks an hour!"

"No, more like a thousand a night." May cocked her head and pursed her lips. "You're just not used to this style of making up. Believe me, you look good...for trailer trash!"

Rally took another look. Big mascaraed eyes, red lips—all right, she saw a pretty woman in the mirror. She looked sexy, frivolous, and not too intelligent. But that was what she had asked for tonight. This was who she had to appear to be in order to do her job. "Uggghhh..." moaned Rally, tearing off the bedsheet that she had used to protect her dress. "Where are those damn shoes?" She slipped her feet into them and tottered over to the mirror again. The strappy dress, the elaborate makeup, the fancy hairdo—she could hardly recognize herself. May had even covered her arms, back and cleavage with light pancake and added a dusting of glitter powder. "This is never going to work. I am going to walk through this entire thing with a wrinkled nose..."

"Uh-uh. Think 'slut'. Think, 'I am an airhead who likes to pick up strangers in bars.' Put a squeak in your voice! Throw those tits forward, baby!" May demonstrated, strutting up and down in sweatshirt and shorts and bare feet. "Wiggle that butt! Yeah, more like that. Get those hips rolling!" Rally tried to follow the leader, but tripped in her shoes. May shook her head in disgust. "God, why'd you buy four-inch heels if you can't walk in 'em?"

Rally picked up her black leather flats and stuffed them into her rhinestoned purse. "I'm going to take them off as soon as I can. Let me practice for a minute!" She slung the purse over her bare shoulder and walked up and down, her gait gradually smoothing. The dress was tight, but so short it didn't impede her stride. It tended to ride up, however, and she caught a glimpse of the little holster she wore on her left thigh. "Oooh! I am going to have to remember to yank this down every so often..."

"Like this!" May grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and wriggled sensually. "Don't just jerk it! Make a production out of it!"

"I have too many things to think about already!" Rally slipped a tactical gun light into her purse. "This is probably not going to pass for a penlight, but what the hell."

"You still sound like yourself, you know. Try talking like you're sucking helium."

"Yuck," said Rally in a normal voice.

"Try again!"

"Ooooh, big guy!" Rally cooed an octave higher. "Where'd you get all those bulgy muscles? Wanna buy me a drink and go screw in my car?"

"Eeek!" May stuck out her tongue. "Now that is REALLY frightening!"

"I'll drop the sarcasm when I actually get there!"

"It's ten-fifteen." May looked at her watch. "Brown's supposed to call?"

"Yes. Then I will call Bean, and he'll bring the car to the corner opposite the hotel and wait for me. Roy's at his hotel with the FBI agents, and I'll take Brown there in my Cobra after splitting the money with Bean."

"You mean, after Bean gives you the finger and takes off with the whole half-million, right?"

"No, he won't!"

"I hope you're sure about that, Ral."

"As sure as I am of anything about him."

"Yeah? You know, you probably should have slept with him."

"What!"

"Joke! But honestly, if it were me, and he'd hit on me under these circumstances, I'd have done it no matter how much of a barbarian he is. The sting wears off in a day, and it'd be worth it to get a little more insurance. This deal—"

"'It won't make a cent's worth of difference to the deal if I do...'" Rally trailed off, staring out the window.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Breeep.

Rally picked up her phone. "Rally Vincent here."

"Good evening, Rally." Brown sounded far better than he had that morning.

"Hi there." She mouthed It's Brown! to May.

"I'll be expecting you. There are three guards on duty tonight, but otherwise the place will be mostly deserted. I've said I'm working late—just some spreadsheets to finish up. And I've said I've arranged a meeting with…Mr. Bandit."

"Oh, really."

"After giving it some thought, I realized it was obvious." He let out a soft laugh. "It reinforces my claim that I am close to recruiting him. I could wish that you had trusted me with your plans. You should recognize that we are not working on opposite sides."

"Maybe not. But I've got some info for you."

"Yes?"

"I've heard from a source that the hit is tonight. I don't know when it's scheduled. But apparently they have the assassin all lined up to take you out. We may run into the guy, if he doesn't get there before I do!"

"Mmm," said Brown. "I don't think they'd arrange to have it here at their main warehouse. Probably they plan to do it later after I've gone to sleep. And since I won't be returning home, that scarcely matters. But you have armed yourself appropriately, I hope?"

"Yes. Appropriate for what, exactly?"

"For surprises, I suppose." Brown laughed with an odd note of jolly hysteria. "One must always be prepared for surprises, my dear."

"I try to be."

"Be seeing you," said Brown, and hung up.


Four-inch heels, tottering through the lobby of the Sandpiper Inn. Rally felt the gaze of the desk clerk and of an elderly couple checking in. This place wasn't a high-class hotel, but it wasn't renting rooms by the hour. Her outfit and her cantilevered breasts stuck out by a mile. She pulled the little jacket closer around her, shivering as a gust of wind entered from the opened door. A man passed her on his way in, his head swiveling. In the glass door, Rally could see herself full-length for a moment, a long-legged, curvaceous figure with an upswept hairdo. The face was blurry, but her eyes looked huge and black-rimmed, her lips a smear of dark crimson. She pushed the door open and walked out into the night.

'Godspeed, Rally,' Roy had said when she had called to tell him Brown had made the appointment. Agent Wesson had taken the phone to remind her unnecessarily that Brown's testimony was crucial to the FBI's anti-mob efforts. Agent Smith had simply said, 'Don't fuck it up.'

What was Bean going to say? She caught a heel in the uneven sidewalk and stumbled, but recovered easily. Her curls stirred in the wind, a cold, damp breath from the sea. Mist was falling. This wasn't like Chicago's wind and damp. That was freshwater wind, Lake Michigan wind, though it sometimes blew with Arctic intensity. This wind had a tinge of salt in it. It tasted like the ocean, like the expanse of the Pacific that ran all the way to the shores of China in continuous roll. San Francisco was in the United States, but it touched Asia in a way no Midwestern city could match. Bean waited for her around the next corner, out of sight of the hotel. He had left after taking the luggage up to the room; Rally figured he was taking no chances at this point, as he didn't trust either Roy or the FBI. She waited for the green light to cross the street, though the traffic wasn't heavy. At least Bean trusted her. That she could count on.

Two haggard women loitered on the street by a pay phone, dressed far too skimpily for the weather and peering at passing cars. She turned the corner. Under a lamp halfway up the street stood the Buff, and Rally strode forward. But someone was leaning into the passenger window—a woman wearing hot pants and platform boots. Rally stopped behind a tree to wait.

"Buzz off, babe," she heard Bean say. "I'm busy."

"You look hungry, baby," coaxed the streetwalker. "Want a date?"

"You deaf? I said, I'm busy."

"You don't look busy."

"Looks ain't everything. Move."

"You waitin' for your wife or something?" the streetwalker snarled, straightening up and tossing her bleached-blonde mane in the yellowish light.

"Yeah, something. She's a hell of a better looker than you, too."

The streetwalker spat on the sidewalk and flounced off. Rally rolled her eyes and walked up to Buff. "Hey," she said to Bean in her experimental high-pitched voice and leaned down into the open passenger window. "Let's go."

Bean glanced over at her and flicked a smoked cigarette out on the street. He wore his hair combed back and his jacket zipped to the neck. "Man, the girls are standing in line for me tonight. I must look like I'm coming into money." He laughed shortly. "Go suck somebody else's cock, sister."

Rally stared at him, mouth open.

"Beat it!" Bean started the engine. "Did I pick hooker's row to park in or what?"

"Knock it off, Bean!" shouted Rally. "That's NOT funny!" He jerked violently and snapped his head around to look at her again.

"Fuck..." he whispered.

"Yes, it's me. Remember, I had to go shopping?"

Bean's eyes were wide, their expression almost fearful. "Sorry, Vincent. It's kinda dark."

Rally opened the door and got into the car. "Thanks a lot. I TOLD May she overdid the makeup!"

Bean didn't move for a long moment, scanning her up and down with more blatant attention than he had ever given her, even when she had disrobed in front of him in the motel room. This look had no furtiveness or restraint, and it burned her from head to foot. But his expression didn't seem desirous or even admiring, and he gave his head a slight shake of disbelief when he had finished. "Where the hell you packing your gun?" was all he said.

Rally hoisted her skirt a little to show him the holster. "It's a .32 caliber mini, six shot and combat loaded, and I have one spare mag. Plus a 225-lumen tactical light in my purse since the gun's too small to attach it. That could be useful in a warehouse at night. Strong enough to dazzle dark-adapted eyes."

"You said it, babe," muttered Bean, and pulled away from the curb.