I relaxed a bit.

"That suits me, Bernie. Call me Brew."

Buzzing harmlessly, he dismissed the idea.

"I'll call you Ax-brewder." Something that might've been a smile sneaked across the background of his glare.

"Remind myself not to like you."

"You're in no danger," I assured him.

"Even my friends think I'm an acquired taste."

He treated me to a show of disbelief.

"You have friends? Now I'm impressed."

I wanted to make a snappy comeback, but I couldn't think of , one, so I dropped it.

Slowly he moved around one of the desks and lowered himself into a chair with a circular cushion on the seat a piles-j pillow. When he was comfortable, he gestured me to a seat across from him.

Folding his arms behind his head, he leaned back and got down to business.

"I won't bullshit you, Axbrewder. At my age, I don't have the patience. This situation caught us by surprise. And Watchdog dithered too long. I don't have time to make a project out of hiring extra security. If I turn you away, I'll have to accept whatever I can sublease from Professional Investigations, or one of the other agencies.

"Viviter referred you. Him I don't like, but his rep's clean." Bernie rolled his eyes.

"In fact, if he weren't so full of snot he'd squeak when he walks.

"Besides, it's only for three days. What're you going to do? Crack the hotel safe when I turn my back? Burgle the rooms? Even guys like you aren't that stupid." He sounded like he meant, Guys like us.

"As far as I'm concerned, the job is yours to lose."

I started to say, "I'll take it," but he cut me off.

"Don't be too eager. This kind of work is boring, but that doesn't make it easy. By nine tomorrow, that hall will be a zoo. I'm told we have 'martial artists' from all over the world staying here. They may even be famous, I wouldn't know. As far as I'm concerned, they're just a bunch of gooks in pajamas. But they all have their cliques and flacks and fans and teams, and their 'revered masters." And then they bring their equipment, which they leave everywhere.

"On top of that, they're all so tanked on competition hormones they think they don't need hotel security to keep an eye on them, and they as sure as shit don't need ordinary safety precautions like keeping the aisles clear and obeying the fire regulations. And on top of that" he was starting to enjoy himself "they'll have an audience of several hundred devoted 'experts' who can't tell the difference between kung fu and cunm'lingus."

I tried to look austere so I wouldn't laugh.

"Rather like me in that regard," I remarked.

He chuckled, then snapped his mouth shut.

"Don't do that. I already told you I don't want to like you. I'm trying to convince you this job isn't easy."

Raising my hands to placate him, I murmured, "Sorry."

"I can see that," he drawled.

When he'd recovered his glare, he resumed.

"The hours are long. From eight in the morning until past midnight, you'll be up to your navel in gooks who don't have any use for you, and the only real reason you'll be there is to watch for petty theft.

Wallets, watches, jewelry. And equipment." Shaking his head in disbelief, he explained, "According to claims from past tournaments, some of that gear is worth stealing. Even here, where they sell Nikes and crotch-cups on every block.

"But," he informed me, "we'll have guards on those artifacts all the time. That's our only major concern, and you won't have to worry about it." He didn't need to say why. I was an outsider. No matter how he felt about guys like me, he trusted his own people more.

"Your job will be to circulate, control disturbances, clear the way for the paramedics when someone gets hurt, and try to catch petty crooks.

"It won't be enough to keep you awake. In a normal year, the claims from this tournament hardly amount to a thousand bucks.

But I don't care about that. If you don't stay awake, I'll fire your ass so fast you won't be able to find it for weeks."

I waved my hands again.

"Enough, Bernie. You already said it. I'm 'a hard luck rent-a-cop,"

and I need the paycheck." Looking straight at him, I added, "I don't expect you to cut me any slack. If I can't do a job like this, I should be in some other line of work anyway."

He nodded once, sharply.

"You got that right." Then he changed gears.

"You're stiff when you move." He didn't ask why.

"Can you stay on your feet all day?"

I shrugged.

"Try me. I'm stubborn."

"I'm sure you are." His glare had a charm all its own.

"But now that we've talked about it, you won't be able to file for disability when you decide we crippled you."

He was just doing his job, so I didn't get mad.

"I'll expect you here," he announced, "at eight tomorrow. After that, I'll comp you a room for the rest of the weekend, spare you driving back and forth. You don't get a uniform. I don't want you identified as hotel security. You'll see more if people don't know you work here.

I'll supply everything else."

While he talked, he tilted back to his desk so that he could toss me a couple of forms to sign. I glanced at them to make sure I knew what they were, but I didn't bother reading them.

The main advantage of a complimentary room was that I could avoid Ginny for a couple of days.

While I scrawled my signature, Bernie added, "You've already done your snooping, so we'll skip the tour.

"Any questions?"

Ginny would've had questions the kind he meant and if I'd strained my brain I might've been able to think of an example. But my interests, or my instincts, ran in different directions. Which made us pretty effective when we were together and made me feel like I only had half my senses when we weren't. As far as I was concerned, this job wasn't about petty theft, and "gooks in pajamas," and security. It was about Marshal Viviter and Bernie Appelwait. And, presumably, Anson Sternway.