Sunday evening, when I couldn't help thinking this he was probably alone with Ginny. And he might not be able to answer my questions until Monday anyway. So I ate a quick meal in the coffee shop, braced myself to endure five or six more wasted hours, and went back to the tournament hall.

By then the night-shift Security team was on duty. I spent a few minutes talking with The Luxury's Deputy Chief of Security, pretending to find out what he wanted me to do, but really just determining where and when I could pick up my paycheck. Then I moved up onto the dais to watch Demura and his students on the off chance that I might see something I understood.

As usual, the demonstration started late.

And it started without me. While Rasmussen proclaimed the presence of the famous teacher, much-published author, and noted Hollywood fight choreographer and stunt double Fumio Demura sensei, Alex Lacone arrived, trailing Sammy Posten like a dinghy in his wake. Broadcasting enthusiasm on all band-widths, he practically bounded up to the dais, consulted briefly with Anson Sternway, then beckoned for me.

"Mr. Axbrewder," he boomed.

"Just the man I want to see."

Rasmussen covered her mike and asked him to lower his voice. Somehow she contrived to sound pleasant about it, despite her disaffection for me.

Lacone replied with an unrepentant grin and drew me to the back of the dais. From there he dropped like a sack of cement to the floor. Posten followed by sitting on the edge of the platform, reaching his legs downward, and scooting his butt awkwardly off the dais. Sternway sprang down lightly. I managed to join them without falling over.

The knot in my stomach told me that I knew what they wanted.

If Lacone were actually glad to see me, he was the only one. Sternway greeted me with a flat gaze and an unrevealing nod. Posten muttered my name ungraciously, but didn't say anything else.

On the other side of the dais, the spectators erupted with laughter and applause. The four of us ignored them.

"Mr. Axbrewder," the developer began, "we're all impressed with the way you handled things yesterday. I said so at the time. You know what you're doing, and that's a fact. I wouldn't have spotted those crooks if they were the only people in the room."

That wasn't what I would've called high praise, but I kept my mouth shut.

"As you know," he went on, "we have a problem. That is to say, Sammy and I do. It's the same problem you were hired for this weekend.

Nakahatchi sensefs antiques."

Damn it anyway. The sonofabitch was about to offer me a job.

The spectators cheered. Demura must've had them eating out of his hand.

"When the tournament ends," Lacone explained unnecessarily, "the display goes back to Essential Shotokan. Until then, it's covered by The Luxury's insurance, and the lAMA's. But after that it's my problem. I'll have to provide adequate insurance."

Two days ago I would've been glad to hear it. Now I wasn't sure how I felt.

"Watchdog and I had a deal worked out," Lacone continued.

"It was exorbitant" he winked at Posten to show that he was kidding "but my bean counters told me I could afford it. Unfortunately," he sighed, smiling on a rueful wavelength, "Watchdog now thinks they underestimated the risks involved.

"I guess we all assumed that surrounding the display with martial artists would protect it pretty well. But we learned yesterday" he put on a show of being tactful "how should I put this? Martial artists don't have the right kind of expertise. They didn't spot those crooks.

You did."

His grin radiated enough heat to raise blisters as he forged ahead.

"After you demonstrated the realities of the situation, Watchdog decided and I have to agree we need to reconsider our position. Meaning no disrespect to Nakahatchi sensei, or any other school in Martial America, that display needs better protection."

By which he meant that Watchdog, in the person of Paranoid Posten, had reneged on the earlier agreement. Posten had panicked yesterday, and now Watchdog intended to raise Lacone's rates.

The developer beamed radioactive sincerity at me.

"After tonight, Mr. Axbrewder, I want you to take on the same job you've had this weekend. Keeping an eye on those antiques." He winked conspicuously.

"I think I can guarantee I pay better."

He ought to. By my standards, I was already getting paid pretty well.

But Lacone wouldn't do this unless hiring security got him a substantial break from Watchdog. Knowing insurance companies not to mention developers I was sure that he'd save a hell of a lot more than he offered me.

Posten's expression suggested reluctant agreement. Yesterday I'd made the mistake of telling him that the chops would be in more danger once they reached Essential Shotokan.

Now was my chance. All I had to say was, Thanks, but no thanks, I have other commitments. But I couldn't focus on it. I was too busy wondering why Sternway had tagged along. Posten's presence I understood, but what did the IAMA have to do with Lacone's problems?

Hell, hadn't Sternway repeatedly declined to join Martial America?

If I was right, the drop wasn't my only link to Bernie's killer. The chops were involved somehow.

Trying to think, I stalled for time.

"Mr. Lacone, I'm a private investigator, not a security guard.

Frankly, I took this job because I need the work. But I'm not bragging when I say I'm wasted here. The money The Luxury and the IAMA saved by hiring me is trivial compared to what I cost."

Posten nodded in the background.

Firmly, I concluded, "If you're looking for someone to walk through the building every night punching a time-clock, you could spend less and get better service."

The audience applauded on cue. Sternway appeared to watch the rest of us without paying any attention.

But Lacone acted like I'd said just what he wanted to hear. With a happy grin, he replied, "That exactly why I think you're the man for the job. We already hire a security service, but all they do is patrol the parking lot and check the doors. A determined crook could get past them easily.

"And " There he stopped. Instead of continuing, he deferred unexpectedly to Sternway.

HRH knew what Lacone wanted him to say.

"The situation is delicate, Brew," he explained.

"As you know, Traditional Wing Chun is also located in Martial America, and Sifu Hong believes strongly that the chops should belong to him.

And there are other rivalries. Master Soon's Tae Kwon Do Academy is jealous as well. The chops are irrelevant to Tae Kwon Do itself. But men like

Master Soon resent the status those chops confer. They consider it undeserved."

"In other words " Lacone put in.

"In other words," I interrupted, "you're more worried about problems inside Martial America than outside. That's why you think you need someone like me."

Someone with no martial loyalties.

Master Soon had left the hall ahead of the drop.

"I recommended you," Sternway remarked for reasons that weren't clear to me. Why the fuck did he care?