I got the point.

"Unless it degenerates into a war zone first," I muttered sourly.

He nodded.

"Sounds like quite a dream," I commented. To my surprise, I found him more sympathetic when he wasn't acting like a hereditary monarch or talking about money.

"I'm surprised you got this far with it. How did you manage to convince even four schools to share a location like this?"

He offered me another unconvincing smile.

"It helped that Essential Shotokan and Malaysian Fighting Arts aren't especially competitive. If I could find a few more schools like them, a few more masters like Nakahatchi sensei and Soke Gravel, Martial America would be further along."

That was an excuse, not an answer. I stared at him and waited for more.

He glanced around the well.

"I suppose I could say that I can be eloquent when the occasion warrants. But you might not believe me." Then he faced me squarely.

"On the other hand, you may not believe the truth either."

"Try me." Whatever the "truth" was, I wanted to hear it.

He considered the question for a few more seconds before he conceded.

"Very well.

"The truth, Brew, is that I have credibility as well as authority in the martial arts. Legitimate eighth-dans aren't as common as you might think. I've been known and honored nationally and internationally for a number of years. And the excellence of my students supports my reputation. Men like Sifu Hong and Master Soon listen to me because I've earned their respect. They wish to show that they deserve to stand with me."

Now I didn't find him sympathetic at all. He sounded like an advocate for the Divine Right of Kings. He was HRH Anson Sternway, descended from the mind of God. Therefore less exalted mortals had no choice but to worship at his feet.

My skepticism must've showed on my face. Abruptly Stern-way's manner changed. He leaned toward me almost confidentially.

"Tell you what, Brew. Let me take you out to a place I know tonight.

Say around ten. I'll show you how I earned respect."

My eyebrows jumped. What was he trying to do, educate me or intimidate me? Either way, I wasn't sure I wanted to be on the receiving end.

But Deborah couldn't see me until tomorrow night, and I didn't have any other plans Suddenly I missed Ginny. Or missed the way I felt when we worked together. She'd always been the boss, which somehow relieved my inclination to second-guess myself. If I could rely on her for strategy, I could choose my own tactics.

Stalling for time, I tried to change directions, put the pressure back on Sternway.

"Tell me something else first," I countered.

"How well did you know Bernie Appelwait?"

He glared surprise at the question.

"I hardly knew him at all." Hints of irritation leaked past the general flatness of his tone.

"We've held our World Championships at The Luxury for six years now.

We've had the same dealings with hotel Security every year. Aside from that, he's a stranger to me."

Inspired, as you might say, by his displeasure, I pursued the issue.

"But the IAMA must have security issues occasionally. You didn't hire Bernie for anything? Ask him to do a job in his spare time? Consult with him?"

HRH shook his head sharply.

"Well, did you ever teach him? He probably studied self-defense somewhere." His flik conveyed that impression. It wasn't a weapon most people knew about.

"How about with you? Or maybe he's related to one of your students?"

Fuming, Sternway tried to interrupt, but I kept going.

"Or maybe it had to do with money?" I was having fun now.

"You talk about how hard it is to make a living in the martial arts.

Security people sometimes have connections they don't talk about on the job." I was stretching, but I didn't care. Only the congestion gathering in Sternway's face mattered to me.

"Did you ever need a loan shark? Or protection from a loan shark? You might've asked Bernie " He cut me off like a splash of acid.

"What do you think, Ax-brewder? Say it. Do you think I had something to do with his death?" At his sides, his fingers twitched, eager to form fists. His voice struck echoes off the hard surfaces of the shaft, resonance complicated by concrete and iron.

"Do you think I profit from the death of a tired old security guard at a second-rate convention hotel?

"If you consider me insane, say so. I'll stop wasting time with you."

When he burned like that, as expectant as a blasting cap, his students probably wet themselves. For some reason, however, he didn't scare me now. Instead I experienced a moment of unadulterated bliss. The sonofabitch was human after all. I could piss him off.

Happily I grinned at him.

"I'll take that as a no."

"I hope so." He measured me like he was gauging how hard I'd go down.

"You're being absurd. And insulting."

I shrugged, still grinning.

"Just doing my job."

He aimed his ire at me for a moment longer. Then he seemed to think better of it. He turned away, gazed out over the utility well. He still looked like an explosion poised to happen, but gradually the imminence eased out of him.

Sounding flat again, he pronounced, "Kicking over anthills is a job for children."

And just like that my little bliss popped like a soggy firecracker, doused in sweat. Suddenly making him angry stopped being fun. I hadn't realized that I was so transparent.