Unexpectedly Marshal grinned.

"Remember him? I still have nightmares about him and I never actually had any trouble with him. He used to make some of the cops I knew sweat shit."

That, as they say, was gratifying. Without meaning to, I relaxed a bit.

"He sent one of his goons to cap a client of mine." I caught myself.

"I mean a client of ours.

"I got in the way."

"So he shot you," Marshal put in.

"That's why you have trouble moving. The wound hasn't healed yet."

I shrugged.

"I couldn't think of anything else to do about it, so I broke his neck."

"Which 'he'? Who did el Senor send after you?"

I hesitated, then answered the question.

"Muy Estobal."

Marshal laughed out loud.

"Muy Estobal?" Amazement filled his face.

"Christ on a crutch. You broke Muy Estobal's neck? I didn't know he had a neck. My God, Brew, you ought to proclaim yourself a hero. You should have placards printed up."

Then he gradually turned sober. After a moment, he drawled, "Makes you wonder why Ginny didn't tell me, doesn't it?"

Not me. I already knew.

"Marshal," I warned him, "this is what I was afraid of. I don't want to confuse things for Ginny here."

He dismissed my scruples.

"Don't worry about it. She's a big girl. And I'm not that easy to confuse. I just like explanations. They're cleaner than guesswork."

But he didn't give me a chance to respond. Apparently he wasn't interested in my version of Ginny's mental state. Instead he stood up all at once, like he was immune to gravity and scar tissue.

"This makes a difference. Brew." he announcer!.

Puerta del Sol well enough to be impressed. But I still need to think about it. I've already given Ginny a job. And, as you say, we've been friends for a long time. I don't want trouble. Or conflicts of interest.

"Tell you what," he went on briskly.

"I'll call you. Before the end of the week. If I decide I'm not comfortable putting you to work myself, I'll give you some names and a reference. That should help you get started."

I hated him. I didn't want to feel grateful. But I had trouble controlling it. Trying to fend it off, I said the most graceless thing I could come up with.

"You're going to rely on what Ginny says about me?"

He stared at me humorously.

"What do you think I am, crazy? Of course I'm going to rely on what she says. So far you've avoided mentioning any other names I can use."

Damn. Damndamndamn. He was still right which I disliked so much that I actually blushed. In particular, I hated having people be nice to me when I needed to stay angry.

Muttering, "You didn't ask," which was only marginally true. I appropriated his pencil again and wrote down the names of a couple of honest cops back home. Then I added two or three of Ginny's clients who wouldn't have forgotten me. None of them knew where I was anyway.

When I finished, he grinned as if I'd pleased him somehow.

"All right. This almost looks like a real job application."

Charming me out of my underwear the whole time, he helped me locate the lobby. Then he shook my hand again and sent me off on a surge of clear-eyed bonhomie. Apparently he expected me to have as much confidence in his promises as he did.

Eventually I found my way down to my car. It seemed to fit me better than it did before. I must've shrunk in the past half hour.

The Subaru's AC worked, but it didn't help. By the time I got back to the apartment, I'd sweated right through my suit.

Three.

Two days later he called me. By then the apartment was so clean that you could eat off the floor under the fridge. I'd tightened the covers on my bed until your eyes bounced when you saw them. The windows had the clarity of Marshal Viviter's gaze, and I'd beaten the rugs practically threadbare.

Under other circumstances, I would've called that plenty of exercise.

But not this time. In addition, I'd flagellated my body until I'd achieved an actual sit-up, and the first five push-ups were almost easy. If this part of Garner had offered any shade, I probably could've walked five miles. Just to keep in practice, I took two showers a day.

Meanwhile Ginny and I didn't talk to each other much. Because of her work schedule or her social life she came back to the apartment at irregular hours. When we were both there, and awake, we attempted a couple of aimless conversations, but they didn't accomplish much. I asked how her job was going. She said fine. She asked about my search for work. I said I was waiting for an answer on one prospect. At some point, she remarked on the state of the apartment. She may've been trying to suggest that I should beat the pavement instead of the rugs, but I didn't react, and she didn't push. In every way that mattered, she'd already moved out.

Mostly to stave off the sensation that I'd been abandoned, I spent a fair amount of my time fuming. But being mad at her just made me feel even more alone, and being mad at myself was so normal that I did it on auto-pilot anyway, so I concentrated on manufacturing disgust for Marshal Viviter.

Anyone who looked that good, I told myself, and made that much money in that line of work had to be crooked. A moral pretzel. With plenty of salt so it tasted almost like food. He'd been toying with me the whole time I was in his office. No doubt he and Ginny had already milked my squirming for hours of innocent hilarity. If he called, it wouldn't be to offer me anything I needed. He'd be looking for some way to keep me on his hook.

I told myself.

Which gave me a charming motivational lift, like one of those leadership seminars where they teach you to achieve comparative excellence by tearing other people down. But it didn't do much for my morale. Soon I'd start to dissolve in my own acid.

When the phone finally rang I was sitting practically on top of it.

You'd have thought that I wanted to hatch the damn thing. Since I was in Stoic Mode anyway, impeccably resigned to the vagaries of my fate, I snatched up the receiver before the end of the first ring.

"God, Brew," Marshal chuckled, "what kept you? I've been waiting here for nanoseconds."

Obviously he knew it was me as Ginny's boss, he could be sure that she wasn't here so I didn't bother to introduce myself. Swallowing my lungs, I croaked, "Sorry about that. I didn't expect the head of Professional Investigations to make his own phone calls. I was just trying to be rude to your receptionist again."

"Well, at least you're consistent," he conceded.