"That's a virtue. I guess."

Before I could muster another of my elephantine ripostes, he went on, "Considering the mood you're in, you probably won't ask why I called, so I'll just tell you.

"I've got a job for you." Then he corrected himself.

"I mean a job possibility. But if you can keep that sunny disposition under control, I think your chances are good."

Luckily I was sitting down anyway. Otherwise I would've been forced to collapse somewhere. My heart had attempted a triple toe-loop in my chest, missed the landing, and gone into a skid. For a moment or two, I couldn't remember how to breathe. Somehow I managed to say, "Tell me about it." I may've been panting.

"When you were here," he began promptly, "I mentioned conflicts of interest." Apparently one of his professional gifts was the ability to sound casual and serious at the same time.

"I was talking in generalities then, but now I have a more specific com "Professional Investigations" proven, prompt, discreet "has been hired by a woman named Mai Sternway. She's separated from her husband, and now she thinks he's stalking her. She says he wants to intimidate her so that she'll be afraid to go after the kind of divorce settlement she deserves."

Right away I wanted to know why he'd violated her confidence by telling me her name, but I didn't get a chance to ask.

"That's not a problem, as far as it goes," he explained.

"Some research and a few hours of protection a day. We do that type of work all the time.

"The problem is that now her husband, Anson, also wants to hire us."

When he said that, my stomach twisted around the memory of Estobal's bullet. I thought I knew what was coming.

"Ordinarily I wouldn't even listen to him," Marshal remarked like he expected me to believe him.

"But what he wants doesn't have anything to do with his wife. And he isn't the kind of client I enjoy turning down. There are too many other things he might want to hire us for down the road. I hate to burn a bridge like that. So I let him go into detail.

"It's still a conflict of interest." Marshal's disembodied voice conveyed a shrug.

"Or close enough that it's too messy for me. But then I thought of you " Damn him anyway, I was right.

I cut him off.

"You thought of me," I retorted with massive sarcasm, "because I don't care about conflicts of interest."

"No." Without much effort, he matched my good humor.

"I thought of you because you need a job. And if you get this one you won't be working for me."

I bit down on my tongue and waited for him to go on. Sudden relief made me light-headed. At the moment I didn't care whether I trusted him or not. I could decide that later. Right then I wanted a job as much as I'd ever wanted a drink.

"It's only for three days," he said, "but I think it could turn into something steady. If you'll tone down your hostility long enough to pay attention."

"Go on," I told him noncommittally. The receiver had started to make a dent in the side of my head, and I could feel the pressure building on my brain, but my arm refused to relax.

He sighed, then got down to business.

"Anson Sternway runs a karate organization called the International Association of Martial Artists. It's what I think of as an umbrella organization. Individual karate schools and martial artists sign up as members, and in return the IAMA provides inexpensive insurance and promotion, publishes newsletters, runs seminars on subjects like 'effective business practices' and 'advanced kama' whatever that is. In addition, it sponsors tournaments.

"Apparently karate tournaments are big business. People from around the country or around the world, for all I know get together and pound on each other to win trophies. According to Sternway, these tournaments are already a cash cow, and their popularity is growing every year."

I did my best not to sound impatient.

"And ?"

"And," Marshal told me, "this weekend, starting tomorrow, the IAMA is holding its 'world championships' right here in Garner. At one of the convention hotels." Of which Garner had a few dozen. He paused for effect, then added, "They need extra security."

I wanted to ask, For what? I couldn't imagine a room full of Bruce Lee wanna bees needing any security. But I kept my mouth shut. Even if the job was just an insurance boondoggle, I needed it.

I needed work.

"Under normal circumstances," Marshal was saying, "they don't have this problem. Their contract with the hotel relies on hotel security.

There's always trouble with petty theft and crowd control. It seems these tournaments are like zoos where they lock in the spectators and let the animals run free. And I gather a few of those martial arts suffer from testosterone poisoning. Sometimes they try to settle their differences outside the ring. But hotel security is usually adequate to the situation. The hotel's insurance covers the losses.

"But this tournament isn't normal. This time one of the member schools wants to display some kind of 'antique martial arts artifacts," for the edification of the assembled." Marshal paused to swallow his lack of conviction.

"According to Sternway, these 'artifacts' are valuable, and the insurance company has balked at the added risk. The hotel has been asked to hire extra security which is an expense they didn't take into account when they negotiated the contract. Naturally the hotel wants the

LAMA to pick up the tab. On their side, the IAMA wants to insist on the terms of the contract. Eventually they agreed to split the cost of hiring Professional Investigations."

"But you have a conflict-of-interest problem," I put in so that Marshal wouldn't try to explain it to me.

He completed the thought for me.

"But you don't. That makes you ideal for the job.

"I suggested that Sternway hire you instead. I told him you cost less than we do." I could hear Marshal grinning.

"He's agreeable. But he wants the hotel to make the final decision. On the grounds that they're legally responsible anyway.

"I've set up an interview for you with their Chief of Security this afternoon. If you get the job, you'll be working for them. You'll answer to them, and they'll pay you."

Someone had to say it, so I did.

"I don't have a license."

He dismissed that.

"Don't worry, these people won't ask." I pictured him rolling his eyes at the ceiling.

"I've already vouched for you." Then he seemed to shift gears.

"Of course," he admitted, "you'll be out on a limb. If it breaks, I won't be there to catch you. The rules around here give private investigators a lot of slack, but not that much."

For some reason, he didn't mention that if I screwed up he'd look pretty bad for recommending me.

I had a question about that, but he didn't give me a chance to ask it.

Still sounding casual, he said, "There's just one detail I haven't mentioned. I want you to keep me informed. Tell me how it goes, what happens, give me your impressions, that sort of thing."