Miami K. Kleen, Scintillating Detective

Contents

Chapter One: Solving for One Unknown

Chapter Two: Soldering Leads

Chapter Three: George Jettisons

Chapter Four: My Dinner With Andrea

Chapter Five: Da Biggest of Da Mall

Chapter Six: Finding Grien's Function

Chapter Seven: Lemon Custer

Chapter Eight: Tough Cookie

Chapter Nine: Tea With Lemon and Kareem

Chapter Ten: Starting With Kleen's Slate

"Mithter Kleen? I have a...problem. I underthtand you are very...good ...at tholving...problemth."

The dame had more ellipses in her sentence than a phase map of a harmonic oscillator. I knew what she really wanted; but then, she wasn't being too discrete.

"That's what they say, doll. What's your textured vegetable protein beef substitute?"

"My ex-boyfriend hath hired thomeone to fail me out of phythics. I think it might be the profether, but I can't prove it. Can you...help...me?"

A domestic squabble. I had had my fill of these penny-ante, two-bit, open-and-shut, bread-and-jam, Tom-and-Jerry, ears-eyes-nose-and-throat cases. I was about to slam the door on the babe, no matter how hot she was, when she hit me with a look like creamed corn and said the words I had always dreaded I'd hear:

"Kreegah Bundolo."

I was hooked. I never could resist those silibant syllables. I shrugged my shoulders.

"I'll need more details than that. Lay 'em on me and we'll see if it's worth my while."

She gave me details, all right. Every damn picayune mote of trivia that related even in the most obscure way to the matter at hand left her ruby red lisp and sawed into my agonized ear. She was acting like a math jock proving that numbers exist. But I was able to piece together the gist of her jam. Seems her ex was Ugly McButt, a no-talent loser from engineering who carries a grudge and the iron to make it stinky. I had tangled with him on a number of occasions and was not eager to relive the experience. She found out he was seeing an art student on the side and broke it off with him. I guess his twisted sense of justice was offended, because he made some calls. She had only just passed her last five exams, even cheating. The finger was on the profs, all right; but that seemed too simple. This was just the kind of job that always lead down dark alleys. I gulped another shot of rye.

"Sounds like you got a problem, all right, sweetheart. And my bill adds to it. I want serious sungglebunnies for the rest of my life. And a couple bucks for another bottle."

She reeled, then steeled, not getting too far afield. I was hoping she'd yield and become my flesh shield, once the deal was sealed. But no.

"That'th too thteep for me, Mr. Kleen. I will, however, not point my finger and laugh at you whenever you walk by. Take it or leave it."

What could I do? It was the only offer I'd had in a month of dreary Sundays alone picking my toe jam. I accepted. I told her to meet me at Tequilla Jack's, a well-known liquor dive and hang-out for maggot scum rat puke, at eight that evening. Meanwhile I'd sober up and solder down a few leads that had come loose in my mind, leaving neat little silver cones like Hershey's Kisses. The dame, as yet nameless, left, and the enormity of my task hit me harder than the whiskey. Gunning for profs; a business uglier than McButt, and subject to brutal foreclosure. I would have to watch my step. "What the hell am I doing," I muttered, as my hand drifted toward the bottle.

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I was headed for another bar, where I had received a lot of tips, a lot more threats, and a handful of bullets: 23 Garrish. I knew the bartender, so he was no threat; he had a Cohen-Tannoudji under the counter for the unfriendly or the unknown. And two or three scumbags I had alternately put away and paid off held forth there, who had their red eyes and runny noses into every dirty theorem and crooked proof this side of Sunday. A couple bucks should do the job as usual, opening their chapped lips like torques open doors...if applied in the right way. With luck, Ugly McButt would be in as well, and I could attack the polynomial at its root. But I knew that luck, like thermo, runs hot and cold. I'd need a plus one to even the odds, odd the evens, mod the odds and even the stevens. I reached the bar. I went in.

Dark, like all these places. A thug could be waiting to belt you with a problem set and you'd never know it. A jukebox, old, rusty, with only one tune: I've got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts. A bartender like a drink-serving statue with a mask of kindness, embattled and indifferent, but all too eager to stir the hornets. A surly crowd of misfits and lowlifes, eyeing you like the only cat at a dog show. A dame leaning on the bar, wondering if a harmless flirt is worth the black eye from she'll earn for it from her beau. All in all, a grim setting for a nosy dick looking for an honest man. I heard a grunt from the corner that approximated my name to 0th order.

"Kleen? You gots noive showin' up roun here affer what ya did ta Barney."

"Barney? Barney's rubble," I sneered in reply. The whiskey was banging my head at a resonant frequency. I ignored it. "You out already, George? I thought you had 20 years."

"Good behavyuh," George chortled. "I didn't nix da woiden's kids. But dat don't go f' evrybody. You want sometin? You always shown up when you want sometin. What dis time? Some fabyoolous redhead make yuh n offuh? Did she say Kreegah Bundolo?"

The slime was too close for coincidence. I figured he knew the deep dirt on the case and went over to his little corner of hell. I heard the other patrons close ranks behind me. "Maybe yes, maybe no, George. But maybe you know 'sometin' I don't. Maybe we can chat about it." I sat down.

"Chat! You sen me up da river an you wanna chat! Well I don chat wit no private eyeballs. Fine y'seff another boy! I'm bizzy." He drank down the last of his beer. I knew I'd have to raise the stakes in this game, which wasn't rare, but it had to be well done. I took out my tenderizer.

"Put it this way, George. Either you accept my generous offer of money and tell me what I want to know or I'll see to it that you land back in the big house for the largest prime number of years." Empty talk, but I thought the sight of cash might be enough to quell his resentment.

"Hah! What you say to dat, fellas? Should I tell this dick what da scoop is? An take his kind offuh? Or else he fix me good, eh? Look aroun ya, dick! Youse surrounded twenny ta one!" He stood up and spit on the table. "Dat! is what I accept! Right, boys?" The murmuring behind me murred more. One way out.

"If you say so, George." I turned slowly, then whirled. When my fist hit George's jaw it had a nine mil pistol in it. Before the rabble joined the scrapple I leaped the table and landed with a wobble. I dragged George up by his collar and slammed him against the wall. Jackson was out of my pocket in a flash. "Tell your fellas to get back, hairpiece, or I'll start with dielec- trics."

"Ya bluffin," was the reply, but I saw how he shook with fear at the very words. I began.

"Consider a sphere of radius delta, made of a linear dielectric..." That's all he needed to hear.

"Awright! Awright! Back off youse clowns he ain't kiddin!" The crowd crowed. "I mean it, get outta here!" They sullenly followed their peer-cum-leader's directive, leaving the joint for another less likely to turn for the Hertz, volts, or amps. I returned my attention to George.

"Well, pal? What is it? You want my money or do I get out the vector potential?" I chuckled. As easy as the free-particle hamiltonian. "C'mon, George. Jettison."

"OK, gumshoe, ya got me. I'll talk."

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"McButt, George. Tell me about him."

"Not much ta tell, Kleen," said George between belches. "It's all over town dat he been too-timin wit da artist an da freshchick. We all known dat since it start. He got big mout in bars, sez evrythin gon on wit him. Almost." The final word was ominous, and like a seer I had to interpret it through beer foam and entrails. I tried the foam.

"Almost? You imply that he didn't blab his scheme? Didn't sally forth with his program for the lisp? Si?" I suddenly felt like Pascal in a nasty triangle.

"Si. He mention 'dat bitch' an sez he gonna 'fix her good.' But how he do it he didn't spill. Not too bright, eh? He just an engineer, ya know."

"You've got a point, George, but your hat covers it. I have the feeling that you haven't told quite all you know." I twitched my finger as if heading for Jackson.

"I'm gettin ta dat! I just warmin up, see?" He drank a comforting draft. "Well couple weeks ago dis guy come in here we never seen before. Tall fella wit glasses an overcoat. He keep his voice low, but we hear him all right. He go up to Toojy an sez 'I lookin fer Mcbutt. Ugly Mcbutt. I unnerstan he come here.' Toojy jus look at him. 'I has appointment wit him' he sez. 'Said he be here today.' Well Ugly not in that day. We heard him say da day before dat he goin outta town for while. But not our place ta reveal dat info, right? So Toojy sez 'He ain't here. Buy a drink or get out.' He gets, but first he sez 'I'm comin back tomorrow. Lettim know I been here.' Then he gone. He come back evry day for a week an then stop. We figger it jus a bettin fren of Ugly's, bent outta shape on accounta some rotten deal like what he's always pullin. We figger that, but da las day he come, he sez 'Tell McButt dat his bill delinquent. We aims ta collect one way or other.' So we figger it da mob. Satisfied?"

"You 'figger' McButt hired the mob to fail his toots and backed out?"

"Ain't healthy ta figger anythin about da mob. But dat's one way a lookin at it."

"This tall stranger. You get a good look at him?"

"Well not great. He had collar up on his overcoat, but he had black hair, like real black. Black moustache. Jus whispered, like I said. Oh yeah." George lit up like a 500-watt bulb. "Da craziest ting. He gots dis scar onnis face, real huge an ugly. But when Toojy axe one day where he gots it from, just friendly like, da guy sez he gotta bottle in da face da other day. But Toojy seen lotta scars an he sez it look too fresh an straight ta be a bottle scar; he sez dis after da guy gone. Also he sez dat he coulda swore dat it move aroun. One day it start under da eye an one day it start over da eye. But it dark in here, an he don't see too great no more."

"That's odd. Just one more thing, George. Did he ever leave his name?"

"Nah. Dat's da weird ting. He just say 'Tell Ugly dat his past has come back ta haunt him' one time. Sounds like da mob ta me."

"Thanks, George. You've been a pal. Regards to your boy Elroy."

"Whatever. Thanx fer da drink." He toasted my departure with a long, steady pull at his beer. He was still drinking when I left.

George's tale was a strange attractor, all right. This might be a regular case, but if the mob was in it it was due to become chaotic. My leads were bifurcating, and I hoped to stop at some singular point. And yet my gut was telling me that the Lyapunov exponent of this system was positive, and any slight change in my initial conditions could get blown way outta proportion. The stranger was obviously in disguise, and not too careful. But that meant it had to be someone whom the bar knew well. It also meant that whoever it was needed to change out of costume after his little visits. Or he just might be someone really stupid. Years of scrounging for elegant theories had taught me: if the choice is between a solution being dumb and obvious or slick and sublime, side with dumb. The ridiculous are incapable of the sublime.

The bells tolled five. With three hours to kill I took out my coin and flipped it idly, wandering back to my office for some R&R; rum and Rayleigh's; before my to-do at T.J.'s. I planned on telling at least some of George's story to the babe, but until I knew more about the tall dark stranger I wasn't going to get her hopes up. I got to the office and slid back in my chair, letting some 151 slide back in my belly. It was a while before I noticed the note on my desk, probably from the secretary. I opened it and read.

Mr. Kleen:

I have some good newth regarding our buithneth. I have remembered something that will help with the cathe. I will tell you at Tequilla Jack'th.

Andrea (the tall redhead you met earlier)

P.TH. I met your thecretary in the building and she let me in.

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Tequilla Jack's is nestled like a quark in a muon in the thickest, dingiest part of the city. Seedier than a tomato, more sour than a lemon, and host to more bad apples than a rotten orchard, the district had claimed more lives than a small war and more minds than symplectic transformations. Among its dubious distinctions is the infamous "BRAWL" which happens every year despite the police force's best intentions to pretend to restrain it. It takes about twelve months for the steam to build up again and then it busts loose: a scorching change of phase from the merely unhealthy to the downright deadly. It's a phase change of the first order, continuous but kinky, in which the bound becomes unbound, the solid fluid, the heteronomous scleronomous, the butcher the baker the candlestick maker, and ordinary Joe Meatball usually ends up boiled alive. Then it all dies down and stays solid calm for another year. Yeah, this is a zone more troublesome than Broullin, and it goes by a long list of monikers: Street Street, Homeless Row, Where's The Beef, Lots of Quaint Little Shops And Amusing Performers. But most folks just call it Da Mall. TJ's is the most respectible dive in that polluted ocean, rating about a six. Sure, it's brutal, it's smelly, it's a zit on a boil on a cancer; but it's chock full of information, and Hip-Hop night is really something. I adjusted my helmet, made sure my gat was set, and headed down the dark stairs to the reeking din below.

Inside was about as far as you could go from 23 Garrish. People packed like sardines, drinking like fish, rocking like boats and cursing like sailors. Good thing it was ladies' night. The music jumped and gasped, a salmon on a dry deck, and disco lights pireced the briny murk. Through the striped air I spotted Andrea, sitting uneasily at a table, as if she'd been asked to find a thousand Clebcsh-Gordon coeffifients. I decided to ease her mind, so I eased over and eased into a chair, which isn't easy. She looked up.

"Come here often, Red?" I joked foxily. "How ya been?" I added.

"I'm actually a litte blue, Mithter Kleen," she replied. "But the information I have for you may put uth in the black."

"I'm tickled pink," I rejoined. "What kind of information?"

"The dangerouth kind, Mithter Kleen. The kind that maketh brave men yellow. You aren't yellow, are you Mithter Kleen?" She gave me a look like Gumby gives Pokey.

"Color me interested," I replied, "but first let's get some food and grog. Investigating is hungry work." Hopefully she'd foot the bill as well.

"I haven't theen a waiter," she noted.

"You have to go up to TJ and order in person. What'll ya have?"

"Jutht bring two of whatever you want, Mithter Kleen. I'm not peculiar," she misspoke.

"All right. Be right back." I approached the bar and the tough old salt behind. He was Tequilla Jack, the dive's namesake, a merchant marine from the old days. He used to sail the seas, savoring the sights of a thousand shores, selling sabres and sealing wax to czars and sultans around the sphere. Now he shlepped drinks and food to the crazy, evil, and merely disjointed tribes of Da Mall, a thousand miles from the nearest ocean, but replete with a pirate legion of its own. He longed for the sea, so in short order he lent the joint a tall measure of his experience, and gave it a nautical nudge. He was eccentric, all right; but he was the captain of his ship, and any mutiny could land you in the brig. He also makes mean fish 'n' chips. I approached him.

"What ye be wantin' then, me matey?" he growled when he saw me.

"Your Chicken platter. Two." I looked him straight in his one good eye.

"Six dead hens on a bread pan, Ness!" he called to the back. "Yo ho ho!" came the spirited reply.

"And a bottle of rum," I added hastily.

"And a bottle of rum!" As he reached for it beneath the counter, he eyed me warily. "Ain't I seen ye before, matey? Seems ye've weathered some heavy seas here before."

"Sure I been here. But I ain't here now." His toothless smile and quick wink conveyed his understanding.

"Allrighty, mate. Ye're number six. We'll call ye when yer meat is aready. And the bottle's on the house." He winked again, then tended another customer.

"Well? What did you order?" inquired Andrea as I returned.

"Chicken. It'll be a few minutes. Here." I filled her glass with rum, then my own. "Here's to a solution," I toasted, and slammed my drink.

"To a tholution." She drank. "I hope it happenth thoon."

"Whether it's sooner or later, general or particular, it's sure to be singular, Red. That much I've learned." I tossed back another shot. "But let's get down to business. What's this information you have?"

"Latht month I got a thtartlting phone call. I went to high thchool in Collinth, you know, and made lotth of friendth. I altho made theveral enemieth. My biggetht rival in thchool wath Cookie Cuthter. She hated me. Well who should call me latht month but Cookie herthelf. She wath in town for a few dayth and wanted to meet with me. I aththented, but wath thurprithed that she did thith. Anyway, when we met, she thaid she wath thorry about all the mean thingth she had done to me. But she didn't look theriouth, like she wath covering thomething. Well she left, eventually. But the next day I thaw her thpeaking to Ugly, in an alley. I couldn't hear what they thaid, but it thounded urgent. I didn't tell Ugly that I had heard anything. But I thuppothe they were dithcuththing my demithe. What do...you think?"

"Sounds like a solid lead," I yawned. "That may be the break we need. I'll set it up to talk with Miss Cookie Custer. Hang on." I went to fetch our meals, which we then ate in silence for a bit.

"What about your outingth, Mithter Kleen?" asked Andrea with her mouth full. "Did you find anyhting out yourthelf?"

"Let me ask you this first. Does Cookie come to the city often?"

"I think tho. Why?"

I spun my yarn, weaving sinusoidally from event to event, the importance of the deatail in phase with my volume. I told her about my theory on the disguised visitor to 23 Garrish.

"You don't thuppothe it wath Cookie, do you?" she blurted.

"Don't jump to conclusions," I bleated.

"Are you holding thomething back?" she blamed.

"No," I blithely belched. "I'm bloated," I noted as well.

"But thurely it maketh thenthe, Mithter Kleen. The thooner you put her away the better." She looked so convinced that I almost concurred. Luckily bill came.

"Dutch," she said. She tried to halve the numbers. "Let'th thee... half a chicken...half a bottle...two by eight is two...oh drat I hate numberth!" She smiled warmly. "Could...you do it for me?" she implored.

I split the bill and put in my share. I wanted to hang aroung a while, so I gave Andrea my number and made an appointment for the following week.

"It'th been very helpful, wouldn't you thay, Mithter Kleen? Very... helpful."

"Should be like integrating a constant. And call me Miami."

"Very well...Miami. Next week, then." She slunk out like something slinky.

I downed a couple more shots and after they hit me, I decided to head up to the street to get some air. As I stood among the gunshots and screams, my breath showing its vorticity in the cold air, a sharp blow thudded on my head, and even the limited light went black.

I awoke to a splash of water on my face. Around me stood various thugs and miscreants, fingering weapons of disproportionate length. I was tied to a chair, bound tighter than a nucleus, in a small room with white walls and cracked plaster, scummy water dripping from the ceiling. That wasn't the water that hit me. The thug who held the glass spoke.

"He's comin' to, boss."

"Good. I wish to ask him some questions."

I knew that voice. It belonged to a gangster that I had put away a dozen times, only to be thwarted by red tape and a silver mouthpiece. On his hands was the blood of a score of men, a hundred businesses, and all of human decency. He was lower than a first harmonic and cooler than absolute zero. He was Mr. Biggest. And he had me.

"Biggest of Da Mall, I presume. Been a while."

"That's Mr. Biggest to you, Kleen. I have things to discuss with you."

"Looks like you got the upper hand, Biggest. Discuss what?"

He came close, sticking his thug mug in mine. "I want to ask you about ...Ugly McButt."

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"It just so happens I know the man," I replied. "What poop do you want to scoop?"

"You dog," sneered Biggest. "You have been a poppy seed between the dentures and gums of my affairs. You have bitten away thousands of dollars, and left a gnawing doubt in my associates' minds. Well that's your job; I can't chew you out for earning a buck. But!" He slammed his fist into a hitherto unnoticed table. "When you start pulling the very food out of my mouth, I begin to get annoyed. And to crown it all, the police are beginning to take renewed interest in me."

"What are you babbling about, Big? I haven't nixed any of your schemes in months."

"Oh no? Then what about sire McButt?"

"What about him? He's the plum in a pie of mine. Just a lover's spat. You know: a tiff, quarrel, argument, debate, rumble, toe-to-toe. Nothing special."

"Precisely. And do you know what he was doing before you started sticking your nose in?"

"I'm not a mind-reader, Big, even if you had a mind to read."

"Remember where you are, Kleen. Men have eaten soap for less than that." He chuckled at his own base humor. "Hm ha. Anyway. Ugly McButt was a client of mine. He wished to have some money that he hadn't, and the banks all refused him. I was happy to help out, of course. At the usual rate."

"A finger a day, I'll bet. How much did he borrow?"

"My customers have a right to financial privacy, Kleen. At any rate, he was busy working off his debt when suddenly he had to leave town, thanks to you. Now his money remains unreturned."

"Surely you could follow him and 'persuade' him to cough up the dough."

"It's not that simple, simpleton," he simpered. "He went to Ergos City which is...financed by another group. It's not good business to interfere. In any case." He paused to light a long filtered girly cigarette. "In any case, he assured us that he would be back within a week. He had always been a good contract, so we allowed it."

"Ugly McButt? A good contract? That's funnier than a five milliohm resistor."

"You'd find that, when dealing with me, the average Joe Cheatem has a way of reforming rather quickly. Even McButt always paid his debts on time. He did some odd jobs for me as well. He was almost an employee."

"What sorts of jobs?"

"Windows. Floors. Beatings. You know." He took a long drag on his fag. "Small, mercenary things. But that's all past now."

"Why don't you just ask the Ergos City top dogs to let you have him?"

"Ergos City is a chaotic place. It's hard to know who's in charge. And that's the problem, Kleen. From the look on your face, I can see that you are ignorant of the latest development in your little case. Doll!" He snapped his fingers and an obese, leather-clad woman waddled through the door. She gripped a newspaper in her meaty paw. "This is Doll, my moll. Say hello."

"Hey, y'all," she drawled.

"The paper, Doll," commanded Mr. Biggest. She gave it to him and left the way she came; with difficulty.

"She's not small, but she's good at chess," confessed Biggest. "But here. This is tomorrow's edition of the Ergos City HUH? And back in the police report," he shuffled through the paper. "This little gem." He let me read it.

"'Man found gunned to death in alley. Identified as...'" I stopped.

"That's right, Kleen. Your boy. McButt has gone bye-bye."

"Why? Why?" I couldn't believe my dratted luck.

"My, my," purred Biggest. "Such concern! Could it be you are found out?" He grinned like a cheshire cat that refused to disapppear.

"He was only my prime suspect, Biggest. Well, I guess that clears him. Why'd this have to happen?"

"Apparently, he ran into some rivals of mine and had a disagreement They decided that his death would be the best way to resolve it. Normally that sort of thing is decided by people rather high on the totem pole, and is easily traced. But in Ergos City the heirarchy is ever-flowing, smeared-out. Neither the police nor I have any idea who, if anyone, ordered that execution. They're so sloppy," he opined in addition. "But you're the one who drove him there. I hold you responsible. And you have a debt to pay." His thugs drew closer, as though my magnetic moment had increased and they were bits of unidentifiable metal. I began to sweat it.

"Look, Biggest. Mr. Biggest. How could I have known that he would run off and get himself killed? It's not my fault."

"We're past those kinds of defences, Kleen. You will pay me." He demanded and recieved a long knife from one of his minions. "In full." His hand twitched.

And the coils of rope fell from me like so much symplectic goo.

"Awwwwww," the gangsters moaned, disappointed.

"Thanks," I said, much looser. "But I know you too well, Biggest, to think that I'm going to get out of here unscathed."

"You are right, Kleen. I am a businessman, and my business is always to the fore. I do not throw away useful items. And, whatever differences we have, however plodding and thick-headed you may be, you are useful."

"So what do you want me to do, Big? Floors and windows?"

"Nothing so colorful. The police, you see, are giving me a hard time about McButt's death. They know that we are connected, and that he has done small work for me. Like myopic lions they have sprung upon the closest prey, and like gnats they are a nusiance that must be tolerated. But they are costing me money. To pay your debt, you are to stop that from happening."

"You want me screw the cops?" The thought was chilling.

"Hardly," he laughed. "I am capable of that myself. No, I want you to help thm. Continue your investigation. Find out who killed McButt. Bring the dastardly fellows to justice. Then my operations will become once more unencumbered by the long arm of the law. That is your payment."

Working for Mr. Biggest. It hurt to think of it in the same way it hurts to contemplate spherical harmonics. There were no medical benifits and no dental plan, aside from keeping both health and teeth. Promotions were few and the salary nil, and in this job the competition was murder. But faced with a choice between a knife in the ribs and a kick in the pants, I chose the kick, hoping it would be as swift as it was painful. I stood up.

"All right, Biggest. I'll do it. I'll try to keep the cops off your back, too. But don't think this means I like you."

"Never. I'll provide some meager assistance and trifling information. And please...call me 'boss.'" He chortled at that lu-lu.

"Sure, 'boss.' But if you wanted my help, why tie me up? Why not just a simple how-do?"

"Two reasons. One: I wasn't sure how you'd take the news of McButt's timely demise. And Two:" He leered into my face. "It really was so very much fun. Which reminds me, I can't let you know the location of this bungalo."

"You mean a blindfold? That's an old gag."

"No." For the second time in a night, the world went black as a club fell across my neck. The last thing I saw was Mr. Biggest laughing his fool head off.

My forced nap ended with me sprawled on the floor of my office. I struggled to my feet and noticed on my desk a new bottle of rum and a small typed note. I read the note.

"Esteemed employee:

As a help to you in completing your appointed task, I will give you the following tidbit. Long ago a professer came to our company for a loan. He defaulted. As an alternative payment he caused some exams of other delinquent clients to be difficult. He still does work for us from time to time. His name is Kareem Grien. He was know to bear a grudge against the deceased. Find Grien's function in this problem, and I'm sure your mind will come up with a solution. Enjoy the gift I have included with this card. Drink to a long and healthy partnership, B.

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"Go way," I pleaded.

"It's the cops, Kleen. Open up."

It sounded like my old pal Inspector Fuzz, but I had been taken in by such ploys before. I demurred.

"Come back tomorrow, Fuzz. That would be peachy."

"Open the damn door, you foul-smellin', booze-swillin', no-good excuse for a private part! Or will I be bringin' out me potato gun?"

So it was. Inspector Fuzz. He was a son of a son of a son of an Irish immigrant, and had changed his name because he liked the joke. Normally his accent was disguised, but somehow I always got it going again. He was a mean old spud, viscious in a fight, and had been playing the game with professers longer than a proton's lifetime. Sure, he had some strange quarks; but we had saved each other's bacon enough times that we started developing a strong interaction that was as close to friendship as either of us would get. I decided to let him in.

"OK, OK, " I OK'd, and stumbled to the door which he could've smashed in with a light sneeze. He and a small weasally deputy stepped in as boldly as if they'd exactly solved the three-body problem.

"So, Kleen. Still tryin' to live up to your name, I see." He laughed at his own joke for a while. The deputy snickered, really satisfied. "But this ain't a social call, as you've probably guessed."

"Yeah, I figured, Fuzz. But come in and sit down. Close the door. I'm sure we can find a spot for your little friend, too. Can I get you a drink? I have some rum."

"Rum? Some fun. It hurts me tum." He looked glum, and introduced the deputy. "This is deputy Dogg, of the Eighth. He's here to learn about homicide duty."

"Woof," said deputy Dogg.

"Yeah yeah. What do you mean 'homicide duty.'?"

"Now, as easy as it is for you, don't play dumb. Surely you've seen today's HUH? From Ergos City?"

"I don't get it, Fuzz."

"Ergos city. Like 'ergocity.' You know."

"The paper, Fuzz. I don't get the paper."

"Ah. Well, here it is." Deputy Dogg whipped out a rolled-up paper, drooling with some approximation of glee.

"First section. Page 8. That's it."

Once more I saw the article about McButt. So the mob hadn't just printed a fake to get me to play their game. Ugly was really dead.

"So a low-life hood gets nixed by some other low-life hoods. What's that to do with me?"

"Don't be coy, boy. We know your history, and we know your clientel. We know that you had been hired to trace McButt. We know that you spoke with certain undesirable social elements last night, and that they had reasons to plant McButt."

"If you know all that, then why come after me?"

"Because we don't know everythin'. We've been after Biggest and his crew for ten years, and now we really have a lead. If we can prove that he pulled the trigger, then, well. I'd say it'd just about make our day, now, wouldn't it, Dogg?" The deputy nodded like his damping coefficient was much much less than one.

"And you think I can help you. Turn over some information. Is that it?"

"That's about the size of it, Kleen."

"Well, I have a little bit to share with you, I suppose."

"That's really big of you, son."

"But with one small stipulation: play it my way."

"Oh, great. Another tiny game. Well, let's hear what you have in mind."

"I'm working on a case that can make your whole week, Fuzz. Bigger than Biggest."

"Impossible," scoffed the cop.

"True," I rebuffed. "You can have everything I know, but you'll have to lay off of Biggest for a while. I can't tell you why. But I know that Biggest didn't pull the trigger."

"You figger?" quipped Fuzz. "Or did he tell you this?"

"That's dangerous ground, Fuzz. Like I say, play my way.

"Ok, OK. So if he didn't do it, who did?"

"That's what we have to find out. But it's not just McButt. This case could blow some profs too. The whole city could shake. Isn't that worth one measelly gangster?"

Inspector Fuzz chewed his lip. Deputy Dogg whimpered slightly. They looked like they were being asked to solve a chaotic system with perturbation theory. Finally he answered.

"All right, Kleen. You've pulled me carcass through a lot, and me gut says to trust you. Much to the dismay of my common sense. I'll keep the hounds away from Biggest. Now tell me all you can."

I gave him the skinny on everything that had happened with Andrea, George, Cookie, and Grien, leaving out the part about my clandestine employment. He shook his head when I was done.

"It's a mystery, to be sure. Well, what are you going to do next?"

"I'm going down to the School Yard to question Grien. He might be the link to this whole mess."

"I'll drive you there, then. After I have that drink you offered." He took a pull from the bottle that Biggest had given me. "Faugh! You ought to be able to buy better than this, you short-sheetin' milksop!"

"Funny you'd know, Irish."

He laughed. "Just like old times, ain't it? Come on, Dogg! We're done here. Time to go to the Yard!" The deputy scampered ahead of us to the car. I locked up, such as it was, and got in. A scant few minutes later we were at the Yard, our city's answer to higher education. Fuzz turned to me.

"Take care of yourself in there. Grien's a nasty character, and most of the rest of them are worse. Don't ruffle any feathers."

"I'm not chicken," I replied. "If I can skin this bird, we'll all be giving thanks tomorrow."

"All right then. Be off with you." He gripped my hand as though he were demonstrating my shear modulus. "We're a fine pair, ain't we, Kleen?"

"Yeah. Just fine." I got out of the car and waved him off. I could see the deputy's head out the window as he drove into the mire of the city. I turned around and headed into the Yard.

The School Yard is a single building, but it feels like a metropolis. An entire educational system held forth within its walls, but like most things in our town, it had a different set of rules from the outside world. There was no tuition and no fees, but everything you did had to be bribed out of somebody. You couldn't take a leak without slipping a janitor a ten-spot to let you in. Profs, TA's, RA's, Laundry Squad: all of them had to be greased to prevent rust and squeaks. Cheating was permissable, even expected, since only money or sex could buy a good grade. It was a twisted, tainted system; and as if in keeping with that theme, the hallways themselves were a tangle. It was a way of keeping the money spread around. A student lost in the maze would most likely have to bribe someone to get back to his classroom or to find an exit, bouncing around, spending an equal amount of time in all space, like a Birkhoff's Billiard ball. In this web of sin I had to find Kareem Grien, the spider at the center, greedy for a petulant fly, without losing too much scratch. My first buck went to a sentinel just inside the door.

"This honeycomb's big," I remarked idly as I passed her the cash.

"It's not small," she replied, holding out her paw for more.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I muttered. "That's a big big bite."

"For a big, big taste, you got a big, big bite." A fiver at last saw her replete. "Grien's office is thataway." She pointed at the wall directly in front of us.

"Look. The next slug you get will be from my piece, sister. Now tell me where to find Grien." She looked as afraid of me as a math major is of addition.

"Right there. I told ya." I looked again, and where the wall had been was now a long, winding passage. Grad students groped and wandered within. I jumped through just as the gate shut behind me.

Dark; narrow; filled with lost and lonely souls, lusting for a ray of sunshine, a glint of hope. Not the pits of hell, but the halls of higher education. I groped and wandered with them, feeling my way to the next junction. I asked one of them where Grien was.

"You know where an office is?" he shireked, misinterpreting my question as a statement. Suddenly there were dozens of them around me, thrusting money in my face, mobbing me for the information I didn't have. It was a grim scene; I didn't want to have to kill them all, but their desperation was catching. I was slammed against a wall. Grimy, calloused hands pawed me as if I were a diploma for the taking. I reached into my coat.

"Back off, you slaves!" I commanded, but they only had ears for directions. They were getting dangerous. Finally I thought of it.

"Three doors down and take a left! Up two flights! Through the lobby and you're out!" They roared and threw their money at me, running off to find whatever I had given them. I breathed a little easier. Nothing's more touchy than playing with the future of a grad student. Except maybe being one. I stooped down to rake in my windfall.

"Expertly done, Kleen detective. I am impressed most profoundly."

I was up and around in a flash, gun at the ready. Kareem Grien stood smiling at me, his own rod aimed at my gut.

"No, no, no, no, no, Mister Kleen. I am not permitting you shoot with your weapon, no. Please insert it back within your clothing article."

"So, Professer Grien," I said, easing the Roscoe into my shoulder holster. "I don't recall you being this quiet. How is it you snuck up on me?"

"Ha ha ha. It is not now the time for questions but the time for answers. Why are you doing here, swimming like fish? Are you perhaps seeking to finding me?"

"You got it, prof. I have some bones to pick with you."

"Oh, it is bones we are picking? Well bones it is I have for picking with you as well, Mister Kleen. Please step into my office room." He touched his watch and the wall opened up, revealing an office cluttered with paper and books. This place was full to the eyelids with damned secret doors. I stepped inside.

"Perhaps you would be liking a cup of tea, Mister Kleen?" said the prof as he shut the door again. "Or am I remembering rightly that you prefer somewhat more alcoholic type beverage?" He circled around behind his desk and put his gun away in the drawer. "I am not liking guns very much. Still I can kill you most easily, most easily. Now you were saying about your drink?"

"Scotch rocks," rolled the words casually from my mouth.

"Oh I am not having any of that nasty stuff. You will have to settle for tea. Ha ha ha." He busied himself for a few minutes getting a cup ready for each of us. "Ah yes a good cup of tea is just right after a busy day." He handed me one. It tasted like the bottom of a cattleman's boot.

"It's wonderful," I grimaced, "but I'm here to get some information. Information on some students of yours."

"Be not so impolite, Mister Kleen. We finish our tea and then we are talking business and informations. Most assuredly I can help you if you can help me." It was that old Yard mentality. We finished our tea.

"Now then. Which of my many students are you wishing for information?"

"Her name's Andrea. I don't know the last name."

"Ah, Andrea. Andrea Fault. Yes, most shamefully slow that woman is, most shamefully."

"Not the world's best physicist, eh?"

"I am not now talking of physics but of pleasure! I am coming to mine much sooner than she is coming to hers. I have many busy things to do and cannot wait for slowly working students. Ha ha ha." The mere thought of Grien and Andrea knocking boots was more nauseating than the tea.

"Yeah, well, whatever. Do you have records of her?"

"Always am I keeping records of my students. But why are you wishing them? They are, how you say, top secret. Something you are giving to me first before you see them."

"What do you want?"

He leaned over the desk and whispered. "I am wanting you to find a person for me. A student I wish to meet. It is most important that this meeting occur, for many sakes."

"A physics student should be easy enough for you to find. You're a hancho hereabouts."

"Ah, but you have the crux of the matter by the horns! It is not a physics student I am seeking. She is an art student. Rambling down the arts wing is most dangerous for a technical type professer, most dangerous."

I thought about it a little. The halls of the Yard were full of dangers, and I wanted to spend as little time there as possible. But Grien held all the cards, and if he was as eager to make it with this atrist as he seemed, he might remove some otherwise immovable obstacles.

"All right. Andrea's file for the art student. What's her name?"

"Her name is being Lemon." His voice dropped even lower. I had to lean forward to hear him.

"Lemon who," I whispered back.

"Custer. Lemon Custer."

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"What do you want Lemon Custer for? I'm not here to cater to your depravities, Grien."

"As always you are misunderstanding situations, Kleen detective. I wonder how you stay in business with such a problem. Ha ha ha. No, I have plenty of things of that kind around here for giving pleasure. It is a matter of urgency which drives me to seek Miss Custer in this unpalatable way, yes."

"All right, Grien. I'll see if I can find her. Now get me those files."

"So impatient are you! But of course I will right away be getting them for your eyes to look at." He fiddled with his watch and punched a few secret buttons to unlock his filing cabinet. I heard him thumbing his way through the names: "Finding Andrea Fault...Dulles...Dysentary...Faalderal... ah here we are at Fault! These are the things you are wishing?" He yanked out a sheaf of papers.

"What's on them? Grades?"

"Swtiching? I am not switching anything. I know not what you are talking about, Kleen. Your small mind must be going on a trip. I know nothing of this switching business." His reply made as much sense as a contravariant covector. I repeated my question.

"What's on them? Grades?"

"Oh, many things are on them," he replied, coming back to reality. "Grades, performance, attendence, level of beauty. Miss Fault has some very fine marks in my classes, very fine." He handed me the records. "If only she would learn great haste she would have passed the course."

I perfunctorally perused the proffered pap. Something seemed amiss. I figured Grien was holding something back, something which implicated him in the crime. I confronted him.

"This ain't all, is it Grien? You've got more on her?"

"I assure you there is nothing more of papers about that woman. She was not worthy of much space in my cabinet."

"And yet she had 'fine marks.' How is that?"

"Look at those two columns there. You see they are marked 'Tight Jeans' and 'No Bra.' I believe Miss Fault scored very high as you can see. But she is slowly working and most ignorant, most ignorant."

"All right, Grien. I'll come right out with it. She says you were paid to flunk her. What do you say to that?"

Grien colored a bit but didn't flag. "This allegation is of course completely false. I had nothing to do with that McButt person." As soon as he said it he knew he had goofed. He collapsed into his chair.

"So," I smirked smugly, "you knew McButt. Did he pay you off? Just a little academic accident for Andrea? Is that it?" He mused mutely. "Well your partner in crime had an accident of his own. He was killed in Ergos City, as you must know."

"I do know of this Mister Kleen. But I tell you it was nothing to do with me." He sighed. "I will tell you what transpired with McButt. He was also in the class and was very intrigued with Miss Fault, very intrigued. But soon his interest was deported to other matters of women. It was some time later that he approached me with a deal of some sort. I accepted, but he pulled some fast teeth on me. I flunked him out of my course and he began swearing to revenge on me. But that is another matter for other ears. Andrea did her own flunking yes. She was also enraged and accused McButt of paying me moneys for doing the deed. But such a deed I never dood. It was her own ignorance that made her to flunking. You can see her tests in the pile there."

I riffed through and found her exams. Most of the questions were left blank. Grien sure couldn't have changed those scores much. It didn't make sense...unless Andrea had been playing me for a fool.

"I'm satisfied, Grien," I said simply. I'll just hang on to these. The police may find them useful."

"Take them away, Kleen. And find Lemon Custer. It is her I am needing now to converse." He tweaked some hidden swtich an a wall opened up. "This passage will take you close to the arts wing. I have guards posted at the exit to whom you must say the secret word."

"Well, what's today's secret word?"

"Today's secret word is 'SoundOfSpeed.' You know what to do with this word?"

"Aaaargghh," I screamed real loud.

"Say it to the guards, Kleen. They will let you roam about. Now go. I have half my bargain with you; it is time for you to half your own bargain with me." I slipped through the door and it closed behind me. I heard him yell through the wall, "I am wanting tea with Lemon! Ha ha ha." Nothing's worse than a professer trying to be funny.

Unlike the other hallways in the Yard, this one ran straight with a few normal square turns. The walls had arrows painted on them giving directions to various locales within the building. I followed the pink one marked 'Arts.' After a while I hit a pink door similarly denoted. I pushed through.

Instantly two heavy thugs grabbed me and slammed me against the wall. "What's da passwoid?" they asked eagerly.

"SoundOfSpeed," I grimaced. When they heard me they screamed real loud and let me go, returning to their posts as if nothing had happened. I felt in my coat and found my gun still there, then looked around at the arts wing.

It was vastly different form the sciences in that the students seemed perfectly happy to spend the rest of their days confined within the Yard. They stood slopping paint on walls, writing in poetic scrawls, singing like Lou Rawls. I had to admit, it took balls. Now and again two artists would meet and instantly begin a debate on whose work was more true. I sidled up to a bickering pair to get on with my purpose.

"No no no," said one. "Your use of blue is totally archaic. You're still trying to copy the Bauhaus."

"It is not the use, but verily, the abuse of blue that makes it whole. And you are speaking like a Fauve-lover," said the other.

"I hate to interrupt you," I broke in, "but I'm looking for someone. Name of Lemon. You know her?"

"Ahhhh, lemon. What a perfectly hideous word for a color. I would never use lemon."

"But you are wrong as usual, for lemon is horrible, not hideous, and it is I who will not use it." These two clowns were acting like I was a photon and they interacted only with the weak force. I decided to introduce a strong one.

"OK, artists, you're starving for some discipline." I waved my gun in their faces. "Give with the info or you'll be analytically continued to the next world." They looked at me with vague disdain.

"That sounded almost technical. Are you a corporate science slave?" they asked together.

"I'm getting impatient. Tell me where to find Lemon Custer."

"If you really must know, she's down the hall in the Studio. But I must say I don't think she's your type." The two sputtered laughter like they were coating a substrate. I put the gun away and turned to go when they accosted me.

"Wait, brute. Since we have done you a service you must do one for us. say which of us is in the right." Liberal as they pretended to be, they were in the Yard, and that meant punch-counterpunch. I regarded their paintings and let fly with a critical left hook.

"They're not done yet, are they?"

The pair fell moaning to the ground, their weakness exploited. All around other artists stopped their arguing and shrank away. I have more than one weapon in my arsenal; an appropriate uncultured word could fell the most self-satisfied of their lot. I took a step.

"Who's next? How about a group critique?" The mob of students pressed against the walls to escape public scrutiny. I walked freely down the corridor toward the Studio. I found it and went inside.

Only one student was there, in front of a huge black canvas. She was dressed head to foot in black as well. Harsh music played from a hidden source, and the artist danced nimbly, throwing a splash of black paint up every now and then. She danced great. I cleared my throat.

"Are you Lemon Custer?" I asked. She stopped dancing and came over.

"Yes. That's me. Lemon Custer. What can I do for you?"

Her skin was utterly white and luminous, as though she were a blackbody radiating at 5000 Kelvin. Her features were slightly Arabic, her lips a Helium-Neon red. Her black curly hair was short and gleaming. She was a damn fine looking woman, one to send physics geeks into cataclysmic self- pity. I could see why Grien wanted to 'talk' to her.

"My name's Kleen. I have some questions to ask you."

"Are you a detective?" She was preceptive as well. But I had to keep my mind on the job.

"That's right. Some people I work for are interested in seeing you."

"What if I don't want to go?"

"Listen, doll. Don't make me reach in my coat again. I'm tired of using this extended phallus to get my way. Just cooperate." She laughed.

"You don't really know who I am, do you Mister Kleen?"

"All I know is Kareem Grien wants to talk to you about something and I owe him. He couldn't come down here because of the danger to science-types and he sent me to fetch you. I don't know what he wants but it's a cinch that if I don't take care of this he'll make it rough on me on the outside. He's got power, babe."

"Power? That's a laugh. One call to my uncle and you'll know power. I can have you killed in an hour." She frowned. "Luckily for you, I don't like my uncle too well." She walked back to her painting.

"What is that," I asked of it.

"Bunnies," she replied. "All sorts of little hopping bunnies. Do you like it?"

"It really jumps," I said. "But I'm telling you. Grein can make it nasty down here if you don't come along. Don't make me expand a potential in multipoles." I brought out my Jackson, but I didn't have my heart in it. It was in my chest where it belonged. And Lemon was beginning to soften it.

"It's because Grien is afraid of my uncle that he won't come near me. And I already know what he has to say." It sounded like she was crying. The last thing I needed was a sobbing dame.

"Break my heart, doll. It's the way the Yard works. I do something for him, he does something for me. Now you're gonna do something and go see Grien." She was really pouring it out now. I started toward her. Suddenly a door burst open and in dashed another woman. She had on army fatigues and carried an m60 pointed my way. I know better than to argue with superior firepower. I put up my hands.

"Lemon! Are you all right?" She ran over to the wailing girl, who waved her back. She took a new interest in me and cocked her piece. "He's not Grien...who is he? A hired thug? I'll deal with him." She sneered and shoved the barrel of the rod into my nose. "Did Grien send you to kill my sister like he killed her lover?" I had to look cool.

"Look, lady. I don't know anything. He just wants to talk to her. That's what he said." I noticed then that she was the spitting image of Lemon. They were twins.

"Take him this message, you bastard." Her finger tightened.

"No, Cookie! Leave him alone." Lemon grabbed her sister's arm.

"Cookie Custer? You're Cookie Custer?" Neurons in my brain started making hitherto unknown connections. The gun lowered.

"Yeah, that's me. What about it? What do you want here?"

"He just wants to take me to see Kareem Grien. I was about to go."

"Oh, yeah? Then why were you crying so hard? What'd this creep do to you?"

"He..." She sniffed a little. "He just reminded me of Ugly."

"Ugly McButt? You're the artist?" I was getting confused. "Listen, Cookie, or whoever you are. Why don't you tell me the whole story. We got time. I mean, no use rushing into things." She thought for a moment.

"All right. I'll tell you. Have a seat." She prodded me down with the gun barrel. I sat, waiting for her to begin. This is one tough Cookie, I thought to myself.

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"Please, Cookie. Those things are horrible for you."

"Don't be so damn granola," she grumbled back, sucking a huge toke. "If you'd give in to your oats once in a while, you'd be happier."

"Well you don't have to bake me at 350 degrees for 15 minutes or until golden brown," retorted Lemon. "I'm just concerned about you, honey."

"Yeah, yeah," Cookie puffed, playing with the safety on her weapon. She returned her attention to me. "What do you think, weasel?"

"I prefer Cap'n Crunch," I replied. "Could you get on with it? I got things to do." She shot me a look like a confused professer.

"I'll talk when I'm good and ready. I gotta think where to start." She smoked intensely for a moment. "Well," she finally began, "I guess it goes back to high school. We're both straight outta Collins, you know. I went to Fishes Academy."

"You were a Playful Puppy?" I interrupted incredulously.

"And damn proud!" she barked, swinging her '60 to bear on my head. "And if you got any more to say about it you can do it with a new mouth!" She was rabid. I guess she'd got a lot of flak about her school mascot. She had to growl a little before she was ready to come to heel.

"Where was I? Oh yeah, school. Well Lemon of course went to the alternative campus to study art and stuff. Waste of time, if you ask me. But I started lifting and martial arts, including power emanation and offensive macrame."

"I'll bet you weild a mean needle," I said.

"You're sharp," Cookie replied. "But shut up for once so I can make my point. Anyway, that's that. Then we came here after we graduated. Lemon's an artist, natch, and I do phys ed. I gotta stay tough, right? It's a savage maze out there. I look after my sister cause she's too trusting."

"You've always tried to be a mother, Cookie. I need my own life," broke in Lemon.

"I am a mother," snorted her twin. "A mean-ass mother. You keep letting your guard down and you'll get hurt again. So I protect you. If I'd have been on the ball, Ugly's head would've rolled before now. Just be glad I'm around." She circled me. "Just be glad I'm around to get rid of vermin like this."

"Please, Tootsie. Keep your mind on business," I said. "You're telling me how you gotta stay tough."

"It's Cookie, doughboy," she said. "Yeah it's tough out there. It's so tough..."

"How tough is it?"

"It's so tough that today I had to blow away three Psych majors cause they wanted to analyze me."

"That's no joke," I appreciated. "But tell me about Ugly. Sounds like you weren't too keen on him."

"Right, Ugly. One day Lemon comes home all flighty. I knew she was in trouble, but I didn't say nothing. She's going on and on about this guy, this engineer. Well that's not too bad, I think. He might make some money. Then I meet the bastard. He was mob, plain as milk. He was just after power. I wanted to off the bug, but I couldn't repel Lemon. So I just gritted my teeth."

"That's rough on your bicuspids," I said with heart.

"Damn straight," Cookie cursed. "Then word comes down the pipe that Ugly threw Andrea Fault over for Lemon. I knew that bitch from Fishes and so I called her up. I figured I could get some poop on Ugly that would make Lemon smell out his rotten ways. I made nice with Red and tried to get her to spill something vital. But she didn't know nothing. It was up to me. Before I could dig up any dirt, though, your boss killed McButt dead. I can't say I'm sorry about it, but I just wanted to break them up. The news really blitzed Lemon, though. She's been dressing all in black and acting creepy ever since and I'm about tired of it. But you'll never get her." She resumed her firing stance. "Your boss might get the message if your head is all that comes back to him."

"You mean Grien? He's a lean scene," I beamed. "I'm not working for him, just returning a favor. But you think he killed McButt, and is out to kill Lemon as well."

"I think it cause that's what happened. He's mob too, sure as deoderant. And if you're his pal, you must be mob. All the more reason I should relieve your neck of its weight."

"Don't lose my head," I said. "Lemon, tell her what's going on."

Lemon spoke haltingly. "He said he's a detective. He said he owes Kareem Grien and that he wants to see me."

"If that's so, what case are you working on? What does it have to do with us? And what's so important that Grien would send a law man down to do his job for him?"

"The case is classified," I ducked. "And Grien wouldn't tell me what he wants. He was pretty desperate, though, you're right. I've run into him before, and he was never so friendly. But look. If you're so worried, come along. He never said to bring Lemon alone. I'm sure he won't pull anything with that kind of hardware staring at him." I indicated the '60. Cookie considered carefully.

"No harm in it, I guess. If you're lying you'll die anyway. You've got nothing to gain." She fingered her safety. "OK, gumshoe. I'll bite. Take us to Grien." She laughed. "I'm not guaranteeing that I won't ice the both of you anyway."

"Ice, ice, baby," I said, "to your heart's content. But wait until we get there to see if it's worth it." I got up off the floor and wiped the dust off. "You'll find I'm not talking classical and doing quantum. Are you ready to propagate, Lemon?" She still looked a little pekid.

"Yes. Let's go." She slapped on a black beret and we headed off, Cookie's barrel hovering closely at hand. I figured I could take her, in a pinch, if she decided to play hard ball. I never prefer a pinch hit, but with two outs you run on anything. Further paining Lemon might be an error, though; I'd have to avoid a wild pitch. Especially in Grein's office. With all the death machines in there, a triple play could end the inning with nobody left. I'd have to bat cagily.

We retraced my path through the Arts wing, bothered not at all by the self-absorbed denizens, thanks to Cookie's firepower and perpetual sneer. She obviously had a thing against artists in general. We made it back to Grien's secret passage, where the thugs stood guard. I offered the secret word.

"SpeedOfSound," I said. "Aaarghh!" they screamed real loud, but it was not a scream of acknowledgement. They lunged at us, knives previously pocketed now whirling in our direction. I fell onto my back and boosted one of the miscreants overhead. The thug thudded. I got up and whipped out Jackson.

"The Dirac monopole has its origins in..." I never finished. The grunt hurled his knife into the spine, leaving the blade a mere millimeter from my skin. He pulled out another and approached. I dropped the book and went for my steel, but his arm was already cocked. He threw his dagger at my skull. I ducked, too late. I would've been stuck like a trajectory on an invariant torus, but Cookie nailed the spike with one of her own, deflecting it at the last second. For once I was glad we had met.

"Step back, gumshoe. I'll deal with this joker." I retreated slowly, noting that the other guard had been dispatched handily. I reassessed my chances against Cookie, who was trying to reason with our adversary."

"Look, macho man," she threatened, "This is an m-60. You fire it from a tripod. I'm carrying it. It's used against armor. You've got nothing. What are your chances? Just open the door and I'll let you see another day in the Yard." The thug was easing back his hand toward a .44. I slipped my hand into my coat.

"We need him alive, Cookie, to open the door. Just take off his legs." I hoped my chatter would scare him. But he kept moving his hand.

"Keep still!" ordered Cookie. He just grinned. Maybe he had body armor under his clothes, that made him invulnerable to bullets. Maybe he was super fast. Maybe he had heat vision. He went for his piece.

Maybe he was just stupid. I fired a slug into his hand as he brought it up. Cookie let fly a burst between his eyes. And the meek Lemon had grabbed the knife from the floor and got him in the hamstring. He was meat, or at least soy protein. He gestured me over to him."

"At last I am free of him," he gasped. "Now I can see the light. How foolish I have been."

"Save the kitsch, pal. Just tell me how to open the door. Do one decent thing before it's over."

"Gladly will I repent. Yea, though I am guilty of a thousand sins, yet with my dying breath I will strike a blow for justice. I will not attain absolution, but in this kindness, perhaps I will be..."

"The door, deadster," I snapped.

"Just press the button over there marked 'Secret Don't Touch This.' Now! I am as a bird, an eagle, soaring, soaring...arrrggeef." He plotzed. I guess standing guard in the Arts section had twisted his mind as much as Grien had twisted his soul. I felt a little sorry for the yutz...he was just outclassed this time. I got up.

"What did he say?" asked Cookie.

"He said 'arrrggeef,'" I reported.

"Before that. About the door."

"Right. It's just over there. Thanks for the assist, sister. You might've gone for a wound, though."

"I don't go for wounds," Cookie spat. "And as for you, Lemon." She embraced her twin. "Good throw! I didn't think you had it in you!" Lemon smiled weakly. "Now let's go do the same to Grien!"

I found the button and pressed it. The passageway opened and Cookie gestured me inside. She still didn't trust me.

"Look, doll. If I were leading you into a trap, why did those goons attack me? You saw you close I got to getting nailed."

"Ha! You don't get off that easy. I've seen similar ploys in American Ninja Part VII: The Keebler Conspiracy. Just keep walking." She fiddled with the safety as she spoke. "We're due for Grien's tea-time. Then we can party."

"Keep a lid on it, Cooks. Don't shoot until we get his story." She grunted and lit another cigar in reply. So it was to be a tea; a tea with Lemon and Kareem. And I had learned through experience that in such situations, something always got curdled.

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"Didn't you want your book? You left it back there."

"You mean Jackson? Nah. I never liked that rag. Mostly used it for a doorstop. Besides, the joke was getting old."

"Do you really think Grien just wants to talk? I mean, he might..."

"Of course he doesn't want to talk," broke in Cookie. "He just wants to finish what he started. He didn't count on me." She cackled visciously.

"No, he counts on his fingers," I rejoined. "Believe me, with all the secret buttons and death rays and red meat in there, he can press your brains out in no time."

"I been there," growled Cookie crumbily. "It was like a training room I have at home. I had no trouble with it." This dame was certainly full of herself. Or not empty of herself. Depends how you look at it. I decided not to respond, but talked to Lemon instead.

"So tell me, before we get there. What did you see in Ugly? Anybody coulda told you he was a class A bum, not worth the trouble to say 'yo homey' to. But you were really into him. Why is that?"

Lemon took a few seconds to answer. "He was a real man," she said at last. "And he really liked me. He never said my art looked like mutated cheese doodles, even though he wanted to."

"What were you painting?" I asked.

"Mutated cheese doodles," she replied sadly. "Next to bunnies, they're my favorite thing."

"Personally, I prefer brown paper packages tied up with strings. But go on. How did you meet the 'real man'?"

"There are these stupid science requirements. I was in the same physics class as him. He was going out with...with Andrea, but I could tell that wasn't going to last. They broke up and I made myself available. Cookie told me he was a mobster, but I knew he wasn't. He was too nice. He even proposed to me."

Here was some news. "He asked you to marry him? When was that?"

"Oh, some time last month. Before all this terrible mess started. He had me meet him in an alley. He got down on one knee and proposed."

"Can you remember exactly what he said? It might be important."

"He said, 'Duh. Here. It ball. Chain to you. Me get ring, no worry. You marry?'. Or something like that."

"He gave a you a ball and chain? That's pretty original."

"Yes. I wish I'd thought of it. How could I refuse such a thing? I accepted, of course. Naturally I required that he buy me a fancy ring; a woman's got to be practical." Lemon wasn't quite as unearthly as she pretended.

"So did he get you one?"

"He couldn't afford it, but he said he could get the money together quickly. But he never got the chance. He left town without saying goodbye, and..." She began sobbing again. Cookie made gagging noises.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," snorted her twin nasally. "I wish you didn't like him so much, but the world is better without that trash stinking up the air. No offence, sis." Cookie's lack of tact made Lemon react with more lach.

"Never mind, Lemon. We're nearly at Grien's. Then we can all get some answers. If anyone knows what happened to your doomed groom, Grien does. He's got big ears and a really huge nose. And he looks dorky. And he goes into unnecessarily long-winded derivations. And..." My evaluation was cut short by Cookie's curt command.

"Shut up. We're here." We were standing in front of the door leading to Grien's office. I could hear murmuring on the other side.

"Get us in, gumshoe," grumbled the grumpy gunwoman. I didn't know how to get in, but took a chance. I pounded on the door and yelled out the secret word.

"It's me, Grien. I've got her. Open up." I heard him scream real loud, and the door opened. Cookie jumped in immediately, swinging her '60 to bear on Grien. I heard a decidedly familiar feminine gasp. I grabbed Lemon's hand and stepped through. Standing in line with Cookie's piece was a puzzled Kareem Grien, and off to the side was the frightened and misplaced Andrea Fault.

"Kleen, you fool! She'th a madwoman! She'll dethtroy uth all! She'th bent on bloody revenge!" Andrea shook violently.

"What are you babbling about, Red?" asked Cookie. "Why should I want..." Cookie's question was cut off.

"Shoot her! Shoot her! She'th trying to worm her way out of it!" Clearly Andrea didn't want Cookie to say her piece. Things were falling into place like trajectories on a manifold; and the homoclinic tangle was beginning to unwind.

"Please to explaining what this is being about, Kleen," babbled Grien. "You have brought Lemon but also not Lemon. But not Lemon is also Lemon, and not Lemon is aiming large devices for killing at me. I am not recalling that this is part of our deal, no."

I shoved my hands in my pockets. "Don't worry, Grien. I'm just trying to get all this cleared up. It might remedy some blemishes you have, as well. After all, I am a detective." I strolled about the room. "Have a seat, everyone. Lower your gun, Cooks. You won't need it, I think. Now we'll have a nice little oral exam. Just like comps, eh Grien?" He scowled, not used to being on the other end of a test. But he sat down, and Cookie aimed for a lower part of his anatomy. Andrea piped up.

"What do you mean, oral exam? I jutht vithited the dentitht latht year."

"Never mind," I replied. "Now. Grien. Why don't you say to Lemon what you've been wanting to say? We're not to have secrets anymore." The professer looked nervously at his desk, no doubt considering a lethal button to press. Cookie cleared her throat forcefully.

"No tricks, Butthead," laughed the twisted twin.

"All right. I will talk to her. Lemon woman," he began. "You must speaking to your uncle. He is determined to casing me harm for a thing I had no part of. It is all most distressing, most distressing." He wrung his hands like he was announcing his discovery of cold fusion. Again.

"What can I say to him?" asked Lemon. "He won't listen to me. And I'm not sure you didn't do it. Everything points your way. The arguments, the style...they all say you did it."

"Hold it, kids," I intoned. "What did he do? And who's your uncle, and why do we care? Is this at all related to physics, os it just tedious math?"

Grien answered. "It is simple, Kleen detective, too simple for your simple mind. Her uncle accuses me of destroying a person that I am not guilty of. I don't want to dealing with such accusations, as they are a pimple on my reputations."

"But who was it?"

Lemon trembled. "Ugly. He killed Ugly."

"I am saying that I did not harming this man's hair of his head! I want this young lady to tell her powerful uncle that and get on with my life!"

"Thith ith a wathte of time, Miami. Jutht kill all of them and let'th go play thnugglebunnieth." She gave me a look like she was handing out tofu pups.

"Just a sec, doll. Now who is it that's so powerful that even the mighty Kareem Grien fears for his safety?"

"Funny you should ask, dick," came a brusk answer from Grien's front door. Standing there along with an assortment of thugs and attractively wrapped chocolates was Mr. Biggest himself, pointing a .38 revolver at Grien's head. His minions chuckled goofily.

"We meet again, Biggest. Or are you still 'boss'?"

"One's the same as the other, Kleen. Though I must say,as an employee you have been rather lacking. This scene ought to have taken place long ago. I suppose I must thank you, however. You have led me to the lair of Ugly McButt's killer, something even I have been unable to do until now, at least without notice. But once you got in, you made it so easy. And now the question remains: do we turn this jackal over to the police, or do I kill him myself? Or, as a third option, do I let my lovely niece do it for me?" Cookie smiled at her uncle, the toughest gangster in the City. I should have guessed.

"Hang on, you two. This isn't over yet. I still have questions."

"Over?" laughed Biggest. "It's over when I say it's over, lackey. Don't make me penalize you for insubordination." He was as confidant as if he were a Chinese student up against American classes. "And now, my dear Professer Grien, I believe I have made my decision. As much as I support law enforcement, I'm afraid that the opportunity to watch you die in agony is too good to pass up. Cookie, love: you'll get another chance some day. Put down your weapon. This...thing... is all mine." Cookie frowned, but lowered her gun slightly. If I was going to save the information in this chaotic system, I would have to act quickly, before all correlations decayed into the abyss. I readied my plan.

"Goodbye, Grein. I'll see you in Hell." Biggest squeezed the trigger.

Biggest didn't have to wait, because Hell came right to him. Just as he pulled the trigger, Grien snapped off the lights. I hit the deck and spun, squeezing off one round in Biggest's direction. I heard a snap, a crackle, and a pop; and a pair of screams. All the while Cookie was cursing, and I heard Biggest groan. Then the lights came back up.

Biggest was lying on the floor, my nine-mil wad in his arm. He had dropped his gun. Two of his thugs were fried, mere baconny images of their former selves. Where I had been standing was a charred spot. Grien was standing behind his desk, and Cookie was right on him, having evaded his microwave beam, aiming her rifle at his face. I turned my attention to her.

"Drop it," I barked. "This is no time to get playful, puppy. Just let him go."

"Never!" she bellowed, and spun to attack me. Her gun clicked uselessly, and I put a neat round hole in her upper arm. She dropped the m60 and clutched her wound. I got to my feet. Lemon gasped in disbelief.

"You got her!" she exclaimed. "Nobody has ever hit my sister before. How did you do it?"

"Your sister should know better than to play with her safety switch. I noticed that her last fiddling had left it on. I knew Grein would kill the lights, and that he would try to fry us all; so all I had to worry about was keeping 'Unc' from nixing the good professer. Not bad, eh?"

"You cannot blaming a fellow for survival, Kleen detective," said Grien heartily. "No hard feelings, I am hoping?"

"Not really. You do your job, I do mine. But now it's time to get to the bottom of all this. I don't have many questions any more, but I have a lot of answers. If you all behave yourselves, I'll tell you a story." Biggest and his maniacal niece sat up slowly. Cookie had already bound her wound with a rag torn from her shirt. Grien sat down, and Biggest ordered the rest of his goon squad out of the room. I had a captive audience.

"Do you know who killed Ugly?" asked Lemon. "Was it...was it him?" She indicated Grien.

"Yes, I do know, and no, it wasn't him. But it'll be easier if a use a chalkboard. You mind, Grien?"

"Certainly not, Kleen. But I am having trouble with this chalk breaking all the time. And also it is getting all over my face. It is most unbecoming, most unbecoming." He showed me over to a large blackboard, stocked with miniature bits of fractured chalk. Andrea got over her fear and spoke.

"At leatht you shot that horrid woman," she crooned moodily.

"Pay attention now to what is happeneing," directed Grien. "We are starting with Kleen's slate!"

I grabbed a chalk mote and faced my rag-tag class. "I will attack this problem by addressing each of you in turn, and revealing to the rest of you their involvement: what they did and did not do. And we're starting with you." I pointed at the flustered Andrea Fault.

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"And that's the curious thing, babe. It would have made sense to me if you had been doing well and suddenly started flunking. But I've had a good look at Grien's records, and you were dumb to begin with. Remember at Tequilla Jack's, when you couldn't figure out how to split the bill? I figured then it was just nerves; but you've always been stupid. Ugly didn't have to pay anybody to knock you out; you were doing it yourself." She opened her supple mouth, but couldn't figure out anything to say.

"Aha, you see, I am vindictive!" shouted Grien. "I am at last cleared of these nasty rumors. Now I will just be asking you all to go home, please."

"Hold the wire, there. You're not quite out of this. Ugly did approach you for something, some mob-related deal, and you assented. Only after he pulled some dirty tricks did you pull out. But it lasted long enough to serve its purpose."

"And what purpothe wath that, Miami?" spake Andrea silibantly.

"To establish that a deal had been made between the two men. It didn't matter what it was, only that it happened. That way, when you came to me with the story, I'd jump to the wrong conclusion. After all, who would I believe? My client or a gangster?"

"So Andrea did it all?" asked Cookie. "I should've known not to trust that carrot top." She lit up a huge cigar and smiled demonically.

"No, Andrea didn't do anything, really. Like I said, she hasn't got the smarts for it. She's way too dumb to think of anything this complicated. That's where you came in."

"What do you mean? I didn't do nothin'."

"Au contraire, mon frer. When you found out that Lemon was dating Ugly, you called Andrea to get some dirt on him. You said that yourself."

"I also said that didn't get nowhere, spud."

"Not at first. But something happened that made Andrea change her mind. What did you think, Andrea, when Cookie first called you?"

"I though she wath out of her mind," spat the woman. "I wanted nothing to do with her and her thillinethth."

"But then you saw Lemon and Ugly together in the alley. You heard his clumsy proposal. And something inside you snapped. You had to get even, and loathesome as it was, you needed Cookie's brain to help you out. You figured you could kill two birds with one stone."

"What's that supposed to mean?" smoked Cookie.

"Andrea came to me as you planned, planting the idea that McButt had bought off a prof. A plausible enough scenario; it's happened enough. But later on, at T.J.'s, she started pointing the finger at you, Cookie. She wanted it to look like you and McButt were in cahoots."

"Why you little slut!" yelled Cookie.

"No you're a thlut!" rebutted Andrea.

"No you're a slut!"

"No you're a thlut!"

"No you're a slut!"

"Sluts," I barged in. "I mean ladies. There's more to the story. You can fight afterwards." The seething pair relaxed, still mouthing 'slut!' at odd intervals. I began drawing on the board.

"What is it you're doing, Kleen?" said Mr. Biggest suddenly. "I'm getting impatient with all this nonsense."

"Patience, 'boss.' I'll get to you in a sec." I resumed drawing.

"This diagram is looking familiar, Kleen. What are you calling those creatures?"

I finished the picture. "It's very simple. Imagine this stick figure as Andrea and the other as Cookie." I paused to scatchy an itchy. "They fight; they fight; they fight they fight they fight. But when this stick figure comes along," I drew a rodent-like representation of Ugly. "They join forces against it. Simple so far?" The audience bobbed their heads as if a delta function had kicked them into resonance. "But true to form, one of them is secretly plotting to do away with the other. Now I must digress to deal with Mr. Biggest."

"Oh, do explain to me my part in this, oh answer man!" sneered the gangster. "Your crude drawings won't sell, Kleen. They wouldn't even make a good underground comic strip!" I started groaning.

"Aww, hurt my feeings. You're a real joker, Biggest. Wild. Goofy-looking. The same right-side-up and upside-down. But when you started in on this affair, you drew a duece. McButt came to you with an offer. He wanted to marry your niece, and said he'd do your 'floors and windows' for your consent and a fancy ring. You were delighted to have so willing a pawn, and so you agreed. I doubt whether you ever planned to hold up your end. But McButt was straight; he really wanted to get married to Lemon. He did all your dirty work, but when he heard that I was involved, he ducked down to Ergos City for a while until I gave up. He said he'd be back; but in Ergos City, you couldn't touch him, not easily. He could hide there for a long time. Meanwhile you had lost a valuable worker, and were losing face. Plus your niece was pining away. You had to act, and you did the only thing your limited brain could think of; you put out a contract on him."

"That's very clever, Kleen," snickered Biggest. "But I hired you to investigate the death of McButt. Why would I try to incriminate myself? Your tale is reprehensible."

"Try to grasp what I'm getting at, here. You're showing me what you're thinking. This chalk is just a tool; I'm just writing it down. It all goes back to the deal that Ugly made with Grien. I'm guessing now, but I'll bet it had something to do with you. You got mad when Grien cut out, and so had a reason to attack him. He's not so easy to get to, though; so you directed me toward him to get the police off of your back and lead you to his hideout. You figured that misdirection was better than blatant denial. I might suspect you if you just roughed me up." I drew stick figures of Grien and Biggest, and sketched in arrows between them, and an arrow between then and Mcbutt. "But you had another reason to gun for Grien. A more personal reason."

"Don't be ludicrous. I don't get 'personal.' I'm a business man. I don't have the luxury."

"You're also a family man. And your closest family is in this room."

Everyone looked at the twins. Biggest winced and grabbed his arm, but said nothing. I love it when I've got them squirming.

"Like any good family man," I went on, "you had to protect you own. When you found out what trouble your family was in, you reacted in a normal way by acting as a shield. Grien presented an opportunity not only to shield, but to deflect. Why scatter inelastcally when you can scatter elastically; scatter the blame onto someone else?"

"You're reaching, Kleen," sputtered Biggest.

"Yes. I'm reaching the conclusion. You found out that one of your family members had killed McButt. Perhaps as a favor, or perhaps for their own motives. Your thugs you could live without; they were expendable. But family? Your connections were too deep. Even if you didn't care about them, they could lead to you. In any case, whether you were motivated by survival or family instincts, you shifted my attention, and the police's, onto Kareem Grien. And speaking of the cops..." I heard a commotion outside the door and soon Inspector Fuzz stormed in, deputy Dogg on one flank and parking nazi on the other. He had his men pick up all the scattered weapons.

"Well, ye short-sighted, ham-fisted son of a goat! You seem to have handled this fairly well without me. Well, I'm of some use now. Deputy Dogg! Cuff that mongrel Grien and let's get these others to hospital!"

"Hold it, Irish. Grien didn't do anything."

"I thought ye told me he was..."

"No. He's innocent." Inspector Fuzz puzzled.

"Then it must have been Biggest! Well, we finally got ye, you sick, measley little sewer rat! You loathesome wad of phlegm-filled sputem! You..."

"Sorry, Fuzz. He's innocent too."

"He's innocent? Damnation, Kleen, I'm going to arrest somebody if I have to haul yer own stinkin' carcass to pokey! I want a villain!"

"I'll tell you who the villain is. It's..." I paused just long enough to get them all guessing.

"Grein?" guessed Fuzz.

"Biggest?" guessed Grien.

"Andrea?" guessed Cookie.

"That 'Toojy' guy from Chapter Three?" guessed deputy Dogg.

"An uncaring, male-dominated, military-industrial society?" guessed Lemon.

"No, no, no." I drew some more stick figures on the board. "Now do you know?" Dead silence. I felt like a professer asking grad students what the numeral '2' was.

"Look. It would be better all around if the villain would just acknowledge her guilt. I don't want to have to point a finger at her. Why don't you just turn yourself in? It's over."

Slowly, tentatively, she rose. All eyes in the room rested on Andrea Fault. All except Biggest's; he looked at the floor.

"I'm thorry, father," she lisped sadly. "I jutht thcrewed thingth up, didn't I?"

"You sure did," I said. "Why don't you come clean now. It might do you some good."

"All right, Miami. I will." She stood. "Mithter Biggetht ith my father. He had relationth with my mother about when I wath born. He didn't care about her tho much, but he adoreth me. He adopted me when Mother died of canther. He taught me a lot and thent me to thchool. I met hith nietheth there; they theemed to be hith favoriteth, tho I competed with them for attention. We really became enemieth, even though they didn't know who I wath. When we all graduated, I followed them here to keep an eye on them. Then I met Ugly and I didn't care tho much. But then Lemon thtole him from me; he wath going to marry her! I couldn't take it. At firtht I dethided to blackmail him or thomething; but I couldn't think of a good plan, tho I got Cookie'th help, who I knew didn't like Ugly. When he got out of town I thought I lotht my chanthe. But I knew thome people in Ergoth Thity and they helped me find him. I then dethided jutht to end it onthe and for all; I shot him dead. It got him out of Daddy'th hair and it got him back for liking Lemon and not me. I thought it wath perfect; I even though Cookie would take the blame. Now It'th all come apart. Thorry." She looked at her father, who looked up at last.

"Oh, Andrea. How could you think that I liked your cousins better? You're my own daughter! You never had to prove anything to me. You were just so painfully stupid. That's all. And now your stupidity -- which I loved about you! -- has cost me. And you." Such emotion was odd in Biggest, so I decided to cut it short.

"That's right, have a good cry. Fuzz, get this dame outta here, and call the ambulance. Wake up professer Grien. Tote that bale."

Fuzz cuffed Andrea, who looked at me. "Will you...wait...for me, Miami? I had nothing againtht you."

"Yeah, I'll wait twenty years for a dumb, emotionally distrubed woman. Be happy to...not." I jerked my thumb out the door and the deputies took her away. Ah well. There are other fish in the sea. Inspector Fuzz came up to me after Cookie and Biggest had been driven to the hospital. Lemon and Grien were still hanging around.

"There's some things I don't understand, Kleen. You never mentioned the character at 23 Garrish. What's he got to do with this?"

"That was Cookie," I explained. As part of her campaign against McButt, she dressed up and looked for him. Her plan was to scare him into doing something dumb, so that I or the police could track him more easily. But she never contacted him. Unfortunately, Andrea had to help with the makeup, and that's why the scar moved. That babe just wasn't too bright."

"One more thing. How in blazes did ye know that Andrea was Biggest's daughter?"

"I didn't. I had no idea until just now."

"Then how did ye know she killed McButt?"

"I didn't know that, either. I thought Lemon did it."

"Me?" squealed Lemon. "How could you think such a thing?" "Well," I confided, embarrassed. "When I saw you throw the knife down in the hallway, I figured you were only pretending to be meek and mild. Grief is a good ailbi, and easy to maintain. I supposed you were faking it to mask your hatred at finding out that McButt was mob, just like Cookie said. Guess I was wrong."

"Typical of your working, Kleen detective. Always you are jumping to conclusions that are wrong to be jumping, but you luck into the right ones! You are -- how you say -- lucking duck. Ha ha ha." Grien was back to his fearless, godless self. "Now I am asking that you continue your discussion outside of my offices! I have hours soon and many pretty young ladies with grades to fix will be here. Scoot!" Lemon and the inspector and I walked out the door.

"Farewell Kleen detective! Maybe somedays we shall interact!"

"So long, Grien. Keep your nose clean, or at least dry." His door slammed behind us.

"Well, I'd best be off meself, Kleen," said Inspector Fuzz. "I still want to nail Biggest, and I might get something while he's under repairs."

"It's a good thing I didn't have to rely on you in there, Fuzz. You probably would've got me killed."

"You rougue! My hand, sir." We shook roughly. "Here's wishin' ye a pot o' golden potatoes, Kleen."

"Knowing you, they'll be rotten." He glared and then laughed, turning and walking down the convoluted hallway. He soon disappeared.

"Well, Lemon, it's down to you and me. You going back to class?"

"No, I'm going to the hospital to see my sister and uncle. I might look into some new clothes, too. Something with yellow in it."

"Yellow for Lemon. How appropriate." She chuckled kindly. "Well, I'll take you down there. It's a rough neighborhood, you know."

"Yes. I know."

We followed the passage back to where I remembered the exit, payed off the guard, and left the Yard. I started thinking again about quitting the racket. I had a prospective squeeze at hand, I had locked up a big case, and it was the end of the story anyway. I looked over at the gorgeous woman walking silently beside me. 'What the hell,' I thought. 'For a squeeze you can do a lot worse than a Lemon.'

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