“I’d sure like to give it a shot,” she said with her best file-toothed grin.

Time for another shot in the dark. “Chiri,” I said, “What do the letters A.L.M. mean to you?”

She thought about that for a little while. “The Association of Lesbian Mothers,” she said. “This girl Hanina, used to dance by Frenchy’s. She used to get their newsletter. Why?”

I chewed my lip. “That can’t be right. If you think of something else A.L.M. might mean, let me know.”

“Okay, honey. What is it, some kind of puzzle?”

“Yeah, a puzzle.”

“Well, I’ll think about it.” She drank a little tende and stared over my head at the mirrored wall behind me. “So what’s this I hear about you flushing all your recreational drugs? Never thought I’d see the day. We gonna have to find a new chemical champion?”

“I guess so. I emptied my pillcase right after Jirji died.”

Chin’s expression became serious. “Uh yeah.”

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds. “I’ll tell you, though,” I said at last, “I’ve had these strong cravings. It’s been pretty hard on me, but I’m keeping away from the drugs.”

“Cutting back is one thing, but quitting altogether seems kind of extreme. I suppose it’s for the best, but I’ve always believed in moderation in all things, and that goes for abstinence too.”

I smiled. “I appreciate your concern,” I said, “but I know what I’m doing.”

Chiri shook her head sadly. “I hope so. I hope you’re not just kidding yourself. You don’t have much experience handling yourself sober. You could get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine, Chiri.”

“Maybe you should pass by Laila’s shop in the morning. She’s got these moddies that make you feel like you’ve taken a handful of pills. She’s got the whole line: sunnies, beauties, tri-phets, RPM, whatever you want. You chip the moddy in and if you need to use your brain for something later, you pop it out and you’re straight again.”

“I don’t know. Sounds dumb to me.”

Chiri spread her hands. “It’s up to you.”

“Make me a gin and bingara?” I didn’t want to talk about drugs anymore. I was beginning to feel the craving again.

I watched Yasmin dance on stage while Chiri built my drink. Yasmin was still the prettiest collection of XY chromosomes I’ve ever known. Since we’d gotten friendly again, she told me she was sorry she’d cut her long black hair. She was letting it grow back. As she moved sensuously to the music, she kept glancing down at me. Every time she caught my eye, she smiled. I smiled back.

“Here you go, boss,” said Chiri, setting the drink on a coaster in front of me.

“Thanks,” I said. I picked it up, threw a sizzling look toward Yasmin, and went back to sit with Kmuzu. “Say,” I said, “you’ve got a secret admirer. You know that?”

Kmuzu looked perplexed. “What do you mean, tiarri ?” Stair grinned at him. “I think Chiriga would like to elevate your pulse rate.”

“That is not possible,” he said. He looked very disturbed.

“Don’t you like her? She’s really a very nice person. Don’t be scared off by that headhunter routine of hers.”

“It’s not that, yaa Sidi. I do not plan to marry until I am no longer a slave.”

I laughed. “That fits in fine with Chiri’s plans. I don’t think she wants to get married, either.”

“I told you when we first met that I am a Christian.”

Chiri came over to the table and joined us before I could say anything more. “Kmuzu, how you doin?” she said.

“I am well, Miss Chiriga,” he said. His tone was almost icy.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d ever made it with anybody who was wearing Honey Pilar’s latest. Slow, Slow Burn. It’s my favorite of all of hers. Leaves me so weak I can barely get up out of bed.”

“Miss Chiriga—”

“You can call me Chiri, honey.”

“—I wish you’d stop making sexual advances to me.”

Chiri looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “Am I making sexual advances? I was just asking if he’d ever made it—”

“Did I hear that Honey Pilar’s getting divorced again?” said Rani, one of the night-shift debs who’d wandered over to our table. Evidently none of the customers were tipping or buying anybody cocktails. I knew it was a slow night when Kmuzu and I were the most interesting thing happening in the club.

Chiri looked aggravated. “Somebody get up on the goddamn stage and dance!” she shouted. Then she stood up and went back behind the bar. Lily, the pretty Belgian sexchange, took off her blouse and went to play her music.

“I think I’ve had about enough of all this excitement,” I said, yawning. “Kmuzu, come on. Let’s go home.”

Yasmin came up and put her hand on my arm. “Will you come in tomorrow?” she asked. “I need to talk to you about something personal.”

“You want to talk right now?”

She looked away, embarrassed. “No,” she said. “Some other time. But I wanted to give you this.” She held out her pocket I Ching calculator. She swore by the I Ching, and she still believed that it had accurately foretold all the terrible events of several months ago. “Maybe you need it again.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Why don’t you keep it?”

She put it in my hand and closed my fingers over it. Then she kissed me. It was a gentle, unhurried kiss on the lips. I was surprised to find that it left me trembling.

I said goodnight to Chiri and the debs and changes, and Kmuzu followed me out into the warm, raucous night on the Street. We walked back down to the gate and found the car. All the way home, Kmuzu explained to me that he found Chiri too brazen and shameless.

“But you think she’s sexy?” I asked him.

“That’s beside the point, yaa Sidi,” he said. From then on, he just concentrated on his driving.

After we got back to Friedlander Bey’s estate, I went to my suite and tried to relax. I took a notebook and stretched out on my bed, trying to order my thoughts. I looked at Yasmin’s electronic I Ching and laughed softly. For no particular reason, I pressed the white button marked H. The little device played its tinkling tune, and a synthesized woman’s voice spoke up. “Hexagram Six. Sung. Conflict. Changes in the first, second, and sixth lines.”

I listened to the judgment and the commentary, and then I pressed L for the lines. What it all amounted to was a warning that I was in a difficult period, and that if I tried to force my way toward my goal, I’d encounter a lot of conflict. I didn’t need a pocket computer to tell me that.

The image was “Heaven above the waters,” and I was advised to stay close to home. The problem was that it was just a little too late for that. “If you determine to confront the difficulties,” the mechanical woman cautioned, “you’ll make minor progress that will soon be reversed, leaving you in a worse situation than before. Sidestep this trouble by tending your garden and ignoring your powerful adversaries.”

Well, hell, I would have loved to do just that. I could have forgotten all about Abu Adil and all about Jawarski, just written Shaknahyi off as a painful tragedy, and let Papa deal with Umm Saad by ordering the Stones That Speak to twist her devious head off. I could have left my mother a fat envelope of cash, kissed Chiriga’s club goodbye, and caught the next bus out of the city.

Unfortunately, none of that was possible. I stared at the toy I Ching ruefully, then remembered that the changing lines gave me a second hexagram that might indicate where events were leading. I pressed CH.

“Hexagram Seventeen. Sui. Following. Thunder in the lake.” Whatever that meant. I was told that I was coming into very positive circumstances. All I had to do was attune my actions into harmony with the personalities of the people I had to deal with. I just had to adapt my own desires to the needs of the times.

“Okay,” I said, “that’s just what I’ll do. I just need someone to tell me what ‘the needs of the times’ are.”

“Such fortune telling is blasphemous,” said Kmuzu. “Every orthodox religion in the world forbids it.” I hadn’t heard him come into my room.