"Your idea? I-"

"Please," Kien said, holding up a hand. It was times like this that he missed Wyrm. "Does the gentleman have a name?"

They both thought about it, said "Cowboy" simultaneously, then glared at each other.

Kien stiffened. That was the name Daniel Brennan used when he'd gone undercover and joined the Shadow Fists in an attempt to bring them down from within. His ploy failed because he blew his cover to save Tachyon's life, but he managed to do a fair bit of damage to the Fists before giving himself away.

Kien knew that Brennan and Cunningham had been chummy. Now, he thought, he'd discover exactly how chummy. "Show him in," Kien told his joker bodyguards.

He made himself sit calmly when his longtime enemy entered the room. Brennan was wearing a mask, a simple black hood, that he took off after Rick and Mick had left the room, shutting the door behind them. He looked fit and tanned despite the winter season. He hadn't gained a pound since Vietnam, though his face had more lines in it and his hair was flecked with grey.

He looked around the room curiously, then at Kien. His eyes were as flat and hard as Kien remembered them, though they had an even greater bleakness, as if a major new worry was gnawing at him. His bitch, Kien noticed, wasn't with him. Maybe the hit hadn't been a total washout after all. "Don't you think taking the man's office when you took over his organization was a bit much?" Brennan asked suddenly.

Kien shrugged and smiled. This was his hidden hole card, the ace up his sleeve. Brennan thought he was Fadeout. That was all the advantage Kien needed to finally crush his long-time foe. "Why not? It's a nice place and the lease suddenly became open. Besides, I felt that it would help provide for a smoother transition of power."

Brennan nodded, as if he bought the explanation, then sat down without being invited. Annoyed, Kien opened his mouth to say something, then suddenly closed it. Cunningham apparently tolerated such behavior.

"Back in town for a visit?" Kien asked in as casual a voice as possible.

Brennan nodded. "Someone hit my house this morning." Kien put a shocked look on his face. "Any idea who?"

"I would guess Kien," Brennan said steadily, "if he wasn't dead."

Kien nodded. "Good guess, but he's dead. I saw his body myself."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"I've heard," Brennan said, "that there was something a bit odd about the corpse. Something that usually doesn't happen to heart-attack victims."

Kien shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Ah, the severed head, you mean," he guessed.

Brennan nodded silently.

"Well," Kien said, suddenly inspired to mix truth and lies in equal proportions, "there was a lot of information locked up in his brain."

"Deadhead?" Brennan asked.

Kien tried to look defensive. "There was a lot I needed to know"

Brennan let out a deep breath. "I guess I can believe that."

Deadhead was an insane ace with the capability of accessing people's memories by eating their brains. When Kien had set the trap to catch the disloyal Philip Cunningham, he used his own corpse as bait, having been jumped into the body of Leslie Christian. He then had his head removed from his own body so Cunningham couldn't feed the brain to Deadhead and uncover his plot.

"If Kien didn't send the killers, then who did?" Brennan asked, half to himself.

"Well, Captain, you've made a few enemies along the way." Kien paused as if deep in thought. "And I can't pretend to have total control over the Shadow Fists, particularly the Egrets. Maybe elements loyal to Kien's memory finally tracked you down and tried to eliminate you."

"Maybe," Brennan said tightly.

"And you know," said Kien, as if struck by sudden inspiration, "maybe these same elements will be going after Tachyon as well. Maybe someone should warn him."

"Maybe," Brennan said thoughtfully. "I'll mention it to Tachyon when I go back to the clinic to check on Jennifer."

"So you've seen Tachyon already?" Kien asked. Brennan nodded abstractedly. "I took Jennifer to the clinic. She was wounded during the hit."

"Not too seriously, I hope," Kien said as he stifled his glee.

Brennan stood. "No, not too seriously."

Kien rose to walk him to the door. "I'm sure she'll pull through. And if you need anything, just call."

Brennan slipped the hood back on and stared at him with his hard unblinking gaze. "All right," he said, and left the office, going by Rick and Mick who were arguing because Rick couldn't concentrate on his comic book while Mick had the television on.

Kien watched him go, a smile of sudden unexpected glee on his face. He had managed to maneuver all of his targets into the same basket. Now he could strike once and get rid of them all.

"What's up, boss?" Brutus asked when Brennan returned to the van.

Brennan glanced down at the homunculus, who was huddled against the cold in one of Brennan's old work shirts that he'd dragged up from the back. "I don't know," Brennan said. "But I don't believe that things are as they seem. As is usual in this town."

He started the van and pulled away from the curb. "Where're we headed?" Brutus asked.

Brennan glanced at him as he drove into an alley that bordered Kien's apartment building. "I'm going back to the clinic," Brennan said, "but you're staying behind to keep an eye on things here."

Brutus stretched, peering over the edge of the dashboard. "It looks cold out there," he said.

"All the more reason to find a way inside as soon as you can."

"Right."

Brennan pulled up next to a pile of overflowing garbage cans and opened the van's passenger door.

"So what am I supposed to be watching?" Brutus asked. "Cunningham."

"Why?"

Brennan shook his head. "I'm not sure. Cunningham seemed… odd. Not normal. I can't really put my finger on it, but things aren't right. He called me `Captain.' He's never called me that before. There's no way he could even know I'd been a captain in the army… unless…" Brennan shook his head again.

Brutus grunted and jumped down from the van. The sun had risen, but the sky was dark with clouds and the promise of snow. A cold wind cut through the alley as Brutus scurried behind a pile of garbage, mumbling to himself. Brennan leaned out of the van's passenger door as Brutus disappeared in the trash.

"And Brutus."

The manikin poked his head from around a greasestained brown-paper bag. "Yeah?"

"Be careful."

The homunculus smiled. "You too, boss," he said, then vanished into the garbage.

Brennan pulled the door shut and drove off, telling himself not to worry. Brutus had been one of the Chrysalis's best spies. He knew how to take care of himself.

Chrysalis. His thoughts turned to her for the first time in quite a while. They were linked inextricably with the events that had occurred the last time he'd seen Tachyon, when he confronted the doctor, Jay Ackroyd, the EL, and Hiram Worchester, Chrysalis's murderer.

Ackroyd had been incensed with Brennan. For a man neck-deep in a sordid and violent business, he had a more than somewhat unrealistic view about violence. But Brennan didn't hold that against him. He never held a man's ideals against him.

But Tachyon. Tachyon had missed an important point with his speech about slavish obedience to the letter of the law. Laws are only words written on paper, words that change on society's whim and are interpreted differently daily by politicians, lawyers, judges, and policemen. Anyone who believes that all laws should always be obeyed would have made a fine slave catcher. Anyone who believes that all laws are applied equally, despite race, religion, or economic status, is a fool.

The only thing a man can do is decide for himself what is right or wrong and what must be done to combat the wrong. And then he must face the consequences of his decision, no matter what they are.