Brennan recognized Maseryk the moment he spotted the waiter leading him to the table. He hadn't changed much over the years. A compact man, Brennan's size and build, he moved with the same easy grace and economy of movement. He had thinning dark hair, pale skin, and intense violet eyes. He still had the air of brooding menace about him that Brennan remembered from Nam.

"Hello, Captain," Brennan said as Maseryk slid into the chair across the table from him.

Maseryk stared at him. "Do something to your face?" he asked.

When Brennan had infiltrated the Shadow Fists, he'd had Dr. Tachyon give his eyes epicanthic folds so he'd fit in better with the Asian gang. Maseryk, of course, had last seen him years before the operation.

"It's the eyes, Captain. Asian eyes are all the rage nowadays."

Maseryk grunted and sat down. "I'm just a lieutenant now"

Brennan nodded, gestured at the waiter. "It's your party," Maseryk said.

"Two more Tullamore's, then. On ice."

"Very good, sir." The waiter bowed a precise millimeter, then left.

Brennan wondered where to begin and in the wondering they sat in silence until the waiter returned with their drinks. "Do you care to order now?" he asked, stepping a pace backward and holding his pen poised expectantly over his pad.

Maseryk glanced at the unopened menu before him on the table. "I hear the blackened redfish is pretty good, though on a cop's salary I've never had the opportunity to try it."

"It is very good, sir," the waiter said, faintly astonished that anyone could possibly think otherwise. He turned to Brennan with a raised eyebrow and poised pen. "And you, sir?"

"Seafood salad."

"Very good, sir." The waiter collected the menus and was gone.

Maseryk took a sip from his drink, set it aside. "So what's this about? Neither of us are exactly the type to get together to talk over the good old days we spent chasing Charlie through the jungle."

"Chrysalis's murder."

Maseryk grunted. "You said that. What was she to you?"

"We were lovers."

Maseryk's eyebrows rose. "Chrysalis had a lot of lovers. You the jealous kind?"

"Come off it," Brennan said flatly. "Why would I be talking to you if I killed her? You had no idea I was involved in this until I called you."

"Murderers sometimes do strange things," Maseryk said, ".. to call attention to themselves."

Brennan snorted. "I thought the bow-and-arrow vigilante was your prime suspect."

Maseryk looked at him carefully. "A playing card was found on her body," he admitted, "but it wasp t the ordinary kind of card he used. This was a fancy one from Chrysalis's own antique deck."

Brennan nodded. Something that had been bothering him since his break-in at the Palace suddenly clicked into place. "And the rest of the deck is missing."

"That's right," Maseryk said. "How did you know?" Brennan smiled tightly. "Someone told me that Jay Ackroyd was at the Palace early that morning."

"That's right, too," Maseryk said. "He found the body."

"Why was he there?"

"You're awfully full of questions," Maseryk said. "You're not thinking of interfering with an ongoing police investigation, are you?"

"I want her killer brought to justice. If you find him, fine. If I do…" His voice trailed off and he shrugged. "Look, Brennan," Maseryk said in a sudden, hard voice, pointing his forefinger at him, "none of this vigilante shit-"

"If you did your job," Brennan replied, in a voice just as hard, "there wouldn't be any need for this vigilante shit. I could be home where I want to be, instead of putting my ass on the line."

Maseryk was about to reply when the waiter appeared at their table and slipped their plates in front of them. He glanced from one man to the other. "Will that be all?"

Brennan tore his gaze from Maseryk's and nodded at the waiter. "For now."

"Enjoy your meal, sirs," the waiter said, and hustled away.

"If you answer my question," Brennan said in a soft, conciliatory voice, "I'll give you another' one you should ask somebody."

Maseryk looked at him a long time, then finally sighed. "All right. I'll bite. The PI said Chrysalis had hired him to be her bodyguard. He did one hell of a job."

Brennan nodded thoughtfully and picked at his seafood salad.

"Well," Maseryk prompted, "what do you have for me?"

"Ask the Oddity what he, she, whatever, was looking for in Chrysalis's bedroom last night."

Maseryk scowled at his dish as Brennan speared a bit of crab. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?" he finally asked.

Brennan shook his head. "Not now. I have nothing you'd believe." He popped the crab in his mouth and chewed, his gaze far away.

Maseryk frowned. "You better not be jerking me around."

"Enjoy your meal," Brennan said.

Maseryk nodded, cut another slice. "I will. It's a damn fine fish. Damn fine."

They ate their food, saying little. Neither was much for small talk and both were absorbed in their own thoughts. Maseryk refused the waiter's offer of coffee and dessert when they had finished. Brennan ordered a cup of tea.

"I'll be in touch," Brennan said as Maseryk rose from the table.

"Don't do anything foolish," Maseryk advised him. Brennan nodded. The. waiter set a teacup in front of him and left. Brennan lifted the cup to his lips. He frowned. There was a note on the saucer. It was written on a ragged scrap of paper in a childish, impossibly tiny hand.

"If you want to no what the Shadow Fists are hidding," it read, "go to Stoney Brook, 8800 Glenhollow Rode. Be carfull. " Brennan quickly looked around the restaurant, and then immediately felt foolish for doing so. Someone had to be trailing him-or reading his mind. Someone knew as much about what he was doing as he did. It gave him a chilly, uncomfortable feeling, as if he were the hunted instead of the hunter.

He looked again at the note. It was unsigned, of course. It appeared as if it were sent by someone who was friendly, and seemed childishly innocuous with its semilegible scrawl and misspelled words. Brennan decided to check out the tip it offered, but also to follow its final hint and be very, very careful indeed.

Kant didn't look pleased to see him. "I thought we got rid of you yesterday," he said.

"The reptile ranch was closed, so I came here," Jay said. "Where's your partner?"

"Out to lunch," Kant snapped at him. "Like you. Only with you it's a permanent condition." He showed his teeth. They were still pointed.

"Is that a joke?" Jay asked. It was, he was almost sure of it. He turned to a passing uniform. "Kant just made a joke," he said. The cop ignored him. "I don't think he was real impressed."

"You keep playing games with me, I'm going to make you real sorry" Kant promised. His moment of levity had obviously passed. "What the fuck do you want?" he asked irritably, rubbing at a big green scab under his collar. The starch must chafe his scales.

"I want to talk to Elmo," Jay said.

Kant was so surprised he stopped scratching his scab. "Get the hell out of here before I throw you out."

"You again?" Maseryk said as he sauntered up to the desk. He was chewing on a toothpick. It must have been a good lunch.

"He wants to see Elmo," Kant told his partner, in a tone that suggested it was the funniest thing imaginable. Maseryk didn't laugh. "Why?"

Jay shrugged. "Might as well, can't dance."

"Elmo isn't talking," Maseryk said. "We told him he had the right to remain silent, and damned if he didn't take us up on it."

"He'll talk to me," Jay said.

Kant and Maseryk exchanged glances. "And you'll tell us what he said?" Maseryk suggested.

"Wouldn't be sporting," Jay said.

Kant gave him one of his sideways blinks. "Get out of here before I lose my temper. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."