Barner looked up from his egg-drop soup. "Moyle's an asshole, yeah, I know. But I really feel kind of sorry for him."

"Why?"

"You know-just what he went through."

"I agree that terrorizing the guy is going way too far," I said. "Moyle must have feared for his life. But as for the tattoos… that's a nice, droll touch. The raging homophobe forced to go around with the brand of Oscar Wilde."

Barner peered at me glumly. "Jesus, Strachey, you're merciless. How would you like it if somebody snatched you and tattooed you with 'Strachey's Hot for Pamela Anderson'?"

"I haven't made a career of denigrating straight women, so the chances of that happening are slight. If it did happen, it wouldn't be rough justice. It would just be absurdist."

"You can call it whatever weird crap you want to," Barner said, "but getting forcibly tattooed like that would make anybody feel like shit. That's all I'm saying. Moyle is an asshole, but he's also a human being."

"Lyle, if Moyle knew you were gay, and it was you who got embroidered-let's say,

'Lyle Is Hot for Al D'Amato'- how sympathetic do you think Moyle would be? Can't you imagine him and Plankton and the fun they'd have on the air with news of a gay NYPD detective involuntarily tattooed?"

"Yeah, that's so. But still… anyway, what would your boyfriend say about it? Didn't you tell me one time he was some kind of priest who forgot to go to seminary or something? He sounds like a much nicer person than you are, Strachey."

"He is," I said, without having to think about that one. "And I'm sure Timothy will share your opinion on this subject, Lyle."

"And what about Thad-the-Amishman that you're cheating on your boyfriend with?

He brags about how he never hurt anybody when he was in the FVV. What do you think Thad's going to say about somebody committing battery on Leo Moyle? Is Thad, the man of peace, gonna just laugh it off, like you?"

I decided to ignore most of this-probably confirming my guilt and duplicity in Barner's mind-and said only, "Yes, Thad's opinion of the tattooing will be closer to yours and Timmy's than to mine. That's true, Lyle. We'll just have to agree to disagree."

This last sounded like some namby-pamby remark from a hack pol on "Sam and Cokie," and Barner had me on the edge of feeling guilty all over again over the way I treated him. But then Barner said this: "I know Diefendor-fcr was with you in Albany and Massachusetts. So, what have you got going, a threesome? Normally I'm too square for that type of kinky stuff. Just ask Dave. But with you and Thad, maybe I could start to act more with it. Timothy (lallahan is a very, very lucky man, in my opinion."

I peered at Barner for a long moment. "You had someone-what? Watching me?

Following me?"

Barner colored just perceptibly but looked at me levelly. "I guess you got to know Diefendorfer quite intimately, Strachey. But maybe you didn't get to know him intimately enough."

"Wait a minute, Lyle. We'll come back to that. Just answer my question. Did you or did you not put a tail on me when I traveled to Albany and Massachusetts yesterday and today?"

The waiter arrived and removed our soup dishes. Then he was back within seconds, and he set down a large dish of rice along with Barner's General Tso's chicken-who was this warrior with a taste for sweet, sticky fowl, anyway?- and my shrimp with mushrooms and snow peas.

When the waiter was gone, Barner said, "Why don't you tell me first, Strachey, did you or didn't you forget to let me in on the fact that your partner working on this case was going to be not myself but somebody else, not even a professional investigator, and that person would be the humpy Dutchman, Thad Diefendorfer? As I understood it, we would be working together, one of the reasons I brought you onto the case. And now-I guess you can tell, because I'm making myself pretty fucking crystal clear-I am all stressed out about this, and I am feeling royally fucked over."

So there I was. I had chosen not to let Barner in on Diefendorfer's involvement in the investigation because I knew that if he knew about it, Lyle would act like a child- i.e., jealous, resentful, distracted, suspicious and petulant. How had I let myself become entangled in this miasma? Oh, right. Barner had once saved my life. Why couldn't it have been somebody else that violent summer night in Albany fifteen years earlier who had bailed me out of a desperate fix-Rex the Wonder Horse, or Miss Marple?

I said to Barner, "Thad was tagging along with me, yes, to be helpful if he could. But you were… you were spying on me. I have to say, Lyle, that I am at this moment disgusted with you."

My strained tactic of displaying moral outrage that might trump Barner's moral outrage did not impress him. For which I was grateful, because I was growing bored with each of us acting morally superior to the other for no very good reason.

Barner said simply, "I had two officers tail you, yeah. It was partly to keep me informed, and it was also to drag your ass out of the smoke and flames if that was to become necessary. Like I did on the Millpond case back in Albany. These two young officers did a nice job, too. You never had a clue." He grinned and dug into his gooey chicken.

I said, "Are they still up there, these two young officers? Are they the ones checking out Charm and her gang, and Kurt Zinsser-who, by the way, no law-enforcement agency would ever have known about had it not been for me?"

"No, my officers tailed you and the Amish eggplant stud back to the city. I sent another detective up to work with the state police detectives out of Springfield to talk to the cheese-farm vandals. I should have a report from them later tonight."

I said, "You mentioned that it was your opinion, Lyle, that I had not come to know Thad Diefendorfer intimately enough. First, let's get it straight that I have not been physically intimate with Thad. Neither has Timmy, heaven for-fend. It's a nice scene to contemplate, but the stars of Timmy's and my zodiac are not so aligned at present. So why don't you just get all the sex stuff involving me, and Thad, and you out of your head? Let's all proceed not in the realm of fantasy but with our feet on the ground in the real world."

Barner sniffed. He was sure I was lying through my teeth. It was sad.

I went on. "But you seemed to be suggesting, Lyle, that intimate knowledge of Thad's behavior-as opposed to, say, intimate knowledge of his nice butt-would be important for me to obtain. What did you mean by that?"

Barner paused for dramatic effect-Fritz Lang must once have taught a course at the police academy-and said, "After Diefendorfer dropped you off at the J-Bird's place, my team followed him over to Brooklyn. He parked his pickup truck on Lorimer Street in Williamsburg and entered a nearby apartment building. The super was in the lobby when Diefendorfer went in, and my officers were able to determine that the subject-that would be your buddy Thaddie-was admitted to a second-floor apartment whose tenant's name meant something to me when I heard it.

"While you were up in Massachusetts, Strachey, I went over the FBI file on the old FFF.

One of Mr. Diefendorfer's cohorts in 1975-76 was a man by the name of Sam Day. The lessee of the Lorimer Street apartment is Sam Day. Sam Day, the super told my officers, is the leader of some type of organization, with people coming and going from that apartment at all hours of the day and night, especially night. I don't think Jay Plankton is being held there. The super says the apartment is small, only one bedroom.