She gave me her shrug. “Like the professional recruiting business you do with mercenaries?” Maybe she did understand.

“Yeah, exactly like that. What about that bar?”

“I went there a few times and listened. Your name came up more than once.”

“Just about the mercenary scam?” There was no point in euphemisms anymore.

“Yes, nothing else. You’re quite a legendary figure to those people, Mr. Burke.”

“Yeah-to others too. I’m surprised you didn’t use your famous interrogation tactics on them to get more information.”

Another shrug. “I guess I did with one of them. He told me he had your telephone number in his car. I went out to the parking lot with him to get it and he tried to be stupid.”

“What happened?”

“I left him there.”

“Alive?”

“Certainly he was alive-do you think I walk around murdering people?”

“That action in the alley when you grabbed that kid’s family jewels is liable to stay on my mind for a while.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s not your everyday act, right? Would you really have given the kid the chop?”

“That’s not important. It was important that the others understood they had to move, had to obey. It took away their will to fight any more.”

“It almost took away my will to hold on to my lunch. Would you really have done it?”

“Do you remember what the one with the bushy hair said he was going to do to me? Do you think he was just trying to frighten me?”

“He was trying to frighten you.” I paused, recreating the scene in the alley. “But he would have done it, that’s right.”

“So I would have done it-but only because I threatened to do it and those are promises you must always keep. I would rather have just killed him.”

“Yeah, what the hell, a few more killings shouldn’t be any big deal.”

“Why do you try to sound sarcastic, Mr. Burke? I was willing to kill to live, not for the pleasure of it. You killed those three vermin just to kill them. They couldn’t have come after us.”

That knocked me over. “What? I didn’t kill anybody. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Those people we put into that room-you fired the gun so many times, right at them. You must have killed them.”

And that started me laughing. I must have kept laughing for a while, because the next thing I remember was Flood holding the lower part of my face in one hand and pressing the other against my stomach. I looked up at her-she was only inches away. She asked, “Okay now?” and I let out a breath and tried to explain.

“I was just laughing because… well, it’s not important. But I didn’t kill anybody in that room. The pistol was full of a special mixture a friend makes up for me. Look,” I said, and pulled out the.22 and the spare clip. “Here’s the gun I used, and here’s the bullets.” I popped them out of the clip one at a time and showed her the tiny mini-flares, the teargas cartridges, and the flat-faced slugs with the birdshot inside. Flood opened her mouth slightly in concentration as I explained.

“Watch. First you use a couple of the mini-flares so it looks like rockets are going off inside the room, then some birdshot for the stinging effect, which they think is shrapnel. They usually hit the floor and use up all their air holding their breath or screaming. Then you fire some teargas to start them choking and then some more mini-flares and birdshot to keep them down. It turns any closed space into hell, but it’s all in the mind-you can’t die from it. I wouldn’t kill anybody like that-that’s not my game. You couldn’t kill anybody with this gun anyway, loaded the way it is, even if you blasted them right in the face. It’s just to keep people where they are for a while, that’s all.”

Flood fingered the cartridges carefully, then smiled. “You’re just a man of peace, aren’t you, Mr. Burke?”

“That’s me. I’d have to be damn scared to kill anyone-it’s not worth it. I survive. I’m not looking for a whole lot more.”

“Was the other gun loaded with this stuff too?”

“No. With.38 specials-two wad-cutters, two hollow points, and one high-pressure load.”

Flood gave me that chuckle again. Maybe she thought she had me figured out, but I was way ahead of her. I noticed her breasts only bounced when she chuckled, not when she shrugged-very appropriate.

“I have to start looking,” I said.

“Is it safe for you?”

“I guess so. But I need some sleep first and to get a few things from my office-make a few calls-you know.”

“I know.” Flood shifted out of that damn lotus position so she was sitting next to me. She reached out that death-dealer of a hand and brushed my cheek with the back of it. I knew it was time to go.

THE OUTSIDE OF Flood’s studio was deserted, no action in the halls. I rang for the freight elevator and went to the stairs when I heard it start to move. Checked the elevator entrance, nobody around. The Plymouth was sitting untouched where I’d left it. I didn’t expect anything else-any fool who tried to take off the tires would have to be wearing razor-proof gloves, for openers.

I got back to the office just as the sun was breaking over the Hudson. A few solitary men were standing on the piers with fishing tackle, setting up for the day. The fish in the Hudson aren’t much to look at, never grow too big or have bright colors. But the guys who fish down there tell me they put up a hell of a fight. I figured that any fish who could survive the Hudson River would have to be tough, like a dog raised in the pound. Or a kid raised by the State.

I put the car away, making a mental note to do some cosmetic surgery on it before this case with Flood made it too visible. Went upstairs, deactivated everything, and let myself in. Pansy gave me a halfhearted growl just to let me know she was on the job, then charged over, wagging her stump of a tail. Even without the security systems I knew there hadn’t been any visitors. Pansy was cut from the same cloth as my old Doberman, Devil, and nobody would get in here without war breaking loose.

That had happened once, and it gave Blumberg his big chance to act like a real lawyer. I was hiding a certain gentleman in my old apartment. He told me people were looking for him, but said nothing about those people wearing blue coats and badges instead of business suits. Anyway, while I was out trying to square some other beef, the cops arrived and decided to serve a Smith and Wesson warrant on my premises. They smashed in the door, and Devil met them head on. My client had more than enough time to leave by the back window, and Devil nailed two of the cops before they got smart and retreated until the ASPCA arrived. Those clowns blasted my dog with a load of tranquilizers and carted her off to the pound. By the time I found out what went down, she was already behind bars waiting for adoption or execution, whichever came first. Just like a lot of kids in orphanages.

The ASPCA wouldn’t return her to me at first, saying the Major Case Squad wanted her held for evidence. The jerks-I knew she’d never talk. Anyway, by the time I proved the Doberman was really my dog, they told me she was being held for adoption. I figured they might have been sincere about that, since she was too fine an animal to just stuff into the gas chamber, but I wasn’t ready to give her up that easily. So I went to see Blumberg.

Fortunately, it was already late afternoon by then and night court would soon be in session. I explained the matter to Blumberg and he opened with his usual sensitive probing, “Burke, you got the money, kid?”

“How much, Blumberg?”

“Well, this is a major case, my boy. I know of no legal precedent which covers the issue. We’ll have to make law, take this all the way to the appellate courts, maybe even to the southern district. You and your fine dog have constitutional rights, and there are no rights without remedies. And, as you know, remedies are not cheap.”