“You’re going to need some stitches.”

“Lucky for you I’m a gentleman, Flood, or I’d kick your ass all over this room.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, without a trace of a smile or sarcasm.

“I know where I can get this fixed up. Then I have to see some people, get some things, and we’ll go and see this Goldor.”

“Can I keep the picture where it is?”

“How tight is this place? Would other people come into your room when you weren’t around?”

“The people here are from my temple. It’s not permitted to look at another person’s altar.”

“But might they do it?”

“No. There’s no chance. Honor counts for everything. All the people here have been together in the temple for many years. I’m the youngest one here.”

“I’m sorry I said that about you.”

“No, you’re not. I understand-you have to stay here after I’m gone. It’s all right. I know you love me.”

“Flood! I never said I loved you. You don’t-”

“Shut up, Burke-you’re not so smart. Not so tough, either. But you didn’t show bad form when you did that first tumble. Did you ever study?”

“My brother is a master. He’s been trying to teach me for years but he says I’ll never be any good. I think that’s true. My mind’s not right for it-every time I hit the ground I’m looking around for some blunt object to use instead of my hands.”

“Your brother is really a master?”

“Yes.”

“You understand what that means, Burke? He’s as good as me?”

“He’s better, Flood. I mean it. No contest.”

“I’m sure he’s stronger-but faster?”

“Believe me-I don’t demean you, but there’s no one better.”

“Then he’s not American.”

“No.”

“Japanese? What style does he fight? Does he-”

“He’s from Tibet.”

“Tibet. I heard stories… more like legends. From our temple. A man who studied with our old master many years ago but he wouldn’t accept our ways. But it’s probably not… I mean, your brother. Did he…?”

“He’s called Max the Silent. I don’t know his deep past.”

“I only know the name in Japanese. It means Silent Dragon. It doesn’t make sense-he couldn’t be your brother…”

“We have the same father.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The same father you had, Flood.”

“The fucking State was my father. I told you.”

“I know.”

Flood said nothing. Just sat there absently patting my face like it was a mound of clay and she was trying to decide on the shape of the sculpture before she really went to work. Finally I nudged her with my shoulder. “Flood?”

She snapped out of it. “What? Oh, Burke… Okay… I can put it together now. And it’s all right. It makes sense. I just didn’t see it.” She shook her head as though to clear her vision. “I’ll go with you. I’ll do as you say. And I’ll find this devil and I’ll put the stake into his heart like I’m supposed to. You’ll see-it will be the way it should be.” She looked at me, focusing on my face for the first time. “And you can have the picture too, all right?”

I just nodded. The side of my face was beginning to swell-I could feel it growing-and I’d need to do some talking soon. I told Flood to go get dressed and she dutifully went off. I sat there smoking until she was ready to leave. It was still dark as we slipped out her front door and into the waiting Plymouth.

AS WE DROVE back toward the office I felt Flood staring at the right side of my face where she’d done her work.

“You’ve had some real training, haven’t you?”

“Why would you say that?”

“It has to be hurting you, but you’re breathing properly.”

“That’s not training-it just hurts to breathe through my damn mouth.”

Flood slid across the seat until she was right up against me and gently squeezed my thigh. “Maybe you’re just a tough guy, Burke.”

I’m not a tough guy. If I could figure out a way to run from pain I’d do it at Olympic speed. I can’t do that so I let it just move through me like I was taught. But I couldn’t do it and drive the damn car at the same time. Actually, I couldn’t do it that well at all.

I put the Plymouth away and walked around to the front with Flood holding onto my arm. When we walked in the entranceway I leaned against the mailboxes like I was dizzy. She immediately threw her arm around my waist and pulled me against her, supporting me up the stairs. When I touched the mailbox the red-and-white lights the Mole had strung all around the office would start to flash in sequence. It was the signal for Pansy to stop whatever she was doing. Her aggressive juices would start flowing when she saw the flashes, she would pad over to her designated spot to the left of the door so she’d be just out of sight when it opened. There’s also a light switch that sets off a monster strobe light the Mole had mounted in what looked like a stereo speaker, blinding whoever walked in the door. If the strobe fired so would Pansy. She’d also fire if I walked in the door with my hands up, strobe or not. But I’d only hit the downstairs switch to keep her working and alert. Any dog will lose whatever conditioning you’ve put into her if you don’t reinforce and reward constantly.

When we got to the top of the stairs I told Flood to take my hand. She did it without questioning-I think she finally understood that my office wasn’t the place to act stupid. I opened the door, pushed the light switch down instead of up and walked in holding Flood’s hand. Pansy was standing to the left-chest out, fangs bared, and trembling with eagerness. She was supposed to wait in silence but a low rumbling growl escaped. Still, she didn’t move and she let Flood and me walk in hand-in-hand. I told Flood to sit on the couch, turned around and told Pansy “Good girl.”

She came loping over to me and I patted her hard enough to make a normal dog lapse into unconsciousness. Her giant tongue slobbered out and covered my face. Ignoring Flood, I told Pansy to stay and went next door to get her a slab of steak-small compensation for not being able to chew on a human being, but she would have to make do for now. I opened the back door and let her onto the roof and told Flood to stay just where she was until Pansy came back downstairs-you can only train a dog so much.

When Pansy came down I gave her the hand signal for friends and she ambled over to her spot on the Astroturf and lapsed into the semicoma that’s her normal waking state. I got out my medical kit and told Flood to give me a hand.

With everything laid out on the desk I turned on the overhead light so Flood could see what she was doing and leaned way back in my chair. Flood looked at the equipment. “You’ll have to tell me what to do.”

“First, spray some of this Xylocaine completely over the area.”

“What does it do?”

“It’s a nerve deadener. You may have to probe around in there and I know how clumsy you are.”

“I wish you had some real anesthetic here.”

“Flood, let me tell you something. Anesthesia isn’t like going to sleep the way the goddamned doctors tell you-it’s a disease the body eventually recovers from, that’s all. I’ve got some stuff like that but it’s not for working on myself, you understand?”

She said nothing, just tested the spray against her hand, then turned and shot it into my face where she’d kicked me. The spray stung, burned, then turned cold like it was supposed to. I reached in and removed the upper right-side bridge. It came out easily, covered with blood and some flesh, so she was right about me needing some stitches.

“Flood, take the swabs and the orange stuff there and clean out the whole thing so you can see what you’re doing.”

She did what I told her. She was breathing shallowly through her nose, and I tried to match my rhythm to hers. She saw what I was doing and gave me a quick smile of encouragement.

“Now take those little scissors and trim away anything that’s hanging loose. Just the part that looks like it’s going to be dead skin.”