"You're saying it's safe to enter?"

"The damage isn't that bad," Captain Downs assured me. "Sprinklers caught most of it. There's no structural damage and not much besides smoke outside of your offices. Some water damage, of course. We can take the elevator, I've had them turned back on."

"You know about the failed bomb?" I asked.

"That's why I'm looking into this personally," Downs confirmed. "Sorry to call you out so late but we've had a number of odd fires in the district lately. Also, I heard you were attacked the other night. So I thought, under the circumstances, you'd like to know. Any ideas?"

"I was up - working a stakeout," I admitted. "What time did this go down?"

"About eleven. Mean anything?"

"No, and I don't think there's any tie-in with the stakeout either. What was the cause?"

"An accellerant - naphtha from the smell. Plus the fact that we found a half-dozen empty Ronsonol's in the dumpster next door - about thirty ounces. Someone snaked a tube through your keyhole - quarter-inch plastic stuff - used for a lot of things - any hardware has it. Poured the naphtha through the tube, let it puddle inside. Then they put a cigarette - match book fuse under the door and left. Real simple stuff but effective."

We'd reached the third floor where my office had been. The carpet in the hallway squished as we walked.

My office door had been battered open, not burned.

Inside, when I reached for the light switch, nothing happened. Naturally.

Captain Downs produced a heavy flashlight, passing it to me. "Go ahead," he suggested. "Look around. See if you spot anything missing."

"But if they'd worked through the keyhole ..?"

"Check anyway. Sometimes people get cute."

In the outer office, the carpet - most of it - was a swamp of ashes. A piece of incompletely burned tubing was stuck to the floor, half-melted, half-burned but a few recognizable fragments. The desk was badly charred, the couch ... well, even dry it had seen better days. The telephone might be salvageable. Hell's bells, the furniture wasn't worth worrying about anyway - most of it had been junk before the fire. Besides, I'd been meaning to replace it from the day I'd brought it in.

The inner room - with my desk, Ted's desk and, of course, the computer - was smoky ... and wet ... but otherwise undamaged. I made a cursory examination of the desk and file cabinets - neither appeared disturbed and both were relatively dry. The bookcases - being open to the sprinklers - hadn't fared as well. Nothing missing of course but, once a book gets wet, they tend to be ruined.

My wheelchair was folded in the corner behind the desk - soaked but otherwise undamaged. If it had been dry, I'd have used it. I was tired all over. Instead, I settled for leaning heavily on the cane - the desk was both wet and smoky ... as was everything else.

"Why'd he leave the tubing behind," I wondered.

"Because we're talking about an amateur. The match book was from a convenience store. If you want clues, the cigarette was a clove mixture. The price tags on the empties should identify the store where the purchase was made. Want to bet someone will remember selling six bottles of Ronsonol? Probably to someone who also buys clove cigarettes?"

I don't take sucker bets. The only real question was how much time and effort the department would put in looking for an amateur arsonist. With no injuries and only minor property damage, I didn't figure much.

"The damage is typical of amateurs as well," Captain Downs continued. "Either they over do it - and frequently barbecue themselves in the process - or they fumble it like this. This is an older building but the fire sprinklers kicked in just fine. Shouldn't cost much to clean things up. New carpeting and some paint and you can be back in business in a day or two. You'll need a new door, of course - sorry but we couldn't wait for a key.

"So, what do you think?" he concluded.

"I'll call the insurance company tomorrow," I announced. "Nothing's missing. Minor damages. I suppose you'll want a report?"

"Of course."

"Can it wait? At the moment, I'd like some sleep."

"Tomorrow's soon enough," the Captain admitted. "You need a ride home?"

And leave my van parked on the street? If it didn't get stripped, it would get towed. "I'll manage," I decided, then asked, "Could you give me a hand with the chair?"

"The wheelchair?" The Captain looked surprised.

"Missing leg," I explained. "Sometimes George ... my prosthesis gets to be too much for me." I reached across the desk and picked up the placard. The one reading 'Homeless Detective Agency'. "Must be kismet," I suggested, slipping the bronze and oak wedge in my pocket.

* * *

The third time the alarm went off, I gave up and opened my eyes.

Then I remembered last night. Homeless again.

"Wot th' 'ell", I quoted to myself, then wondered where the quote came from. All I could remember was something about "T'jours gai" ... which didn't seem to make a lot of sense.

George was lying on the floor next to the bed. At least I'd remembered to plug it in for a recharge. Eight hours was supposed to be standard for the batteries - what had it been? Three? Four?

I left it on charge and fished a crutch out from under the bed, using it to hop to the bathroom.

What I wanted most was to go back to bed.

Failing that, I wanted a long hot soak in the tub.

But I didn't have time for either.

Instead, I pulled on some clothes, rolled and pinned the empty pants leg and took the wheelchair - carrying the crutch - down to the parking garage where I locked the chair to the post by my van. It was already eight-thirty.

* * *

I was lucky. Traffic wasn't too bad and I reached the warehouse at eight:fifty-five - five minutes to spare.

I pulled over next to a pay phone and waited, checking my watch. For a minute or two, I was afraid something had gone wrong. Then I saw the wisps of orange smoke curling from the warehouse doors.

I dialed 9-1-1. When the operator answered, I played the first tape, then hung up. That would start things rolling ... which meant I'd better get rolling too.

* * *

I found another pay phone outside a convenience store a few blocks distant. After a cup of coffee - not the greatest but it helped - I returned to the phone outside and dialed the police department directly. When the desk sergeant answered, I played the second tape: "There's a warehouse," the voice advised, including the address. "This location is being used by a receiver of purloined properties and is well worth your attention. Thank you."

I hung up and switched tapes. This time, I dialed the mall offices at North Wood.

Ted had had fun with the third tape - almost too much fun. The voice was a cackling sound more appropriate to a parrot than a person. "This is the Consumer's Liberation Front," the tape announced. "Somewhere in the North Wood Mall about now, you are being treated to a demonstration in protest of the merciless exploitation of the working class wage earner. You will be contacted later with further instructions."

I snapped the tape off before it reached the final cackling laugh track.

I repeated the last tape to the Chronicle and the Post.

I suppose I should have let Ted handle this part of it - I wasn't sure if he'd figured out what was going on or not. Things had been pretty hectic lately and, somehow, the subject hadn't come up again.

The fact of the matter was that I'd almost forgotten myself what with all the uproar.

But, events were in motion ... and I could head home for that long hot soak.

* * *

By the time the water in the tub was cooling, I felt almost revived. In any case, I was hungry.

I pulled my terrycloth robe off the hook by the door, belted it on and hopped to the spare wheelchair - the one I kept ready just in case I ever had to make a hasty exit in the middle of the night. This one didn't fold and the woven wicker seat - on bare skin - had the unfortunate characteristic of making a definite impression. On the flip side, in hot weather, it was much more comfortable than something solid. In any case, I tried to at least wear a robe before sitting in it.

In the kitchen, I'd insisted on all cabinets and the fridge being wheelchair accessible. Even the sink was where I could wheel up to it rather than having to stand bent over it or leaning against the counter. The condo management had bitched like hell about approving my remodeling plans ... right up until they met with my attorney. The firm specialized in handicapped cases ... and most of them were, one way or another.

The management decided they might have a problem if things went to court and suddenly became very reasonable. Cooperative even.

For the moment, I settled for a pouch of cornbread and chili con carne from the freezer, popping them in the microwave while I brewed a fresh pot of coffee.

First things first. While the coffee and chili heated, I called my service to have all calls redirected to the condo and to leave a couple of messages as well.

In the mean time, all calls would be funneled through the service. If I was in, they could transfer them here. If I was out, they'd keep a log.

The coffee was ready. I carried the pot to the desk, added a cup, fetched the chili, cornbread, butter and honey and settled down to enjoy breakfast.

Between bites, I called Phones Plus to order another cell phone. This one for Ted - he was going to need it. They promised to send it over by messenger before noon.

Next, I reached Mark at the Mission, asking him to have Jane call me as soon as she was awake. Two reasons: One, I wanted a report on last night's events and, two, I had another job for her.

Third ... I reached for the phone book and looked under Real Estate: Commercial and Office. There was no way I was going to try to run a business out of my home again. If you do that, you never get to leave the office ... and that's a bad mistake.

Still, that was one job that could wait ... for a few hours anyway.

Instead, I dialed Ted's number. He was young, no reason I shouldn't wake him up. Assuming he'd been to bed at all ... to sleep, that is.

Except that he didn't answer. If he'd gone home with Allison, I didn't have a number to reach him. And there was no point in calling Astarte. That could wait too.

I'd finished the cornbread and was pouring another cup when the phone rang.

"MacPherson," I answered.

"Boss?" It was Ted. "I got your message. What's going on?"

"You with Allison?" I queried.

"Huh? Naw, she's working today. I'm over at Washington Park. Got a meeting, remember?"

I'd forgotten the runaway girl. "Right. Call me when you're done. I'll be at home. I'll tell you the rest then. Oh, you'll have a cell phone this afternoon. Want the number?"

I gave Ted the number Phones Plus had supplied earlier, then hit the 'flash' button - call waiting was beeping at me.

"MacPherson here," I answered.

"You certainly caused an uproar last night." This time, it was Mrs. Zappa.

"One step at a time," I agreed. "Where are you calling from?"

"I'm on a pay phone at the service station," she answered.

"That should be safe," I agreed. I wished all my clients were that careful. "How's the flack?"

"Hot and heavy," she admitted. "We've suspended a dozen employees - they're in jail this morning anyway - and instituted a review of all personnel. At least we didn't make front page."

"Haven't seen a paper," I admitted. "But it was pretty late to make any kind of splash. Better cross your fingers."

"Cross yours," she replied. "We're issuing a statement and, sorry, but it looks like your name will be included - as a consultant recently retained to review security and hiring practices. It's called damage control. No choice - I have limited resources to prevent it - not without blowing your cover entirely."

"That's okay," I agreed. "Better the wrong information. What else?"

"Personnel should be calling your applicants today or tomorrow - we're definitely going to be shorthanded."

"That was the general idea," I agreed. "By the way, who's drafting the statement?"

"You mean who's putting your name in?"

"Right."

"Marketing handles PR," she reminded me. "I believe it was Anderson who suggested we should appear proactive rather than reactive. She suggested that the fact that we had brought you in before a problem was identified should count for something."

"What other reactions?"

"Ms Chen - Personnel - proposed reviewing all personnel records. She also suggested we shake up the current assignments."

"Makes sense," I agreed.

We talked a while longer but there wasn't much to say at this point. It was easy to speculate but speculation wasn't going to settle anything. Finally, I agreed to an evening meeting, suggesting a Thai restaurant on Van Ness and we rang off. Hopefully, we'd both know more by then.

I didn't mention the fire - that was another matter entirely.

I hadn't told Ted about the fire either. No point in upsetting him when he was going to need to be calm to convince a runaway teenybopper to accept help.

I reached for the phone book again. This time, I looked under Computers: Disaster Recovery.

I didn't find what I was looking for. There were hundreds of listings under Computers: Service and Repair but nothing for Disaster Recovery. Maybe, I decided, I'd better leave that to Ted. He was the expert anyway.

I was looking for the number for my insurance agent when the phone rang again. It was Detective Graimon, SFPD.

"Morning, Frank," I greeted him. "Know anything interesting?"

"Trying to steal my line?" he asked. "Suppose you tell me. You've been a busy boy."

"I've been busy? Hey, I'm the victim here." I assumed he meant the fire.

"You trying to tell me you didn't report a vehicular accident last night? Report says the call was from your cellular phone."

"Just being a good citizen, Frank. What's wrong with that?" If it had been possible, I would have used a pay phone then but, sometimes, you just have to go with what you've got.

"Just that I listened to the tape. You aren't normally that excited, Mac."

"So? It was late, I was tired. Arrest me."

"What's the connection with the arson?"

"Absolutely none," I assured him. "You talk with Captain Downs? From his assessment, it sounded as amateurish as the bomb. A little more effective, admittedly, but still pretty hacked."

"Yeah, I talked to Downs this morning - he called me on his way home for his two-off. You're sure there's no connection?"

"Not unless someone's stretching coincidence to the breaking point," I offered. "No matter. I'm relocating anyway. Some place with better locks."

"So, homeless again?" Frank wasn't one of the benefactors who'd presented me with the brass name plate but the whole department knew about it.

"Ahw, I was ready to move anyway - just as soon as I had the time. Office was getting too small, I was thinking it was time to get a good receptionist. And some space for Ted - tired of watching him play games."

"Sour grapes, Mac?"

"Honest truth," I protested. "Say, mind checking on something for me? On the QT?"

"What and what's in it for me?"

"What cleaning company handles the North Wood Mall. Come up with the right name and I'll admit that coincidence exists. But I doubt it."

"That all? Who are you suspicious of?"

"If it's Viscount Services," I offered, "you can buy me dinner."

"Me buy you dinner?"

"Sure, if you can hit a long shot like that, you could win the lottery easier. And, if you're that lucky ..."

"What's the connection?" Frank demanded.

"That's just it. As far as I know, there isn't any. I'm just talking about coincidence."

"Okay, Mac. I'll check it. But ..."

"But if it pans out you're going to put me under the lights, right? No sweat, if you find a match, I'll tell all over dinner."

"What have you got on Viscount anyway?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. Nothing. And nothing I can use either. Just a nagging curiosity. But nothing either of us can run with."

"If there's a connection," Graimon assured me. "I'll be on your doorstep before you can turn around. With the line you're feeding me, I want to see your face when your mouth opens."

"Yeah, I love you too. Later, okay?"

* * *

"A couple of things bothering, Boss. Mind if I ask a couple of questions?"

Since I'd just filled Ted in on the fire, I'd expected the computer to be his first worry. "Go ahead," I agreed. "I've never objected to questions."

"No," he admitted. "You just don't always answer them."

Well ... in all honesty, he was right. Still, it was a useful technique for making him think. "Try me," I suggested. "Can't hurt."

"There isn't any connection between the microwave you had me buy and drop over near Chinatown and last night's fire is there?"

"I doubt it."

"But there is with the tapes you had me make, right?"

"Right in one," I confirmed.

"Is that microwave going to wind up in the warehouse we trailed the perps to?"

"Already has," I admitted.

"When did it go off?"

I glanced at my watch. "Bout three hours ago. Sorry," I added, "I know you'd have enjoyed it but ..."

"Ahw, that's okay. And you've used the tapes already, right?"

"You're doing fine." And he was - good connections - I'd make a good detective of him yet.

"Why?" Ted demanded.

"Think about it," I suggested. "You've got as long as it takes for me to get another cup of coffee."

"I'll get the coffee," Ted offered, picking up the mug. "Got any Pepsi?"

"Check the icebox, should be."

"If we're going to work out of here," Ted muttered with his head in the fridge. "We've got to do some serious restocking on your supplies."

"Stick to the subject," I called. "And bring the coffee."

"I don't know," Ted set the mug in easy reach. "It still seems like a lot of trouble for nothing."

"Maybe you aren't adding up the results properly. Would it help if I tell you that I played the third tape for the Chronicle and the Post?"

Ted was silent for a long moment, busying himself opening the soda and taking a drink. "Publicity? The Consumer's Liberation Front? Sounds freaky - like it ought to be a band. Okay, don't tell me." Not that I was going to. "Let me try it from the other end. This CLF calls the mall and the papers claiming credit for a demonstration but without saying what. Did you make the calls before or after the smokes went off?"

"About five minutes after," I grinned.

"But there wasn't any disturbance at North Woods. But there was a smoke bomb at a warehouse. Where stolen goods from North Woods have been taken. Right?"

"So far," I agreed. Sounded like he was on the right track.

"Which makes it look like the crooks stole the ... son of a bitch! And that's why the crooks get busted! A stupid accident!"

"Don't forget ..."

"The car crash!" Ted jumped on it. "Another stupid accident! What a bitch!"

"Go ahead," I suggested. "Spell it out."

"Okay! The fence gets busted because of one stupid accident and the guards get busted because of another ... which makes the whole thing just look like a bunch of lousy frigging luck. That way, whoever's behind it ... isn't scared off. They're just having a bad day. Fucking brilliant!"

"Like using a gawky kid to track runaways?" I questioned.

"Yeah," Ted agreed too quickly, then blushed when he realized what I'd said. "Okay, sure."

"Now, what was the question you wanted me to answer?"

"You did it too me again, didn't you?"

"Did I?"

"Damned right you did. Instead of answering, you made me figure it out on my own."

"Did I?" I smiled. He'd done just fine.

"Damned right and you're doing it again. But isn't this an awful lot of trouble? I could have just called in an anonymous tip. The police would have investigated."

"Could have," I agreed. "Or could have just dropped a couple of bills on some of our less reputable citizens together with a suggestion that anything stolen from that location would never be reported. So, why all this trouble?"

"It's sure going to irritate someone."

"That's right," I agreed. "And?"

"And I guess they're going to need a new fence if they keep on heisting things. Hey, you planning to help them out on that?"

How about that? The penny had finally dropped. Ted was right, I wanted our perps irritated without scaring them too bad. As long as they were irritated, they were likely to make mistakes. And, it was important - for my plans - for them to need a new fence as well.

"As a matter of fact," I responded, "that's exactly what I plan. And, tomorrow, you're going to help Jane set up shop. A special shop. I'll give you a list but, first, Johnny'll have cameras and recorders for us to cover the area. We're taping everything. Johnny'll give you a hand installing them.

"Second, we'll have some special props coming - a few cases of armaments and other goodies to help make this look like a heavy operation.

"And, third, we'll need a couple of heavies - young ones - to play security. I assume you can find some talent?"

Ted smiled at the thought. "Say, you mind if they're on the butch side? I know a couple of ladies who are into pumping iron. Super at the apartment's been complaining. Tell 'em they can set up their stuff in a corner and get paid for working out and they'll love it."

Sounded good to me. Lesbian muscle was the ideal image, good for keeping the patsies off balance - probably amuse Jane as well.

"You been by the office?" Ted changed the subject. "Say, what about the computer? Is it okay?" His face fell when he suddenly wondered what his precious silicon had suffered.

I assured him that the computer would probably be okay - after it dried out. "Why don't you check with a good tech," I suggested. "See if needs anything before turning it on. And, as long as we're relocating, you might get some prices on a new system. I think it's time we had a receptionist anyway and we'll need two."

"For me," Ted's eyes lit up. "Or for her?"

"For you," I offered. "As long as it doesn't cost a million."

"Hey, we could set up a LAN and that way both systems would have access to the same information. Wouldn't have to wonder which computer things were on and ..."

"Just keep the prices down, okay? And pass me the phone." It was ringing.

* * *

Jane had received my message and was checking in. Rather than explain over the phone, I asked her to come on over ... and to take a cab ...

While we were waiting, the messenger showed up with Ted's phone - at home, I only had one line - Detective Griamon called again - this time to ask if I'd heard of the Consumer's Liberation Front - and I'd heard from my insurance agent - he'd been by to take a look but said we'd need a complete list of damages for the claim.

Between calls, I'd taken time to get dressed. You just can't go around wearing a bathrobe at the office ... even when it's home. Also, I decided George had had enough and left the wheelchair in the bedroom, reappearing on two legs and a cane.

* * *

"What I'd like you to do," I explained to Jane over another cup of coffee, "is find us a new office. Something with a bit more space and definitely with controlled access. I figure we'll need three or four offices, a conference room - with room for ten or twelve people -" Jane smiled at the memory of our recent gatherings. "- and a reception area," I paused.

"We'll need furniture, of course. Nothing too expensive but be sure to get some cabinets with shelves. Multiline phones for all offices, maybe you'd better check on a PBX but nothing too elaborate. I'm not a millionaire.

"And you can set up the reception area however you like. There'll be a computer terminal there since you'll double as office manager ... and general assistant ... and we'll need ..."

"Just a moment," Jane interrupted. "Are you offering me ..."

"The job? Of course - that is, if you're willing to give up your real estate career ..."

Jane's career as a real estate agent had disappeared - along with her employer, the agency and a lot of clients' moneys - several years ago. The employer had reappeared - and was now housed in Quentin - but Jane had been cleared of everything except guilt by association ... That and her age.

Guilt by association didn't bother me - I knew her better than that. And her age didn't bother me either - I thought it might help her keep Ted in line. Might help with some of the younger runaways, too.

"Does this mean I have to give up being a fence?"

"It means you don't get double paychecks ... or overtime ... but you've still got the part."

"You're serious?"

I nodded. "If you can't handle a computer, Ted can teach you. Oh, you're also the bookkeeper - billing's getting way behind. You handle the bills, write the paychecks and handle disbursements. Better arrange a small safe also. For petty cash, confidential papers, tapes and such. Make it four or five cubic and fireproof but not one of those you can wheel around - I want it anchored. Morse makes some good ones but check around and get some prices, then we'll look at them.

"We'll go by the bank this afternoon and I'll have you fill out a signature card and introduce you to my loan officer. I'll have to sign the notes but you'll be able to make the arrangements. Yes?"

She was looking puzzled as well as happy. "Just one question?"

"Go ahead."

"What is my salary?"

"You tell me," I suggested. "Check the market and see what's going. But don't sell yourself short - I don't want you going over to some other gumshoe just when I get you broken in. In the mean time, I'll write you a check for an advance. Or cash, if you'd prefer."

"No, that's okay," she was torn between laughter and tears. "I have an account ... not much in it but ... As your bookkeeper, I'm going to insist on a complete record of cash disbursements. And you should use checks whenever possible. Have you considered corporate credit cards?"

"Okay, yes and no, in that order. It's kind of hard though to offer a check as a bribe - excuse me, grease is the technical term. And I don't think that credit cards would do much good on the street. Look, I'll leave the details to you, okay?"

"First things first," she agreed. "If you'll pass me the phone, we're going to need a couple more lines here in the apartment - just until we have a new office set up. These condos are already wired for multiline. If I convince them it's a business emergency, I can get the old numbers transferred by this evening and Ted can pick up a couple of instruments over at Office Depot. Now, about your answering service ..."

I hoped I wasn't going to regret this.

* * *

Jane was happily arranging for some temporary help - from the Mission - to meet Ted at the old office and see what could be salvaged.

Under the circumstances, I let him take my van - he was going to need the space - while I fitted my bum leg in his Subaru. At least it was an automatic.

Taking first things first, I went hunting for Johnny, to pick up the rest of the equipment I'd asked him for.

Chinatown's a fascinating enclave within the San Francisco environs. You almost feel like you should have a passport to enter the area.

Johnny's turf is a fourth floor loft with a Buddhist temple and a greens-grocer on the ground floor and a dojo on the second. What the third floor is, I've never asked.

Inside, the loft looks like a cross between a junk yard and the bridge on Star Trek. Or maybe a set out of Max Headroom. For that matter, Johnny could fit into either show as well. Johnny's as short as he is broad, has long blonde hair and the complexion of a sunburned Apache. He's also the best speciality electronics man I know ... if you didn't ask too many questions about the legality of his sources.

Which was one reason I was only interested in renting, not buying.

Don't get me wrong, I had no basis for suspecting that any of his equipment was less than legitimately acquired. On the other hand, neither did I have any evidence that it was entirely obtained on the open market.

Maybe it was just a feeling.

"Hey, Mac," Johnny rumbled. "How's the gimmick? Everything work like you wanted?"

"Far as I know," I agreed. "I didn't have a very good view. Looked like it went off all right. Got the rest of the gear for me?"

"Course I do," he sounded hurt. "Prettiest stuff you'll ever see. Guaranteed stealthed! Le'me show you." He reached for a coil of thin cable with a tiny knob on the one end. "Check it out," he invited.

The cable was no thicker than a thread but felt a lot stronger. The knob at the tip was a knob only by comparison with the cable and was about half the size of a grain of rice. The other end of the cable terminated in a small metal fitting, about the diameter of a thick pencil lead.

"You'll have to tell me," I admitted. "It's small, yes, but what does it do?"

"Fiber-optic acoustical pickup," Johnny rumbled. "No so good on the bass response but absolutely undetectable. Traceable only by eyeball. Low power laser feeds in, reads the mirrored diaphragm in the tip. Remote transducer decodes the returned light. If you can get it in place, you've got a tap.

"Six units with hundred foot leads on each. Plug those into the extension cable," he held up a second coil, only slightly thicker but with a multiple plug on one end, "and you've got another two thousand feet to your transducer / recorder." He patted a small gray box, about the size of a cigar box. "Digital voice recorder, thirty hours battery life and seventy of continuous voice or VOX operation on six channels. For longer operation, just clip into any j-box with 110 or 220 volts.

"And this," he hefted an attaché case, "is a wireless link that will download the recorder contents at squirt rates. Takes about five minutes for a full seventy hours and works anywhere within a hundred yards unless there's heavy shielding. From here, you can listen at leisure or transfer to a conventional recorder."

"Right," I agreed, understanding one word in ten but getting the gist of it. "The taps?"

"Nothing new," Johnny sounded crestfallen at the admission. "Same stuff you've used before. Course, you can run them into the same transducer now. I've got an idea in the works," he brightened up, "but it's kind of tricky and my overseas contacts are having trouble making it function correctly. Maybe in a month or two ..."

"That's okay," I assured him. The 'conventional' taps were just fine with me. They worked and I knew how to use them.

"You want the cameras now?" Johnny switched topics, holding up a matchbox-sized device. "Got some pretty nice ones."

"Not for a day or two," I considered. "Besides, I'll want some help setting them up. Uh, no offense, Johnny, but the cameras and directionals don't really need to be super small."

"That's okay," he agreed. "I've still got a bunch of the old ones," he gestured at another camera, this one the size of two cigarette packs. "But look at this, ever see one this small? Great picture too. Three chip RGB or S-video and sensitivity like you wouldn't believe."

I let Johnny run on for a while, using the time to examine the fiber optics and make sure I understood the setup. Listening was part of the price. Johnny only came alive when he was talking electronics ... or working with them ... which was much the same thing.

* * *

Next stop was in the same neighborhood, to pick up a set of keys from Sheldon Yu - Yu Xia Dong before he'd anglicized it and put the surname last. Sheldon - either directly or through his several sons and sons-in-law - ran a furniture store, two retail import stores, an oriental antique shop and a dim sum restaurant - all in the heart of Chinatown.

He also had a warehouse near China Basin where the dim sum restaurant was the only thing not represented among the contents.

Further, he was loaning me the use of a corner of the establishment ... without even asking why.

Which was good enough - it saved me the trouble of cooking up a good story. Good stories are hard to come by.

Of course, I'd tell him the true story later ... After all, he'd enjoy it.

And he'd expect it - as payment.

* * *

My last stop was the old office - I wanted another look at the damages but I didn't plan to stay. Instead, I parked in the loading zone, clipping my handicapped placard to the rearview mirror before locking the car.

Upstairs, things didn't look any better than they had the night before. The computer was gone. A man I vaguely recognized - from the Mission - said that Ted was dropping it off at a repair shop and would be back shortly. In the mean time, he and two helpers were boxing up the contents of the bookshelves.

"I'll have another job for you, tomorrow," I advised them. "Jane or Ted will fill you in on the details. Right now, I've got to run. But thanks for the help. Oh, if you see the building manager, tell him I'll call later."

I really didn't want to meet him at the moment - first a bomb scare and then a fire? I figured he'd probably be happy to see me leave.

If he wasn't already tearing up my lease.

* * *

"Quite a few messages for you," Jane announced when I returned. "A Detective Graimon wanted you to know that the answer was Bellhaven Cleaners. Said you'd understand - but that you owed him dinner. He emphasized the 'you'. Does that make sense? Or do you want the exact quote?" She picked up a yellow pad to consult her notes.

"Enough of it," I agreed to the first question. "What else?"

"Charlie Burston called. Said to tell you DSS stocks are down three points since yesterday but inactive. However, there has been moderate trading over the past three months - mostly shorts. Also there are standing buys but they're sitting at twenty point below market. Also, Mr. Burston wants to know if he should be chasing any of this?

"I understand the shorts and the buys," Jane continued. "But what's this about chasing?"

"I assume," I considered, "he wants to know if he should get in the action. Better call him back. I'll talk to him."

A moment later, "Mr. Burston? Mr. MacPherson returning your call. One moment please." Jane handed me the phone.

"Charlie, thanks for the dope but, no, I'd stay clear. I suspect that someone's going to get burned."

"I've played with fire before, Mac. What's happening?"

"Sorry, Charlie. Client confidentiality. But, as far as I know, DSS is sound."

"They're your client?"

"No point in denying it since I understand that much will appear in the papers shortly. But I can't tell you anything else."

"Fair enough. Still sail boarding?"

"When I get the chance," I agreed. "You?"

"Why don't we get together Saturday? Weather permitting."

"Sounds good," I agreed. "But I'll have to see what's happening then. I'll give you a buzz."

I hung the phone up and turned back to Jane. "And that," I explained, "is skirting the insider trading laws. If Charlie wants to play the odds, I didn't tell him anything which wasn't public."

"You didn't tell him much of anything at all," she agreed.

"That's right ... and what he does with what I didn't tell him is his business. In turn, I have the information I wanted."

"Well," she smoothed her hair with one hand - a nervous habit I'd noticed before, "I can see working for you will be interesting at least. Do I also bake cakes?"

"Sorry?"

"With hacksaw blades in them?"

"I hope not," I laughed. "I sincerely hope not."

"Good," she agreed. "Ruins the flavor. Now, when would you like to look at an office suite?"

* * *

Looking at office suites was going to have to wait - I didn't know what Jane had said to convince the phone company but two phone service people showed up to check the lines and complete transferring the service from office.

A second arrival was an express delivery from Office Max - three telephones, stenopads, message pads, cash receipts, a ledger, pens, file folders, labels, an appointment calendar, a small file cabinet and a folding table.

"Once you settle on a location," Jane informed me after the phone company and delivery person had left - and all four phones were tested and working, "we'll need new stationary, billing forms and business cards. Your old cards," she fingered one of them, running her finger across the words 'H. D. Agency', "are kind of plain. What do you think about using this?" She picked up the bronze and oak nameplate from the coffee table.

Homeless Detective Agency

"The lettering is distinctive and it has a nice contrast. Sets you apart from the run of the mill. Projects a good image. Besides, it suits you," she added as a clincher.

"Uh," I really hadn't thought about it. Image? I was a gumshoe and a security advisor - an unorthodox one, true, but was that what I wanted to tell my clients right up front? "Look, it's nearly five and I've got a couple of errands and an appointment this evening. And we still haven't gotten by the bank. They'll be open until seven. Why don't we run by and get your name on the account and I'll give you a check as well. Then maybe you can use the evening to look for an apartment or whatever. I mean, I assume ..."

It was weird, I was stumbling all over myself to avoid deciding on changing my logo. The old ones - along with my collection of 'bogus' cards - were designed on the computer and then run off on microperf card stock. Maybe it was time ... just I didn't know what I thought about it.

"I've already arranged an apartment," Jane answered. "Remember, I was in real estate. I still have a few friends in the business. I haven't seen it but it's a furnished sublease. And they said my phone will be in tomorrow. The number's on the pad. Look, if you really don't like the logo, that's okay. We can pick something out later. Just think it - what kind of image do you want to present?

"In the mean time, sure, let's hit the bank ... I'd like to take a few friends out to dinner. To celebrate ..."

Partly, I was just feeling dizzy - I hadn't realized how fast Jane would take charge ... not that I objected. It was exactly what I'd hoped for - somebody to take care of all the details that I never seemed to have time for.

I just wondered if Ted would be able to stand it.