I'd finally agreed to accompany the paramedics to the hospital for x-rays, not because I thought it was necessary - which it wasn't - but because, given the choice, seeing a doctor was infinitely preferable to answering further questions or making a formal statement - both of which each of the agency representatives strongly intimated was the inevitable next step.

Instead, I allowed the paramedics - with Herb's acquiescence - to spirit me away ... insisting, of course, on being accompanied by my wheelchair.

Of course, accompanying the paramedics meant leaving my van as fortune's hostage but I passed the keys to Mr. Parajan, asking him to park it somewhere safe until I - or someone - could recover it.

The ride to the hospital - no lights or siren required - gave me time for a short nap - an appetizer, as it were, for a longer one while waiting for Doctor Elizabeth Mallory. Since I'd requested her specifically - as my regular physician - but had insisted there was no rush, the over-worked ER staff was happy enough to tuck me in an out-of-the-way corner until the doctor arrived.

* * *

When Doc Mallory showed up - around ten - demanding to know what kind of trouble I was in this time and why I couldn't stick to office hours, I'd copped a good five hours sleep and was feeling almost human again ... except I still wanted a hot bath and a complete change of clothes.

"They tell me you snored through the x-rays," Elizabeth accused, her back to me as she examined a set of films on the light board. "How's your hand feeling?"

"Numb," I'd almost forgotten. "How is it?"

"You're lucky," she turned to face me. "Nothing broken. You're going to hurt for a few days. And you'd better forget about sail boarding for a while but, keep the cold pack on your hand for another couple of days" - a cold gel pack was folded around my hand, held by a florescent green crepe bandage - "and the bruises will heal on their own. Want to tell me how you tried to dislocate your thumb? And no remarks about whether you'll play the piano again."

I hate doctors who know all the punch lines.

While she taped my ribs, I offered an abbreviated version of the night's events - as long as I kept talking, she assumed I could still breath ... which was just barely true.

"You can shower," she lifted my coat with a distasteful expression, "but keep the bandages dry. A disguise, I assume?"

"They look worse than they are," I assured her. "Don't worry about your bill - I'm homeless in name only."

"You want to talk about it?" Elizabeth took a seat facing me but her gaze was directed at my empty pants leg.

"I went through all that years ago," I snapped. "Look, I've had the course, okay? I can live with it." And I had - rehab had included more than a year of counseling ... and more than a few sessions had included sobbing fits, screaming in anger ... or both.

"Then why are you so angry now?" she challenged calmly.

"Why shouldn't I be," I growled. "You know how long it takes to get a new leg. You think I like wheeling around in a chair instead of walking? The miserable son-of-a-bitch ..."

"I saw your leg," Dr. Mallory interrupted. "Down in the morgue. It's on a slab next to the miserable S.O.B. How does that make you feel?"

I didn't say anything - at least, nothing articulate or intelligible.

"This is the second time you've lost your leg," she prompted. "And it's the second time you killed the person who did it. How do you feel about it?"

"I didn't - George did. I wish I had. I wish he were alive so that I could beatthehelloutofhim," I concluded in a gasp, without realizing what I was saying. Then I didn't say anything more ... I trying to breath slowly and regularly, searching for that central focus inside ... groping for a calm center point while my thoughts threatened to whirl off in all directions ... searching for a pivot where I could stand to watch the world spin around ...

* * *

... om mani padme huum ... om mani padme huum ... om mani padme huum ...

* * *

"That's better," Elizabeth was holding my wrist, her fingers on my pulse. "Much better. Think you'll be all right?"

"Sorry," I apologized, feeling the moisture in my eyes threatening to overflow. "I had no right to snap ..."

"If you hadn't," she interrupted. "I'd have had to keep poking. You know better than to bottle things up under pressure." - last time, she'd used the analogy of lancing a wound - "I want you to make an appointment with a counselor at ReHab before I see you again. Okay?"

I wasn't stupid - you don't argue with a lady who's likely to stick needles in you. I nodded.

"Okay then," she released my wrist. "I've got other patients in worse shape than you. You need a ride?"

"I'll catch a cab," I shook my head. I paused, searching for the words. Finally, "thanks." It didn't seem like enough but it was all there was.

"Then quit wasting my time," Elizabeth smiled wryly. "I've got sick people to see."

* * *

I made the taxi circle the block a couple of times before I was convinced the coast was clear. The cabbie was already convinced I was nuts - hard to blame her considering how I was dressed - and I'd had to flash a couple of twenties to convince her I had the fare before she'd agreed to drive me.

At any rate, things looked quiet. My VW van was parked in the alley, to one side of the open freight door. Since there weren't any suspicious rental or E-tagged cars in the immediate area, I figured it was probably safe to make an appearance.

The driver was still shaking her head as she drove away, leaving me - and my wheelchair - sitting on the sidewalk.

Naturally, the freight door wasn't wheelchair accessible - the four-inch beveled lip that most people wouldn't even notice was as good as a wall. And a healthy workman with two good legs could bounce a loaded dolly down - or up - the lip with minimal effort.

Hell, if I had both hands working, my arms were strong enough to do a wheeley and then to bounce the chair over the lip. I knew paraplegics and double-amputees who could make their chairs do tricks that funny cars only dreamed off ...

But I had only one hand and wheelchairs don't come with limited slip differential gearboxes - at least, mine didn't - which was making even simple maneuvering harder than I'd expected.

Frustrated, I worked my way around to the customer entrance, vowing to rent a powered wheelchair soonest. Pulling myself along with one leg and one hand - both on the same side - might be funny but definitely wasn't even fun.

Granted, one of Mr. Parajan's staff saw me coming and came out to lend a hand, pushing me inside after propping the door open. Under the circumstances, I was grateful ... and a little bit ashamed that I couldn't remember the man's name ... or even if we'd been introduced.

I was also finding the situation itself more than a little annoying.

* * *

As it happened, my good Samaritan and I had not met before - which was a reasonable excuse for my inability to attach a name to the face.

After introducing his son, Mr. Parajan insisted I join them for lunch. "Here your van will be safe," he assured me. "You are young man and must eat. Food makes up for lost sleep, does it not? Come, you are my guest." Since he - and his son - were directing my wheelchair, I was in no position to refuse.

Lunch was refreshing. We were served upstairs above the office where we seated on cushions were scattered around a large, worn but clean rug. Under the circumstances, I was grateful for the freight elevator.

Lunch - washed down with a sweet mint tea - was served as a heaping platter of cous-cous topped with a stew of lamb, tomatoes, onions and peppers combined in a sweet, peppery, aromatic sauce.

I didn't mind sitting on a cushion - that was perfectly comfortable - but I did need some assistance removing the gel pack from my right hand so I could eat.

Once the crepe bandage and cold pack were off, my hand looked better than I expected. Felt better, too. It wasn't that I had any objections to eating with my left hand. And I was confident that my host was too sophisticated to voice any complaint but, in many mid-eastern cultures, the left hand is reserved for other intimate tasks.

Makes it real awkward if they cut your right hand off for stealing.

My thumb didn't want to move very readily ... but I didn't need my thumb to dip into the fragrant mix of grain, meat, vegetables and pungent flavors.

Over lunch, Mr. Parajan gave me a detailed account of what had happened after the paramedics had whisked me away. It was entertaining listening.

A sincere pleasure in stepping on the toes of authority appears to be a universal. Mr. Parajan had had no objections to the local police department removing the illicit equipment from his roof. But, at the same time, he had enjoyed the discomfort of the representatives of the two federal agencies who'd found themselves blocked in their attempts to intervene.

After all, it was the SFPD who held all the warrants ... and the DA's office was backing Herb right down the line ... Jurisdictional disputes were always fun as long ... as you were on the winning side.

Over desert - a syrupy pastry flavored with honey, rose water and oranges - I filled in a few of the missing pieces, giving Mr. Parajan - and his staff - an outline of the events preceding what they already knew about.

"I'll come by in a couple of days," I repeated an earlier promise, "and we'll look a beefing up your security system." I licked the last of the flavors from my fingers, washing it down with mint tea. "For the moment, however, I really need to get back to my office."

I'd called in - briefly - from the cab on the way over and there hadn't been anything urgent but I still felt like I should show up in person ... after I'd changed clothes. Then, if things were still quiet, the chair Jane had bought for my office might be ideal for a short siesta while my lunch digested.

* * *

Simply changing clothes made me feel tremendously improved. I'd settled for a sponge bath rather than a shower - the strapping across my ribs would take too long to dry after showering - and I'd left the gel pack in the freezer to cool while cleaning up and changing.

By the time I was ready to leave again, my thumb was throbbing and the cold embrace of the gel was more than welcome ... even with the bright chartreuse crepe bandage anchoring it in place.

All in all, I was beginning to wonder if the crepe bandage came in camo or neutral hues. It was proving awfully versatile, capable of being removed and replaced without sticky adhesives or awkward fasteners - seemed like it ought to be useful in other circumstances ... but not in florescent colors.

* * *

One thing I hadn't figured about the new office - or the old office, for that matter - was how to get in the front door seated in a wheelchair with only one hand working. They'd covered a lot of obstacles in ReHab - emphasizing that almost anything could be an obstacle course - but I'd had both hands then ... and I'd been much more motivated to learning to use George than learning to maneuver in a chair.

Having to rely on Jane to open the door for me was not going to hack it. Sure, I'd have my hand back in a day or so but that wasn't the point. What about other people? Like someone using a walker? Or on crutches?

This was a problem I was going to have to think about.

While helping me in, Jane was also trying to hide something. There was an undertone of excitement in her manner as if she was resisting blurting something, confining herself instead to asking how I was feeling and could I get around all right or should she arrange something like a Lark scooter for me - her chit-chat was a little too casual.

Ted was balanced on a ladder, his arm still in a sling, messing with something above the drop ceiling.

"When you have a minute," I suggested, trying not to run the wheelchair into the ladder, "I'll fill you both in on last night. No rush though. Ted, if you fall and break something else, we may be out of business. Be careful, okay? Jane, any urgent messages?"

"Hundreds," she assured me. "And they can wait. You've got the FBI, the Treasury Department and the DA's office calling. And a Lt. Herbert Holloway - he said to tell you 'Horrible' called - wants to know how you're feeling but says to tell you that you can ignore the big wigs and feds. He said that you would anyway so it might as well be official.

"And Raymond Toya from TrenData called. Again, he says it's not urgent - just wanted to tell you that everything's fine. Says to tell you that you're missing a lovely uproar ... and thanks for the tape. That make sense?"

It did. But an explanation would take a bit - and it would make more sense to fill both Jane and Ted in at the same time than separately.

"As for the Lark scooter," I returned to Jane's earlier suggestion, "it's a lovely idea but I wouldn't be able to get one in and out of my van. The hand will be okay in a day or so and I'll manage until then." Still, I added my concerns about the office door - that was a problem which wasn't going to go away.

"So, if you have any ideas ..." I left it hanging and picked up another topic. "What about Madame Lu's? How are things going with the crew?"

"Most of the crew," Jane reported, "are playing it cool. Dan" - that was Daniel Herrick, sometimes actor, sometimes radio personality - "says he thinks he's been approached but it's all very circumspect. Bill" - Bill Williams, one of my long time irregulars - "said that he thinks there's something going on but the old timers on his crew are trying to keep him out of it. Nobody else has anything firm but everyone says they've seen a lot of chances. They want to know if they should start lifting items? Or keep playing it cool?"

"Tough call," I considered. "Maybe so. Tell them to keep it small and nothing too obvious. You know, low key but not too careful. After all, they are supposed to get caught."

"I don't know," Jane disagreed. "If they try to look like small timers, how are they going to dangle 'Madame Lu' as bait? I think at least one or two of them should try for some real scores - you know, high ticket items. Jewelry or electronics or something salable, not penny-ante stuff."

"You're probably right," I decided. "Maybe I'm just feeling gun shy today." I gestured with my day-glo bandages. "And a little tired," I admitted, lowering myself awkwardly into the office chair-recliner.

This one was a toss-up. The crew had only been on the job a few days - less than a week even if it did feel longer to me - how long was it reasonable for them to wait before commencing larcenous activities? Was a few days too fast? A month would certainly be too slow - whatever was happening, things were likely to bust one way or another before then.

"Tell them to go for it," I directed. "Tell them to use their own judgements but try not to get hurt. Okay?"

"I'll tell them," Jane promised. "I can pass the word right now. They've set up a message system so I can reach everyone with a couple of calls. Unless you want them to come in for a conference?"

"I'd rather not have anyone blowing their cover," I declined. "Not at this point. Oh, did you find anyone to listen through the tapes?"

"I hope you don't object," Jane responded. "But I've hired two people. They're in the front office right now. There's a lot of material. Ted's arranged things so that they can check different channels. Most of it's just routine, office gossip and business but there's a lot of it."

"Fine." I wasn't going to argue - if Jane or Ted said we needed two people to handle it, then we needed two people. I shook myself. I must be tired. The door to the office next to mine had been closed when we came in and I hadn't even noticed. "Who'd you find?"

"A new couple staying at Vinnie's" - she meant St. Vincent's - "but Father Gregory vouches for them." - a recommendation as good as gold - "as does Sister Marie-Jean." - even better. "Anyway, the names are Nan and Fred Parker. Fred's done a lot of secretarial work, Nan was laid off in a bank merger when they downsized. Uh, they've got their daughter with them - I said it was okay."

"Sure," I agreed. "Daughter? She's very quiet."

"Probably sleeping," Jane smiled. "She's only three months old. You'll hear her if she wakes up."

Wonderful, the Homeless Detective and Child Care Agency! Hell, why not? "Does the baby need anything? Do they need an advance or anything? Uh, apologize for me for not coming in to say hello, would you?"

"They're fine," Jane assured me. "And the baby's fine. But you look like you need some coffee. Or a nap. Which?"

"Coffee, thanks," I stifled another yawn. "I'd better answer a few of these calls." I could hear the phone ringing at the reception desk and the stacks of pink slips on my desk weren't going to go away by themselves. "Any of these important? Really important?"

"Newspapers and television studios on the right," Jane announced. "Decide who you want to interview you - if any - and I'll arrange it. Or would you prefer a single press conference? The stack on the left has federal and local officials, the ones Lt. Holloway says you can ignore - if they call back, you aren't in yet, right?" - she was reading my mind with precision - "Personal and friends in the center stack. I'll get your coffee and let you think about it, okay?" Jane reached across the desk for the receiver, punched a button on the phone and announced, "Homeless Detective Agency. Please hold." She punched a second button and hung up again. "Coffee will be right in. Just relax - everyone can wait," she concluded.

I felt like I was being mothered.

* * *

Rule number one of the business universe: never turn down publicity.

"Tell everyone," I handed the right stack of pink slips back to Jane in exchange for the coffee, "that I'll be available for a press conference at four o'clock. But not before." Four o'clock was plenty of time to make the evening news.

I fished through the center stack - only one from Raymond Toya, two slips from Horrible. "See if you ... no, I'd better. Thanks, go ahead with those. I'll invite Ray and Herb, in case they'd like to attend." Partly professional courtesy - partly miserly loves company.

The left-hand stack I ignored. At the moment, professional courtesy had its limits.

* * *

Horrible was out.

But he'd left a message ...

It was simple - "Have fun. Talk to you later. Ignore the brass."

* * *

Raymond I reached at home.

"You know what time I got in this morning?" he sounded as sleepy as I felt. "What time is it, anyway?"

I told him - without mentioning my own tribulations - then explained about the press conference. "I thought you might like to sit in." I offered.

"Why do you think I didn't get in until late morning," Ray complained. "It's all yours, buddy. I've been talking since four this morning - I'd rather sleep. Uh, look, I've been saying 'in cooperation with James MacPherson of the Homeless Detective Agency who originally brought the matter to our attention' - that okay?"

"Sounds good to me," I admitted. "Anything you don't want me to say?"

"Uh, yeah, uh, don't mention the tape, okay?"

Meaning the argument from his superiors back-east? "No way," I agreed. "That all?"

"Yeah, I'll look for you on the news later. I'm going back to bed."

It looked like I was on my own.

I took the only sensible course of action - I pushed the chair back to a reclining position, swung around to look out over the bay, rang Jane to ask her to hold my calls ... and went to sleep.

* * *

According to Ted, by three o'clock, five camera crews were jockeying for position in the conference room.

Asleep, I remained blissfully unaware of everything.

* * *

"Three-forty-five, boss," Ted was shaking me gently. "You've got a press conference in fifteen."

I forced the chair upright and looked around. Something was strange.

The shadows were growing longer to the east and I could see traffic picking up on the Bay Bridge. A fresh cup of coffee was sitting on the desk. The Homeless Detective Agency waved its 3-D banner across the screen next to the coffee.

All perfectly normal.

Then Ted stepped back into view and I realized what was suddenly bothering me.

It was Ted - wearing a tie - and slacks - and a pressed shirt with buttons. He was also wearing a fresh sling - which he hadn't been when I came in.

I rubbed my eyes but the hallucination was still there.

I reached for the coffee but didn't say anything.

I swiveled to reach the keyboard. "Do we have a printer?" I asked, calling up a word processor.

"On the net," Ted answered. "It's in Jane's office. Just use LPT1."

"Fine. Are we set up for the press conference?"

"They're all waiting for you," Ted smiled. "Should I stall?"

"This will only take a minute." I wasn't the world fastest typist but I didn't need to say that much.

* * *

I removed the day-glo bandages from my hand and asked Ted to put the gel pack in the freezer section of the fridge. It was pretty warm by this time and I'd be wanting it again in a while.

Then, while Ted collected the copy from the printer, I wheeled myself out to the conference table, taking the empty position at the end of the table, my back to the glass doors overlooking the bay.

Ted handed me a copy of the statement I'd written, then passed copies around to the various reporters. While he did so, I offered 'hello's to several whom I recognized, apologized for not standings and, finally picked up my own copy and began reading aloud:

"The recent bust of a potentially multi-million dollar credit card fraud ring began when circumstances connected with another matter brought certain irregularities to my attention." - I kept Helen and Mary out of it - no point in embarrassing a lady I liked ... or her daughter - "When further investigation revealed the presence of covert surveillance equipment on the roof at Magic Carpets" - a plug for Mr. Parajan - "I contacted Raymond Toya at TrenData and, together, we arranged to feed doctored information to the eavesdroppers." - spreading the credit - "Finally, having established a pattern and arranged to gather evidence to identify the perpetrators, Lieutenant Herbert Holloway" - I almost said 'Horrible' - "of the San Francisco PD and I" - spreading the credit again - "arranged a mobile surveillance to determine where the retrieved information was being gathered. At the same time, Lt. Holloway was conducting a parallel investigation" - implying while not actually stating that the SFPD had a separate on-going operation - "which led to breaking a major operation involved in producing fake credit cards. At this time, as you know" - here I paused for a smile - "certain Federal agencies also became involved." Several of the reporters - and camera men - grinned in return.

I laid down the paper and addressed the reporters. "Any questions?" - which was about as stupid a question as it was possible to ask.

Most of the questions were predictable:

No, I could not comment on the involvement of the Treasury Department or the FBI except to say that neither I nor Lt. Holloway were aware of their presence until after SFPD officers had moved in to make arrests. The Chronicle and Post reporters were scribbling furiously at this. The TV reporters were making their own notes. This was one inter-jurisdictional controversy which wasn't going to vanish silently away.

No, I would not comment on the investigation which originally brought this matter to my attention. It was a private investigation and I would not identify any of the persons involved nor the nature of their involvement. "Surely," I suggested, "as ladies and gentlemen of the press, you have some concept of confidential sources?" Which brought a smile from most and a mild laugh from a couple of those present.

No, I would not comment on any other on-going investigations. "Let's get serious," I suggested. "You're really fishing on that one. If that's all you can think of to ask ..."

"Joan Gertzer, independent," one lady introduced herself. "I understand you lost a leg in the line of duty several years ago, leaving the SFPD on a medical disability. I also understand that your artificial limb was damaged last night. Is that correct?"

"Yes," I answered briefly - I didn't think I liked the direction her question was going but there wasn't much I could do about it except hope that someone else would change subjects.

Unfortunately, no-one did.

"Is it true that you personified your artificial limb? That you commonly referred to it as 'George', naming it after the partner who was killed at the same time you were injured?"

"Artifical limbs are often awkward and sometimes uncomfortable," I answered carefully. "A degree of personification is not uncommon as a mechanism which sometimes helps an amputee to deal with an unwieldy prosthesis. Sometimes we refer to them by less complimentary terms."

Ms. Gertzer wasn't dissuaded in the slightest. "Would you comment on the fact that George killed your attacker last night? Just as you killed the man who murdered your partner some years ago? Was it the ghost of your dead partner who acted to save your life last night by inhabiting your artificial limb."

"No comment," I shook my head, trying to keep my voice steady. "The person who attacked me last night - I do not, at this time, know the man's name - died by misadventure. In attempting to attack me, he stabbed my artificial prosthesis with the effect of shorting the electronics, resulting in a sudden motor overload. As a result, the prosthesis 'kicked' and appears to have broken the man's neck."

"Did 'George' also warn you about the bomb attack last week?" Ms Gertzer was relentless ... and I wondered where the hell she'd dug that up.

"There was no actual bomb," I corrected. "There was a package which appeared, initially, to be an explosive or incendiary device but which, in the end, proved to be quite harmless. I'm sorry but, if you have no further questions concerning the credit card fraud ring, I've had very little sleep the past few days."

"And the fire at your old offices? Any comment?" Ms Gertzer had no intention of being sidetracked. "Could you tell us how your partner was attacked? Another knife wound wasn't it? Did George warn you about either of these?"

"Ted, would you give me a hand?" I requested, wheeling myself backwards from the table.

Together, we retreated to my office. Ted closed the door quietly but firmly behind us.

"Who the hell is she?" we asked each other simultaneously.

"I don't know, Boss," Ted answered. "She just showed up. You don't know her?"

"I don't want to know her," I assured my assistant. "See if you and Jane can shoo them out. But," I added, "don't answer any questions. And, once you get rid of them ..."

"Yeah?"

"See if you can find out anything about her. In the mean time, I've got a couple of calls to make."

* * *

I was on the phone with Herb - filling him in on the press conference and, in return, getting a synopsis of things on his end - when a beep announced a second call.

"Half a sec," I interrupted Herb's account of the latest Washington demands. I'd asked Jane to hold all calls so I assumed she had some reason for ringing through.

"Problem?" I asked after hitting the flash button to switch calls.

"The reporters are leaving," Jane responded. "But there's a lady here to see you if you're not too busy."

Since Jane sounded amused rather than worried, "Give me five minutes," I agreed. "And, if you would please, I'd love a fresh coffee." Normally, I'd fetch the coffee myself but, under the circumstances, I figured it was a permissible request.

"Coffee now, lady in five," Jane confirmed.

"Thanks," I hit the flash key again to finish my conversation with Horrible.

* * *

I took time for one more call, ringing Irene Zappa - at her home number - and leaving a message: "This is Larry Parsons from the Vintage Shoppe, Ms Zappa. About the Castelletto Cortese you requested. We have three cases of the '93 available. Call me at your convenience and I'll be happy to set them aside for you."

If anyone was tapping Irene's phones, they might wonder at her wine consumption ... except this was California. Three cases of Cortese were hardly unusual and a small social gathering could account for a lot more than that.

At any rate, the key was "call me at your convenience" - meaning from a safe location. Because it was wine, she'd know it wasn't urgent. On the other hand, if I'd mentioned cheese ...

* * *

Jane tapped on the door, then opened it a crack to ask: "Are you free?"

I nodded, waiting to see what was amusing her.

Jane stepped into the office with her back to the door, allowing the visitor entrance but keeping her eyes on me.

The lady was probably in her early twenties, a dark blonde with her hair neatly coiffured in an short but attractive style. She wore a pair of gray-tinted bottle-glass spectacles and a minimum of make-up very skillfully applied. She was attired in lime and cream business suit over a lime blouse, lime stocking and cream shoes with medium heels. A matching lime purse was hung from her shoulder.

The lady was tall, slender and carried herself as if rollerblades and a skullpan had never figured as part of her daily attire.

"Come in, Allison," I invited. "Pardon me if I don't get up. Have a seat."

"I heard," she responded, then, "Okay, I owe you five." The second remark was addressed to Jane who was holding her hand extended, palm open, smiling.

"Actually," I offered, "it is quite a change. I've seen worse disguises go a long ways."

"What gave me away?" Allison asked. Her voice said it was simply a request for information - a desire to know how I had recognized here despite the total makeover. She accepted the chair opposite, relaxing with casual elegance.

"I guess you could say that I was tipped off," I considered, then raised a hand to forestall Jane's protest. "Not deliberately, of course, but, first, it was obvious from Jane's voice that she was amused and, second, since she didn't tell me your name or why you were here, it was also obvious that she thought I would know you. Third, but also important, considering the kind of day we've been having," - I made it inclusive, not exclusive - "she wouldn't have brought you in unless she figured it would be a welcome visit."

Jane acknowledged my summation with a pleased smile before slipping out and closing the door behind her.

"Now," I paused for sip of coffee, "is this connected with Ted's sudden change in attire?"

"Actually," Allison smiled, "I don't think he's had time to even look at me yet. Ted was pretty busy with a couple of insistent reporters and I kind of slipped by him. He does look nice though. Even if it isn't much of a disguise."

"Probably Jane's idea then," I guessed. "Because of the camera crews. So, to what do I owe the honor?"

"I told you I was finishing my MBA, didn't I?"

I nodded.

"Well, one of the reasons I was working for Astarti," Allison continued, "was to get a look at a number of different business - from the underside, so to speak. Since I only have classes two nights a week - and this is my final semester - I thought working for a messenger service would be a good way to do a survey of prospective employers. A way to get the real scoop on how various offices were run, what the people were like, what kind of atmosphere they had, things like that. You know, before going and applying for a job."

"Makes sense," I agreed. "Then you've started job hunting? Attired for a more corporate image?" It was kind of a pity, I reflected. I'd liked her in street attire - it suited her and I wondered how she'd make the transition to a world of suits.

"In a sense," Allison admitted. "But not the way you're probably thinking."

"Oh?"

"Actually, I have a job - started Monday ... but it's not the job I want to apply for."

"If you need references ..." I started to offer.

"No, it's not that," she corrected. "I have a feeling that the firm I'm interested in working for doesn't go by formal applications as much as they go by less rigorous criteria."

"If you'd like me to suggest some avenues for research," I suggested, "I'd certainly be happy to help. And Ted's pretty good at getting details on various companies as well. I'm sure he'd be glad to assist you also."

"That's very generous," Allison thanked me. "But I've already researched the firm. It's a small but impressive organization and I think one with excellent opportunities for advancement and future growth. Plus, they offer scope for a variety of experience - I've always wondered if I could really stick to a 9 to 5 office job but this outfit offers much more flexible scheduling. Hard work, of course, but interesting."

"Sounds good," I set my coffee down. It did sound good - I couldn't see Allison fitting into a conventional office setting. She'd be like a bird with her wings clipped. "How can I help?"

"Well ..." she hesitated. "I told you I'd started one job on Monday?"

I nodded, she had.

"The company I've started with is only temporary but I think the job will give me an in with the company I'd really like to join. Don't get me wrong, it's a good company - health plan, reasonable salary, good reputation and no glass ceiling - but I see this job as a entry point to something much more interesting."

She paused again, then resumed: "Maybe I should mention the company I'm working for - temporarily - is Diversified Security Services ... DSS."

Okay, maybe it had taken a minute for the penny to drop ... but it had been a long day ... a long couple of days, really. And the only sleep I'd had had been a few hours in the Emergency Ward and then a short nap at my desk. Still, the penny finally dropped ... and I grinned.

"Sometimes the pay's lousy," I grinned. "And the hours can be atrocious. However, we do have an excellent medical plan ... even if, the way things have been going lately, that's not necessarily a recommendation. On the other hand, we can offer diversity ... and flexible hours ..."

Actually, if things hadn't been so hectic of late, I might have thought of it myself. HDA specialized in industrial and business - and an MBA with imagination was a natural fit. Make that an MBA with a black belt and she was a natural.

Of course, the black belt - I hoped - would be the least important of her qualifications. I'd already seen her in stress conditions - where she'd remained coolly competent - and now she was demonstrating her ability to fit casually and appropriately into a corporate setting - which was a definite bonus ...

"And is sleeping with the Senior Vice President a career move?" I punched one of her buttons, searching for her reaction.

"I probably shouldn't have," she admitted, "but Ted's cute ... and he's fun. And I hadn't really thought about going into investigations when ... Is that a point against me?" A frown line appeared on her forehead. "Actually, I haven't told him anything yet."

"No," I counseled. "Your private life is your own business - as long as it doesn't interfere with business. Think you can stand me when I growl?" I switched topics.

"Do you bite?"

"Not often."

"Then growl away," she smiled. "I'll growl back. Look, Mac, I'm not asking for a permanent position but I'd appreciate a try."

"Oh, you've got that," I agreed with a laugh. "Tell me about DSS."

Ten minutes later, I called a halt to her report. "I'd like Ted and Jane to hear this," I decided. "Also, we have a pair of new employees - temporaries - who are listening to tapes of everything that's happened at DSS for the past couple of days. You may as well fill them in on the background as well."

* * *

The conference table was a great improvement over our old front office.

When I'd suggested a supper conference to Jane, she'd produced a set of menus from local restaurants, had taken everyone's orders and then had called Waiters on Wheels to deliver ... as well as calling a local grocery and ordering additional coffee, soft drinks, disposable diapers and a bottle warmer. The latter were for 3-month old Nasha Parker who was facing a cold supper and needed changing.

From somewhere, Jane had also produced a blanket and a couple of pillows to provide Nasha with a comfortable, if make-shift, crib.

I was beginning to suspect Jane of having once been a circus clown - the one in charge of fitting all the other clowns ... and all their assorted gear ... into one of those tiny little cars. But I certainly wasn't regretting hiring her as our office manager.

I also brought out the bottle of Jack Daniels which I'd found in the bottom desk drawer - in case anyone besides me would like an after-dinner drink. I left the deer-stalker and magnifying glass where they were.

While we waited for dinner to be delivered, I announced the new addition to the Homeless Detective Agency's staff - an announcement which brought a welcoming grin from Jane ... and a blush from Ted. The Parkers, whom I hadn't yet had a chance to meet, simply smiled greetings at the well-dressed woman who was presently rocking their daughter in her arms.

"Allison," I explained to the party at large, "has been working undercover at DSS. Since she's only been in position for two days, she hasn't had time to dig out a great deal but she is prepared to provide a good bit of background information on the people in the DSS offices. Nan, Fred - having a picture of the people in the office might help you pick up on something on the tapes which you'd miss otherwise.

"Ted," I ignored his blush. "Before we get started, would you give me a hand for a moment?" I didn't wait for a reply but wheeled my chair toward my office.

"Close the door, please," I requested when Ted followed, then added, "I hope it wasn't too much of a shock. Can you stand it?"

"I ... What's going on? I mean, it's your ..."

"Relax, Ted," I gestured toward a chair. "It was almost as much of a surprise to me ... If I'd known what was going on, I'd have talked it over with you but Allison ..." I gave Ted an abbreviated version of Allison's and my earlier conversation - leaving out a few items such as my question about sleeping with the Sr. Vice President ... and her response. Ted's ego was fine as it was - it didn't need inflation ... or deflation. And the title had been simply a referential approximation - I didn't think we needed titles.

"So," I concluded, "since she presented me with essentially a fiat accompli ... I decided to roll with it. Okay with you?"

"Uh, sure," Ted blushed again. "I mean ... she's smart and ..."

"Can you work together?"

"You mean ..."

"I mean, can you keep your personal life separate from your professional life?"

"Uh, I hadn't told her ... I mean, aside from what you told her about DSS ... Mostly we'd talked about finding run-aways ... and I'd told her how you hired me ... and some of the things I've done but ... I swear I didn't tell her anything about an on-going case. I mean ..."

"That wasn't what I meant, Ted," I reassured him. "At any rate, Allison has asked for a provisional position. Shall we give her six months and see how things go?"

"Gosh, sure ... I mean ..." Ted was developing a disconcerting habit of blushing.

"Then let's have dinner," I changed the subject. "And you'd better get another terminal in - no rush though. Allison will be working out of DSS for a while."