For my preferences, dictation went out when the PC came in ... but my thumb was still making typing almost impossible ... typing with any speed, at least.

I tried anyway, then bowed to the inevitable and called an agency to ask for a stenographer for a few hour's work. For short notice and short hours, it was premium rates but it had to be done. Jane was already putting in long hours as was Ted and Nan and Fred were busy with the tapes.

Waiting for the steno to appear, I called up old documents from the computer, copying them to a new subdirectory and sending them to the printer for hard copy. Most of what I needed could be boiler-plated or cut and pasted from existing material but it would still need to be tied together and neatened up.

I was marking the hardcopy with a highlighter when Herb's call came through on the cellular.

I answered with a measurable feeling of relief. "So," I addressed the receiver, "you surviving the uproar?"

"Would you believe loving it?" Herb's voice was grinning. "Haven't had so much fun since we raided Sharkey's."

Sharkey's had been a private stripclub ... and gambling hall ... with an astonishing number of VIP patrons in attendance. I smiled at the memories - it had been fun. Especially when we found a councilwoman on the stage ... and her clothes in the audience.

"That good?" I asked, mildly surprised by the assessment.

"That good," Horrible confirmed. "A regular three-ring circus, dancing bears and all."

"Well, if you're that busy," I suggested, "and having that much fun, I suppose I can call Delmonico ..." - referring to Herb's least favorite rival.

"Let's not get carried away," Herb interrupted. "For you, I've always got time. What's up?"

"Nothing much," I down-played the matter, "Just a nice case involving grand theft, a tie-in to a murder and a bit of corporate shenanigans - stock market manipulation and the like. If you're not interested ..."

* * *

After telling Herb enough to insure his appetite for more - and agreeing to a meeting later that evening - the steno had arrived and I turned to explaining what I needed, where the source documents were and what format was required, finally putting the temp at Jane's computer - she was on her way out anyway - to hammer out the materials I needed.

I'd been away from DSS too long already. Tomorrow, I was going to have to put in an appearance if only to keep up the cover that I was working on internal review and training practices ... and, therefore, not investigating more important matter.

To be convincing at all, I needed something that looked like I'd been busy ... hence, the memos, the questionnaires and the procedural outlines.

Once the steno was busy churning out bulk, I returned to my office to plan the next steps.

* * *

Three phone calls to L. A. and all blanks - the one person I wanted to talk to right now was Gerald Francisco and he was nowhere to be found.

The first call had reached his answering service - but they wouldn't confirm anything one way or the other. Not even if he was in town or out. I left a message anyway - and asked them to mark it urgent ... for whatever that was worth. In Tinsel Town, a pizza delivery is urgent.

The second - to a mutual friend - reached the friend's answering service ... which was no better.

The third - to an ex-colleague who was vacationing as a tech advisor on a TV series - was a little better. At least she answered. And promised to ask around and call me back.

* * *

I hadn't made much of it earlier when I'd noticed Fred and Nan disappearing into Ted's room.

Now, they were standing in the door to my office, Nan holding a couple of sheets of paper and both looking nicely pleased with something.

"Come in," I invited, gesturing toward the chairs facing me. "You look happy. What's up?"

Instead of answering, Nan handed me the papers, then they both sat, waiting for my reaction.

The papers were a neatly typed transcript, headed with today's date, the time and a note showing the channel number, position counter and the words "Ladies' Restroom" in parentheses.

I sat back in my chair to read:

Sound of door closing, footsteps, water running ...

FIRST VOICE: "Okay, it's empty ... Look, I don't like this new buyer."

SECOND VOICE: "I don't care ... we've gone too far to turn back now. Skaggs was a fool - I don't know how he got busted and I don't care. Besides, all he did was argue about percentages. Kembel (?) says this Madame Lu'll agree to a decent cut but only if she deals with principals. Anyway, we had another cash call yesterday and the Antibes account's getting low - I'm not going to strike out now! Not when things are coming to a head. We only need a few more points ..."

FIRST VOICE: "You don't care about anything except taking over, do you?"

SECOND VOICE: "And you want to be stuck as an assistant for the next ten years? Look, honey - we've got it in the bag. We've just got to take it a little further. Look, the Memorial Day sales are coming up - they've got trucks coming in all the time. If we made a really big haul - say Tuesday week - and covered with a fire, then we could close the whole thing down and coast the rest of the way."

FIRST VOICE: "Things were going just fine the way they were. If we hadn't been shut down for a week ..."

SECOND VOICE: "If things were fine, we wouldn't be doing this in the first place. I don't like the changes any more than you do but we're stuck with them aren't we?"

FIRST VOICE: "I suppose ... but a fire?"

SECOND VOICE: "How else are we going to cover a major haul? Look, what we need to do is switch some people around - now, not later - so we've got a core crew at one location. If we leave Kembel where he is and bring Matrone (?), Jackson and Lanski (?) in to fill out the crew, we can clean out the Computer Centre, Monmoth Furriers and Kerrigan's before torching that section. And anything we can clean out from other stores can be put down to looters ... or blamed on firemen."

FIRST VOICE: "What about the newbies - we've got two of them working Kembel's crew. Do we shift them somewhere else?"

SECOND VOICE: "No way - leave them as patsies! Look, I'm going to meet this Madame Lu - early tomorrow. I'll screw the best deal we can get. But, once we've got what we need, she's another loose end."

FIRST VOICE: "Same as Carlton?"

SECOND VOICE: "Maybe - but he was an emergency case. Might be a smoother way to take her out. Shop her to the PD maybe. Or torch her out. Lots of chances."

FIRST VOICE: "She'll know your face ..."

SECOND VOICE: "No way, honey. She's going to meet that bitch Zappa, not me. And there's no way I'm letting her have a clear look at this mug."

Conversation ends ... sounds of door opening ... footsteps ... toilet flushing ... water running ...

What could I say? I set the transcript down and grinned. "Now that's the Kolinoor!" I announced. "You've just earned a bonus!" I paused for thought, then asked, "Can you identify the voices?"

"I think so," Nan looked at Ted for confirmation.

"Pretty sure," he agreed, looking even more pleased.

I reached for the phone, punching the speaker button and then 2.

Ted's voice responded a moment later. "Yeah, looks good, doesn't it, Boss?"

"Absolutely," I agreed. "Think you can run a match using the voice analyzer? Against the samples from last week? And remind me this evening - we should have Allison collect some additional samples - independently."

It was definitely handy having someone on the inside - a luxury I didn't normally expect.

And I needed to call Jane as well - to let her know there was a bigger fish on the line.

* * *

I was trying to think who else to call in la-la land when Linda called back - mark of a true friend.

"Hi, Mac," she greeted me cheerily. "I got lucky - have a pen handy?"

Lucky would mean that she'd made a few calls, twisted a few arms and maybe called in a small favor somewhere ... which meant I owed her one. That was fine with me. The important thing to remember - when you're trading in favors - is not to keep too close track of who owes whom what.

"Fire away," I smiled, trying not to wince as I picked up the pen.

The information was short and sweet - Gerald Francisco was on location, somewhere near Reno. I double-checked the phone number, thanked Linda, promised to let her know when I'd be in the area next and agreed to an indefinite surf-sailing date.

"If you're nice to me, I might get you a screen test," she suggested. "Later, Mac." She broke the connection.

I dialed the number Linda had given me, reaching a secretary who explained that everyone was on location but assuring me that she would - faithfully - see that the message was delivered. By eight this evening at the very latest, she promised, just as soon as the crew returned to town.

It was the best I could ask for.

* * *

When Herb appeared a bit after six - him I'd given the new address - the steno had finished preparing a nice stack of documents, each neatly stapled and arranged in sets.

And Allison - who regretted having nothing useful to report this evening - was closeted with Ted ... presumably to check out a pocket recorder but, I suspected, was more involved in a little cuddling.

And Nan and Fred had left for dinner but had arranged to met Ted again at eight to go through the evening's dump from our surveillance taps.

If they came up with any more gemstones, they could ring me on the cellular.

* * *

Dinner was my treat - it would go on the expense sheet anyway. In keeping with Herb's tastes, I'd suggested a Jamacian place along the Embarcadero where the fish was both fresh and spicy ... and the beer cold. Actually, it was one of the few places where you could be served brew in heavy glass mugs pulled straight from the freezer - a twist that I'd always enjoyed.

Over the jerked sea bass, I filled Horrible in on the details surrounding DSS and the several shopping malls. Then I told him - strictly off the record - about the sting operation and Madame Lu's.

There were a few details I didn't mention - such as arranging for the original fence to suffer an embarrassing mishap or how it happened that a car crashed into a van full of stolen goods - but Herb had known me long enough - and well enough - to fill in a few blanks of his own.

At any rate, he listened patiently - without asking any awkward questions that I'd have preferred not to answer - until I'd finished recounting the recent history.

"There's enough for a bust," he considered. "You've got enough names and it sounds like we could get a couple of them to rollover for consideration. What are you reserving?"

"A 'drive-by' shooting. At Bayside."

He thought a minute. "Yeah, I recall. Not my case but ... You don't think it was a drive-by?"

I handed him a copy of the transcript, pointing at the reference to Carlton. For Herb, I didn't have to spell it out.

"Not enough to stand up in court," he agreed. "But you have something in mind, don't you. How are you planning to get yourself killed this time?"

Now that was totally unfair - maybe I'd played things cute a few times in the past ... but I'd always done so with perfect safety. The only time I'd even been injured - when I'd lost my leg - hadn't even been one of those occasions.

"I have a setup in mind, yes," I agreed. "But it's perfectly safe - piece of cake - guaranteed."

"Yeah, that's what you said when you wanted to decoy the wharf mugger."

"So? Did anybody get hurt?" I protested.

"Aside from the mugger, you mean?"

That wasn't fair at all. Just because the perp had taken a dive and then broken his shoulder when he hit one of the docks used by the harbor seals ... and then been bitten by a couple of them ...

"Trust me," I suggested. "Or would you rather I left you out?"

"Hey!" Herb's protest was almost a shout. "Leave me out? Somebody's got to watch your back. Lay it out, Mac ..."

"This is off the record," I reminded him. "But here's what I have in mind ..."

* * *

Gerald rang me late - the shoot had run into problems, he explained, and he was working on a slice of prime rib - at the Ormsby House - as we talked.

"You don't even want to know what we're shooting, Mac," he informed me. "Let's just say that anywhere but Nevada it would be illegal. And enough to turn a dwarf celibate." - Gerald was 3'7", married to a lovely lady a foot and a half taller and strictly monogamous aside from his jokes - "Strike that!" he corrected hastily. "I'm here strictly doing gags - nothing on camera. But, when I get back, I'm firing my agent. Sci Fi flick indeed. So, what's up on your end?"

"I need a gag rigged," I offered. "But, if you're tied up, maybe you could recommend someone." Gerald and I had met when he'd been rigging special-effect gags for a shoot here in San Francisco and, somehow, we'd become friends, seeing each other every couple of years and talking on the phone more frequently.

"You haven't gone Hollywierd, have you?" he demanded. "Hey, don't get me wrong! I've always thought you'd be great if you were crazy enough to try it."

"A private performance," I laughed. "No credits. And there is an element of danger," I added soberly. "Minimum, but it's there."

"Tell all to Uncle Gerald," he invited. "I'll eat, you talk."

So I did ... including the why and how I thought the gag could be rigged.

When I finished, Gerald had two questions and one comment, then spun into instructions.

"Not that way," he commented. "It'll never work. When do you need it?"

That was the first question. "In the next couple of days," I apologized. "If it can be done at all."

"Simple gag," Gerald answered. "Just not the way you have in mind. Can you book me a room? I'll catch the shuttle and be in by midnight."

And that was the second question. "I can book you," I agreed, happily surprised. "But what about your shoot? You said there were problems."

"The problems are the backers are rubber and I'm fed up. I was heading back to town as soon as I'd had a good meal." - town meant L. A. - "So I'll drop by for a crab dinner instead, okay? I'll call Marilyn from the airport - she can ship me some gear. Hey, find me a place with a hot tub and she'll bring it up herself.

"Now, I'll need someone to help me with rigging the bunker. We'll need a truck, railroad ties and plate steel and a few hours for setup." The instructions continued but didn't take long. Gerald's requirements were simple but precise.

When Gerald rang off to catch the airport shuttle, I called in reservations - with a hot tub - then called Herb to let him know - unofficially - that arrangements were underway.

In the morning, I could arrange for day labor and a truck.

For the moment, I wanted some sleep - I was going to be up early tomorrow.

* * *

Thursday morning, I woke up and reached for the alarm before it had a chance to ring. It was kind of like Christmas ... I couldn't wait to see what Santa had brought.

When I reached the office, I wasn't the only one. Ted had already started fresh coffee and a box of doughnuts were on the conference table. He'd also moved one of the playback units and a monitor out to one of the credenza's, arranging things like a miniature theater.

It was an arrangement we'd have to consider keeping - could be handy for client conferences.

When Jane arrived, decked out in her best Madame Lu business suit, she was carrying a video tape and wearing a satisfied smile.

It was her show - and no questions were necessary.

Ted bowed her to a chair, accepted the tape, handed her the remote control, then went to fix her coffee while she rewound, looking for the right spot.

When she switched to playback, we watched a woman entering through the warehouse door, then crossing to where Madame Lu waited behind the glass front counter. Reaching the counter, the woman extended her hand, offering a card, and said: "I believe you were expecting me?"

Jane - Madame Lu - looked at the card: "Ms Zappa?" She looked up, cocking her head to one side. "Irene Zappa. Now why should I consider doing business with you? Assuming you're who you say you are. Nice veil, nice outfit darling. A little dated maybe ..."

The person she was speaking to was wearing a dark brown jacket and skirt with a matching hat, broad-brimmed straw with an opaque lace veil covering the face. Shoulder length black hair fell from under the hat. The woman's hands were covered with black gloves. As she'd entered, dark brown stockings and matching high-heeled shoes had also been visible. And not an inch of skin showing anywhere.

To call it a disguise would have been an understatement - an apiarist might have been less well protected while dealing with killer bees.

"Because you can make a great deal of money," the woman answered in a low husky voice. "And you do like money, don't you?" The parabolic mikes hung from the ceiling were making all the difference in the world.

"Only if one is free to spend it," Madame Lu disagreed. "I don't think I like your attitude, dearie. You smell like trouble. Just what kind of game do you think you're playing? No, I don't believe we have any business at all. Have a nice day now, you hear?" Madame Lu was playing it to the hilt, her voice dripping with honeyed sarcasms.

"Very abrupt aren't you," the woman growled softly. "I understood you insisted on dealing with principals? And that you were interested in high-tech goods?"

"You? Someone in a mummer's costume? Don't make me laugh. Girls," Madame Lu gestured for her spandex-clad flunkies. "Ms Zappa is just leaving."

Either Karen or Blayliss - I couldn't remember which was which - rolled off the weight bench with a smooth ripple of muscles while her partner carefully lowered the barbell before joining the advance.

"Very well," 'Ms Zappa' growled agreement, raising the veil with one hand to reveal an unlikely face. A light chocolate skin with careful makeup, bright lipstick, a touch of rouge ... and dark glasses. Attractive but anonymous - intentionally. "Will this do?"

The face was not Irene Zappa's ... but there were enough details for a description to raise a question. After all, between wigs and dark glasses ...

"For the moment, dearie," Madame Lu waved her flunkies back to their exercises. "You really shouldn't use so much makeup, you know. It's bad for the complexion. Now, what do you have in mind?"

"That depends on what you can handle," the lady answered. "And what arrangements we can make."

"I told your gopher what I was interested in," Madame Lu reminded her calmly. "Of course, we can always use small arms, ammo, automatics and semi-automatics. No shotguns, thank you. I did have a call for some larger caliber items but I don't suppose those would be in your line. No? I didn't suppose so."

"Then you'll be interested in electronics, jewelry and furs?"

"Furs are so barbaric, dearie. And there's really not that much call for them at this season. One has to arrange storage and such until cooler weather. Quite expensive, you realize? Still, I suppose I could accept a few. Top quality only, mind you!" Madame Lu's voice sharpened as she tapped a glossy nail on the glass for emphasis.

"Twenty-five percent?"

"For furs? You must be joking! Do you know how much trouble the dreary things are. And out of season as well. Seven!"

"Twenty!"

"Ten - but only the best!"

"Fifteen - the best."

"Twenty or more in acceptable condition and I'll consider twelve-five. I suppose you want cash?" The staccato exchange was concluded with a question asked with dreary resignation.

"No," 'Ms Zappa' disagreed. "We prefer electronic transfer. Snowcrofters Bank, Grand Caymans. If that isn't too much trouble ..."

"Well," Madame Lu brightened, "that's the first intelligent thing you said since you came in. Cash is so passé, don't you think? Why, in this electronic age, people are so nineteenth century about money I just can't understand. It's like asking for gold bullion. Snowcrofters, you say? You have an account number?"

'Ms Zappa' extracted a notebook from her glossy brown purse, wrote briefly, then passed a slip of paper across the counter before asking: "We'll begin with a few deliveries, of course - to test the waters, so to speak? But suppose I offer you a really big shipment?"

"That depends," Madame Lu considered. "On what you consider big. Suppose you tell me what you have in mind?"

"Is four hundred thousand big enough?" - meaning three or four million worth at retail.

"We're talking about bulk, dearie, not dollars!" Madame Lu was disparaging, as if instructing a backward child. "The money is not a problem - arranging suitable storage for the goods is. Now, suppose you tell me what you have in mind ... and when?"

The rest of the scene - a half-hour of proposal and counter-proposal - was entertaining but Madame Lu's depreciating "bulk, dearie, not dollars" was the capper. After that correction, the spurious 'Ms Zappa' was firmly on the defensive ... and losing ground all the way.

While the tape concluded, I thought about the possibilities.

"Ted," I suggested, "Think that you could take the telephoto - or the Casselgrain - and swing over to DSS and get some snaps of our suspect when she comes in to work? Get some from behind as well - concentrate on the ears."

Ted looked at me for a moment with a questioning appraisal.

I let him work it out for himself.

Finally: "The makeup? Yeah, I guess it might be kind of hard to get it all. Okay, we'll see how well she washes behind the ears. Gotcha, Boss," he grinned. "I'm gone."

"Absolutely beautiful, Jane," I added before Ted was out of ear-shot. "Absolutely!" - It was departmental praise ... and very much deserved. "Bulk, dearie, not dollars?" I chuckled, then repeated my assessment. "Beautiful!"

"Now," I continued, "let me tell you the latest ..."

* * *

While Jane was calling the Mission to arrange day labor, I reached for my phone to make another "cheese" call.

* * *

"I assume there's no way to arrange that kind of a payoff," I explained to the real Irene Zappa, stopping the tape. "However," I offered reassurance, "we should be able to wrap things up without going that far. Unless, of course, you'd simply like to take action on the basis of what we've uncovered so far?"

"It would be difficult," she agreed. "But ... What do you have in mind?"

"I think we should start with a little blackmail," I suggested, outlining what I'd already set in motion.

"That," I concluded a few minutes later, "should insure that we have the proper evidence as well as some very convincing video tape."

Irene considered for a moment. "I've already said that I don't want anyone else getting hurt," she directed. "Are you certain this is safe?"

"Compared to what? The Bay Bridge at rush hour? It'll be as safe as ..."

"It will be safe," a new voice interrupted, authoritatively, "because Mac here has the good sense to turn his most outrageous ideas over to an expert. If you will accept the word of said expert?" Gerald entered looking as fresh as a daisy and not at all like a man - or dwarf - who'd caught the red-eye in from Reno.

"As always, Gerald, your modesty is reassurance indeed," I extended a hand, forgetting for the moment the extent of my recent injuries.

Gerald - bless him - did notice ... and moderated his handshake from his usual bonecrusher to a grip which did not call for involuntary screams of pain.

"Irene," I offered, "may I introduce Gerald Francisco - our special effects wizard. Gerald, Ms Irene Zappa, CEO of Diversified Security Services. And," I added, "if Gerald says it's safe, it's safe."

"Thank you, Mac," Gerald shook her hand with just a suggestion of a courtly bow, "for not telling her about the falling safe that hit me." - Gerald loved dwarf jokes ... just as long as he was telling them - "Seriously, Ms Zappa, I don't rig gags where people get hurt. Trust me."

At least he kept a straight face while saying it - instead of leering evilly and rubbing his hands together greedily - something he'd been known to do on less serious occasions.

* * *

Since the single area where Gerald admitted being handicapped by his stature was driving a truck, Ted was pressed into service as chauffeur and he and Gerald set out to pick up the day laborers from the Mission. "Don't forget," I reminded Ted, "we've got another gag to run this afternoon."

Ms Zappa stayed for a few moments conversation - complementing Jane on her performance - then set off to her office.

My own appointment at DSS was for one o'clock - as I'd formally arranged yesterday through Ms Zappa's secretary.

Which left me with a few hours free - just enough time to drop in at the DA's office to provide the statement they'd been demanding ...