I've avoided collecting because I don't want my name associated with his. Not in any way. Be bad for business if people suspected I was on his pad.

Hell. I haven't really said what I do I'm what the guys who don't like me call a peeper. An investigator and confidential agent, the way I put it. Pay me—up front— and I'll find out things. More often than not, things you didn't really want to know. I don't dig up much good news. That's the nature of the racket.

On the confidential-agent side I'll do a stand-in, like pay off a kidnapper or blackmailer for you, and make sure there's no last-second comedy. I've worked hard to build a rep as a straight arrow, a guy who plays square, who comes down like the proverbial ton if you mess with my client. Which is why I wouldn't want anybody to think I'd roll over for Chodo.

If Tinnie died, I'd change my rules. For Tinnie it would be dead ahead full speed, and whoever got in my way had best have his gods paid off because I wouldn't slow down till I ate somebody's liver. If Tinnie died.

The Dead Man said she ought to pull through. I hoped he was right. This once. Usually I hope he's wrong because he's damned near infallible and works hard reminding me of that.

Dean came in with a tray, beer, and stronger spirits if we needed them. Saucerhead took a beer. So did I. "That's good. That hits the spot after all that running."

The Dead Man sent, I suggest you go see her uncle. Inform him what has happened and find out about arrangements. Perhaps he can give you a clue.