Two house operatives were there with him, looking decidedly rough, as though standing a deathwatch over their one true love.

I wanted to hop in and give my dark elf buddy a good swift kick. He was out of it, trying to die, and still he had women swooning.

"What are you doing?" my guide demanded when I didn't rush right in.

"Scouting ways somebody might use to come after him. In case the folks who put the holes in him want to add to his collection."

Madam Mike didn't follow my reasoning but indulged me.

There were three ways to get to Morley. Up the front stairs the clients used. Up the back stairs from the kitchen, the way I came. Up the outside of the building, then through a window. That would require a small, skinny assassin. The window would open only six inches.

For the villain with gaudier ambitions there was the time-honored option of burning the house with Morley inside it.

While I examined the window my guide evicted Morley's caretakers. She promised them they could handle communications between the room and the world.

After they left, I asked, "How old are those two?" They seemed a little fresh to be in the life.

"DeeDee is twenty-nine. She has some elf in her. She's just gotten to the point where we can't auction her virginity. Her daughter Hellbore is sixteen."

"Hellbore?"

"Really."

Both were legal, then. I couldn't imagine the older one having weathered the vicissitudes of her career so well.

I said, "I'll settle here. If you have something like a field cot, I'd never have to leave."

"That would be useful. Business has been slow. I don't want what clientele we do get scared off by you."

"By me? Come on!"