"Can you think of a special toast?" I asked, watching closely as the waiter filled our glasses with the sparkling vintage wine.

"I certainly can," my dear Angelina said, raising her glass and looking across it straight into my eyes. "To my husband, Jim diGriz, who has just saved the universe. Again." I was touched. Particularly by the again. Since I am by nature extremely modest, it is always a pleasure to have my personal feelings about my abilities supported by an unsolicited testimonial. Particularly from one as lovely, charming, intelligent, and dangerously ruthless as my Angelina. She had also been present during the entire affair with the Slimeys, had even been an active participant while I was stopping them from taking over our galaxy, so I treasured her opinion even more.

"You are too kind," I murmured. "But truth will out. However it is all over now and we will forget the grim parts, drink to the victories-and enjoy the best meal that this restaurant can provide." We touched glasses and drank deep. Over my wife's shoulder I admired the orange Blodgett sun setting behind the purple skyline, the sunlight striking reflections from the canal outside. And out of the comers of my eyes I kept close watch on the two heavies seated by the door who had our table under subtle surveillance. I didn't know who they were-but I did know that they were packing large guns in their damp armpits.

I would not let them spoil the occasion! Angelina and I made light talk, drank the wine, gorged ourselves on the curried mastodon. The string quartet played, darkness fell, we lingered over coffee and liqueur-and Angelina took out a tiny mirror as she touched up her lipstick.

"You do know that there are two thugs by the entrance who have been watching us closely ever since we arrived." I sighed and nodded and took out my cigar case.