Bolan was still grinning. "You don't listen very well, do you. I told you I was pulled in. When I left Plasky this morning, a squad car was pulled up behind my U-Drive. A homicide detective wanted to talk to me."

"Why?" Seymour was beginning to sound hung-up on the word.

"One of those odd coincidences," Bolan replied, sobering. "The same cop who investigated my father's death is working this Triangle thing. He-"

"Your father was murdered also?" Seymour asked quickly.

"Suicide," Bolan said. "Nervous breakdown or something, I don't know. He was despondent and he was sick and he was deeply in debt. This homicide cop remembered that one of the debts was with Triangle. He was just wondering if there could be a connection, if maybe I might be the guy with the quick gun. He called me in to talk about it." Bolan realized he was skating close to a precipice, and hoped he wasn't overdoing the open-face routine. He smiled. "Hell, I don't settle money debts with a gun." He nodded toward Plasky. "You can vouch for that Anyway, I satisfied the cop's curiosity. He thanked me for coming in, and that was that."

"You're leaving something out," Seymour said lazily.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Sam Bolan gunned down his wife and daughter, too."

"Hey, take it easy, Walt," Turrin said softly.

"It's all right," Bolan snapped, his eyes steady on Seymour. "I don't hold it against my pop for doing what he did. Look-I cut out as soon as I was old enough. The less said about the women in my family the better. Okay?"

Seymour and Turrin exchanged glances. They know, Bolan decided.

"Sure, I understand, Sarge," Seymour replied quickly. "Don't mind me, I'm just trying to get your size. Okay?"

"Okay. You got it?"

"I think so. Why don't you tell us your eyewitness version of this killing now, eh?"