"It changes my price," Bolan said, soberly returning Seymour's gaze.

Turrin chuckled and relaxed into his chair. Plasky snorted and said something unintelligible. Seymour reacted not at all. Finally he sighed and said, "Either you're mighty smart or mighty damn dumb, Bolan. Just what is the game?"

"The game," Bolan replied slowly, "is that I can identify your killer for you. And suddenly I realize that's the last thing you want. You don't want any identification. Look-I have no argument with you. I know how these things go. I don't know anything about the beef between you and Laurenti, but I do understand discipline. If Laurenti was trying to pull a fast one, then you only did what had to be done. I just want you to understand that I'm no blabbermouth. Not around cops. So-the price is changed. There is no price. There is no eyewitness story. I saw nothing and I say nothing."

Plasky's jaw had dropped. He turned surprised eyes onto Seymour and grunted, "This guy thinks-"

"I know what he thinks!" Seymour snapped. "It's been obvious all along." His gaze had not strayed from the faintly amused face of the soldier. "There was no beef," he informed Bolan. "Regardless of what the newspapers said, Laurenti and his people were not killed by any criminal organization. So you're wasting your time and ours with your little game. If you'll just-"

"How about playing the game with the cards face up," Bolan suggested.

"What are your cards, Sergeant?" Seymour asked, eyes twinkling at Plasky.

"I'm job hunting. Five of your people stopped living yesterday. I figure you have a vacancy."

Turrin shifted uneasily. "What does a soldier need with a job?" Plasky asked faintly.

"I've been twelve years in this uniform," Bolan replied. "I've learned a trade, but it hasn't made me any money. I don't have a dime, and I'll never have a dime, not from what this uniform will bring me."