He smirked.

Bobbi moaned and her head swayed. "Oh, G.o.d, I'm going to be sick." Marza put a protective arm around her.

"What do we do, Mr. Braxton?" Matheus was bug eyed at Bobbi's white face.

"What?"

"I'm going to be sick." She gulped air and jerked to her feet.

"Follow her," he told the kid. "The rest of you stay where you are."

Bobbi ran to the bedroom with Matheus close behind, but she shut him out when she reached the bath and slammed the door in his face. He was still very much the kid and hardly had the gumption to go inside after her. Through the walls I heard her coughing, then the rush of water when she flushed the toilet. She took her time at it and Braxton started to fidget.

"Look," I tried again, "we don't need to be here."

"Quiet and keep your eyes down."

"What do you want?" asked Marza. A large chunk of her veneer had come off in the past few minutes. She looked much more real to me now.

Braxton pretended not to hear and called to Matheus. "If she's done, get her out."

The water was still running. Matheus knocked gingerly on the door. "Uh... miss...

uh... you all right?"

Bobbi mumbled a no and turned on a sink faucet.

"You have to come out now." She didn't answer. He appeared at the bedroom door, shrugged helplessly at Braxton, and went back again.

"I'll go get her," said Marza.

"No." Braxton was not about to let the situation get any more out of hand.

"How did you find me?" I asked, distracting him.

"What? Oh, it was the old lady. I knew you would go see her eventually, so we waited at her hotel and followed you from there. This time we were more careful about it.""Smart, real smart."

He made a little formal nod of acknowledgment like an actor in a play. He must have cast himself as Edward Van Sloan to my Lugosi. The only things missing were the accents and evening clothes.

"Miss? You've got to come out." Matheus sounded a little more impatient now, and that gave him confidence. "I mean it, come out of there."

The water cut off and the k.n.o.b rattled. "Don't rush me, big shot," she growled.

She pushed unsteadily past Matheus and stood in the doorway. The tableau hadn't changed. She took a step toward me.

I shook my head minutely. "You look done in. Miss Smythe, you'd better sit down."

She nodded, figuring out the reason behind my sudden formality. She had no wish to have Braxton breathing all over her neck looking for telltale holes. Things were safe for the moment; her lounging pajamas had a high Oriental collar. She glided back to the sofa, glaring at him.

"You mugs have no right barging into my home. My neighbors are bound to hear all this and call the cops."

He waved her down. "I have every good reason behind my actions, however strange they may appear to you. If you do not yet understand my mission, I promise you that you soon will, and when you do, you shall approve of what I am doing."

"It's the police state," said Pruitt, gaining a revelation from G.o.d knows where.

"Who are you with, the Secret Service?"

"Secret Service?" said Matheus, looking blank. He was standing next to Braxton now, keeping me covered with his cross.

"Yes, the Secret Service, you fascist."

Marza spoke through her teeth, which were exactly on edge. "Madison, this is no time for politics, so shut up."

"I'm telling you-ouch!"

"I said shut up."

"Who's a fascist?"

"Matheus-"

"But he called me- "Everyone quiet!" Braxton must have felt the situation physically slipping out of control. He was already sweating from the strain and certainly not used to it. He'd never last until morning the way things were heading.

"Braxton, please listen."

He liked the pleading tone in my voice and considered my request like a magnanimous ruler. "All right, what is it?"

"What Miss Smythe said was true, this is no place to settle things. There's a hotel detective downstairs-"

"You think there is, leech."

So they had slipped by Phil somehow. It was time to change tack. "I can't help what I am, I've tried to tell you that."

He shook his head. "And I am sorry for you. I think I know what kind of h.e.l.l you face each night... I will end it for you."

Good G.o.d, he thinks he's doing me a favor. "No, not here, please, at least for the sake of the ladies."

"We will remain here. You seem to care for these people. I do not wish to use them as hostages for your behavior, but I see no other way."

He sounded very certain of his hold over me. He was either stupid or had an extra ace up his sleeve he hadn't yet shown. I was inclined to think he was stupid. He was badly underestimating my will to survive and believed crosses and silver to be a strong check. The only thing actually holding me back was trying to come up with a way of safely disarming him without revealing my true nature to Marza or Pruitt.

I glanced at Bobbi to see how she was doing. Perched stiffly on the edge of the sofa, her whole posture was tense, natural enough under the circ.u.mstances, but something in her manner struck me as odd. Her left arm lay across her knees, the right hand resting on the left. The long sleeves of the pajamas were pushed up to the elbows. Her eyes caught mine and her mouth twitched in an almost-smile and she winked, her eyes dropping to her hands. Her right index finger was tapping once a second against the crystal of her watch.

I got it, or thought I did.

"Matheus," I said, sounding reproachful. "I asked you to talk with him. I was pretty reasonable about it all. Remember, I could have hurt you then, but I didn't.

Does that fit in with the things he's been saying about me?"

"It was a trick," he said. He spoke with the haughty conviction of a convert.

"Besides, you left us stranded and stole the car."

"I left it at a fire station, for cryin' out loud. You two were bothering my family, I had to do something."

"We were trying to warn them about you.""How would you feel if I did the same to your folks? Do they know what you're doing? What do they think of this quest you and Braxton are on? Do they approve?"

That one hit a sensitive spot and the kid went all red, right up to the ears. "They wouldn't understand."

"So you haven't told them. Maybe you should. Write a letter: 'Dear Mom, tonight Braxton and I held four people at gunpoint-'

"Enough!" Braxton was actually stamping his feet. "Matheus, I warned you how he would twist things. He's one of the devil's own and will try and confuse you."

"Not me, Braxton, you've already done that. You don't want the kid to think for himself. You might lose your only hold on him."

"Shut up."

"I figure he's really smarter than you, but you don't want him to find that out."

"Shut up!''

I am not overly brave, and baiting a nutcase holding a gun is not something to do for fun, but it is a h.e.l.l of an attention getter. Everyone was gaping at me, each with expressions P. N.- Elrod varying from rage to puzzlement to worry, and one in particular of intense concentration. The last and most welcome face belonged to Phil, the hotel d.i.c.k. He had just walked in the still-open door and was trying to sneak up on Braxton. In this hotel he never got much practice at being quiet, so it was costing him some effort. I opened my big mouth again to cover any creaking floorboards.

"Yeah, I guess the truth hurts. It must be nice to have someone around to agree with you all the time, or do you pay him money for it? There's not enough of that stuff in the world to make me want to put up with your kind of bull-"

Then Phil lunged, both hands grabbing Braxton's arm and Dragging it down.

Marza and Pruitt screamed as the gun went off and thunder and smoke filled the room. A furrow appeared in the floor near my left foot, and I foolishly jumped back from it.

There was a good fifty-pound difference between them, and Braxton's light frame didn't stand a chance. He went down like a tackling dummy, his k.n.o.bby joints knocking hard against the floor. Phil was on top and his extra weight had pushed all the fight out of the little guy. A second later Phil was in possession of the gun and getting to his feet.

He dusted his knees absently, and glared all around. 'Someone want to explain things to me, or do I really want to know?"

Matheus began to edge toward the door, but Bobbi spotted him. "Hold it right there, buster."He held it right there and looked to Braxton for help, but his mentor was too busy getting his breath back and nursing his new bruises. Phil went to the door and checked the hall, keeping the gun out of sight.

"Nuthin" to worry about, folks, just a party trick. Sorry about the noise." He waved an apology at someone and shut the door.

"What is this all about?" demanded Marza, her voice shaking.

"They're just a couple of mugs from my shady past," I said. "The geezer here is a con man that I once did a story on. It blew his game to h.e.l.l and he's looking to get back at me. The kid is just his latest trainee. The last I heard, it was an insurance scam. Looks like he's switched to religion. What are you doing these days, Braxton.

swindling old ladies for church funds?"

Braxton flushed, jerkily stood up, and shoved his cross at me. I ducked back so it missed my nose. "Away, you demon." Somehow, he'd sounded a lot more convincing on that lonely road in the country.

"He's crazy," concluded Pruitt.

"For once, I'll agree with you," said Marza.

The cross jerked again and I stepped away from it.

"Braxton?" Phil made certain he could see the gun. "Sit down and shut up."

"But you don't know who or what this man is- "As long as he's not waving guns at the tenants, I don't give a d.a.m.n, so clam up.

What do you want I should do with 'em. Miss Smythe?"

Bobbi looked at me. I shrugged. "Call the cops?"

Pruitt suddenly found his feet. "I think I'll go home now, it's awfully late." He grabbed his hat and hurried out.

Marza stared after him. "Why, that no-good-how does he expect me to get home?"

"Oh, Marza," Bobbi groaned.

"What's with him?" asked Phil.

"He's crazy," said Matheus.

"So coming from you that means something?"

"He called me a fascist- "Shut up, kid," Bobbi told him. He looked hurt. "Jack, I don't think the cops could do much for us."

"They could take his gun away and lock him up if we pressed charges, but that'd mean court appearances, the paper-you don't need any bad publicity before your broadcast."

"Yeah. But what do we do with them? I could call Gordy."

"Don't tempt me. Phil, have you got some place you can stash these two?"

"Depends for how long."

"An hour?"

He nodded. "If you give me a hand."

"Sure."

We wrestled Braxton into the hall and took the service stairs down to the bas.e.m.e.nt instead of using the elevator because the operator liked to talk. It was an interesting parade: I had Braxton's arms twisted behind his back and Phil was keeping the kid in line with the borrowed gun.

In the bas.e.m.e.nt, Phil directed us to a broom closet that was made to order.

Brooms must have been at a premium in the building, because the place was like a bank vault. Two of the walls were part of the cement foundation and the third was solid brick. It was about ten feet long and only four feet wide. We pushed them in with the mops and buckets and Phil locked it up.

"They gonna be able to breathe in there?" I asked.

Phil studied the blank face of the door for a while, then nudged it with one toe.