"Don Porter" He held out his hand, looking me over. "I'm handling this for E5 security." We shook.

     "Ed Gibson." He didn't need to know that I had another name.

     He passed me a file. "This is the latest. We know who, when and how, but not where." Porter frowned. "Briggs, in charge of the surveillance team, thinks it was an outright snatch. She got some video of a couple of goons putting Ms. Sloane into a car. She didn't look happy."

     "Is the FBI in on this?" I waited, worried, hoping that it wouldn't show.

     Porter eyed me, searchingly. "The client told us to leave all such decisions up to you."

     "Good. They're out." I didn't need to see Janey used as bait. The FBI was interested in getting convictions and rebuilding it's greatly diminished image. Their obsessive wiretapping had lead to the 28th amendment. I intended to get Janey back. Punishment would come next.

     I looked at the other man in the room, the lawyer. A mild looking shark in a suit worth more than two years of my disability pension. "What do you have for me, Mr. Lowenstien?"

     He smiled, ingratiatingly. I disliked him on sight. "Not much, Mr. Gibson. We can't search their temple. Digital recordings are inadmissible as evidence, so no judge will-"

     "I know. So you're saying that until she comes out, there is no legal way to go in and get her?" I was impatient. Lawyers still worked at an eighteenth century pace.

     He nodded. "In a nutshell. You need probable cause, and that's hard to come by, these days."

     "Thank you. You can stop by and see Ms. Sloane's secretary, on the way out."

     He opened his mouth to protest, then nodded. "Good day, gentlemen." He made his exit, doubtlessly scheming to squeeze some more money out of the Sloane Foundation.

     "He's not as bad as some."

     I glanced back, sharply. Porter was too shrewd by half. "I suppose not." Now I had to accomplish some legerdemain. Hired allies could be dangerous enemies, if they knew too much. "Porter, I need you to put an unbreakable ring around that place. I want crash cars standing by, in case they try to move her. I want a helicopter in the air at all times. You can use Ms. Sloane's corporate fleet, and her pilots. I see that the place is well covered, otherwise. Well done." I handed him a list of requirements.

     "Yes sir. Thank you, sir." Sloane knew his business.

     "Some associates of mine will be along tomorrow, to conduct a quantum thermoscan of the building. See that a site that fits their requirements is prepared." I eyed him, to see how he would take it. Thermoscan equipment was government equipment. I had used my old Border Intelligence Bureau contacts, to get one from the army. I only had it for a day. The army crew was willing to chance it for a thousand new-dollars each, and a fast jet ride back.

     He hesitated, clearly wondering how I could get a hold of it, and if I could get one for him. What he didn't know was that I couldn't, legally. I'd almost certainly do time for stealing it, in addition to everything else, if they were found out.

     "Yes sir. At once." Porter was good at following orders.

     It had been a whirlwind trip back from Maryland. The rich traveled in style. I could have been dropped off right on the roof of my building, if I was brave enough to walk on the unstable structure. It still had tar and plywood patched shell holes in it. Going from the Land of the Large Bank Accounts back to my usual surroundings was depressing. All the more so because in all likely hood I'd soon be dead or just another inhabitant of the Anglo wing of Chino. No jury would hesitate to convict a ghoulish looking character like me. Daria hadn't realized what she'd asked. Or maybe she had. Surely she knew my background as Eddie Gibson. I just hoped that she hadn't used Porter when she was doing the background investigation.

     I called an autohack and went to see Billingsly.

     I pushed the annunciator and nothing happened. "Hey!" I opened the door. His office was even more squalidly depressing than mine. His autosecretary just blinked and squawked digital hash at me, out of commission. "Billingsly?" He wasn't home.

     I sat in his chair and amused myself by reading his case notes. He favored the 'confess, or I'll do unspeakable violence to you' school of police work. I'd used it myself, at times.

     He came in, with a box of Kentucky Fried Chicken Protein and a Racing Form. He looked up and jumped. A wash of irritation went over his features. "Sarge! God, you're ugly."

     I smiled evilly at him, to build the tension. My face was not only ugly, but it was also scary. That was an asset, in my line. I'd been hired by the department to investigate him, once. He was suspected of being dirty. Of course he'd been dirty, but he'd also been an old army buddy. Well, as buddy-buddy as a sergeant gets with a private, in combat. I'd bought him a beer and told him to cut the crap and leave off shaking down the dope dealers so much. It left less for me. Afterward, he'd nursed a mild grudge over the private clients that I stole from him, in spite of my relaxed attitude toward his ready acceptance of cold cash while on the city's meager payroll.

     I couldn't blame him for his scowl. "Hello, Billingsly. I'm here to make you rich."

     He sat the Kentucky Fried Soylent Green down and turned on a white noise generator. "Well, do go on, old bean. You have my attention, now."

     "I'm doing a job, on behalf of a big client. It's black bag, black op. Total deniability." I wasn't concerned about bugs. I was clean, and no recorded conversation could be used in evidence. The digital age had greatly reduced the effectiveness of a wiretap.

     He nodded. "Is it a snuff job? I won't do outright wet work." He frowned. "I'm up for anything else, though, as long as you're the one running the show." Unemployment was at twenty percent and he only had one real skill.

     "It's a recovery, and it might get a little wet. Those fruit-loop Electric Buddhas snatched the wrong girl. If some tangos get theirs along the way, too damn bad." I was thinking of skragging the head Buddha boy and all of his little helpers on the way out, but Billingsly didn't need to know that. "It's my show. I have complete control. I'm getting some Alphas together. We'll all do pretty good off of this, if it works out."

     "What if we drop the package?" Billingsly wasn't stupid.

     "Then I'll kill whoever screws it up. On the spot." I looked him in the eye. I'd done it before, for much less.

     "Who else you got?" Billingsly was always smart, not letting his greed overwhelm his caution. He'd survived a lot of house to house stuff. It was too bad that he couldn't figure out how to survive in peacetime. Of course, I was no better off than he was, but then, I looked like a Picasso.

     "You, so far. Chung, Hamms, and Hernandez are all out there, scraping out a living in this crap town. I'll get them." I didn't tell him all of it.

     "Martinez is back. He's living over in what's left of Laguna."

     "Good. Call him up. See if you can get Solly Bright, too. We need an area ELINT controller." I peeled off two thousand in gold certificates, removing any doubts about my bonafides. "Get whoever you can and get the gear together. We'll meet up at the reservoir, tonight."

     "Okay, Sarge." Billingsly moved fast.

     That had been a favorite marshaling spot for our Ranger unit, back in the tense days when the fighting finally shifted south. The Raza terrorists had lingered, looting and feeding off of the remaining Hispanic population. Luckily, they tattooed themselves, so all we had to do was make them take off their shirts. Then we hung or shot them, as spies. The war had been bitter and they had required vigorous suppression.

     I had a good squad by that evening. They were all seasoned men who I had worked with before. All were eager for a big payday. I ran them through some drills, worked out the kinks and got their equipment up to snuff. Weapons were easily procured. MP-5's and flash bangs, with a few fragmentation grenades in case we got testy. Oldies but goodies, the gear was all war surplus. Virtually untraceable, if any got left behind. The big coup was an EMP bomb, to knock out all the building's hardwired comms systems simultaneously with the wireless in the building. Our stone-aged analog radios dated from the 1970's and wouldn't be harmed by any electromagnetic pulses while switched off. La Raza had taught us that one.

     We went to a warehouse by the old commercial district to study the temple blueprints and count off our moves. I soon had them pacing out the floor plans, and we chalked in the temple's corridors onto the cracked cement floor. I had them practice until they could traverse it at a jog, with their eyes closed. All the floors were the same, in the temple. Now all I had to do was find out where she was.

     I left Billingsly in charge and hopped back to Maryland on a fast corporate jet, with my AWOL scanning crew. After settling them in to work, I went to my room at Daria's hotel to get some sleep. I'd been awake for three straight days. I never made it to the bed, passing out on the couch.

     I woke a few hours later, groaning with pain. My lack of sleep hadn't helped me. The phantom limb was hurting again, and I couldn't take any medication. I'd just have to live with the pain. It was intense, throbbing and burning, as bad as when I'd lost the arm. I knew it was all in my head, but that didn't make it stop.

     The early morning light through the windows dazzled me. I sat up and felt my remaining hair raise.

     "Uh, hello." The kid was nervous. "My mother asked me to be your driver today." He cleared his throat. "I'm Jake Sloane." He'd been sitting quietly in a chair, waiting for me to wake up.

     I sat up, noting with irritation that I'd forgotten to plug in the myoelectric arm for recharging when I'd taken it off, last night. The battery was probably dead. I'd forgotten the spare, too. Well, I had to charge it. I had a lot to do today. Great, the first thing he sees about me is my melted-looking face, as I slobber and groan. Then my stump immediately makes an appearance. He'd probably have the couch burned, after I left.

     I mustered my good manners. "Good morning, Jake."

     "How are you going to get my sister out of there?" He was twisting a piece of newspaper into a wad, in his anxiety.

     I considered. Did he have the need to know? "Why do you want to know?"

     His distress boiled over. "I'd die if anything happened to Janey." He blinked back tears. "We're close, Mr. Gibson. Really close."

     I suddenly saw the resemblance. The kid was a dead ringer for me, except he was taller and would one day be much more solidly built. Only time and an unfamiliarity with my old, beardless face had caused me to miss it. The meatball surgeons had done their best, but the army wasn't exactly the place for first class cosmetic medical care. Women were hard to come by these days. Luckily, a few really didn't seem to mind.

     "Please?" His plea woke me from my staring. Great. He probably thought I was crazy, now.

     "I'm going in to get her." I was plotting a potential bloodbath. It probably wasn't a good idea to let a lot of unnecessary people know, but I just couldn't seem to lie to the boy.

     "I'm coming too! They'll have to listen to me. I can-"

     "No. I'm going in shooting, Jake. I'm going to be pretty harsh on them. If they don't give me Janey, I'm going to snuff out their whole leadership, one at a time." I didn't want to ruin his ideals, so I didn't mention that I was going to do that anyway, eventually. They'd laid hands on my daughter. Nothing could save them, now.

     His eyes were wide with astonishment as I hobbled to my room, stretching the kinks out. The couch hadn't done my back any good at all.

     "You can barely walk!" He followed me into my room, skeptically.

     "I'm just stiff, boy." I hesitated, then laid out my flack vest. Opening up a can of spray paint, I obliterated my name and my stripes. I saw no reason to make things easy for them.

     "But-"

     "I know what I'm doing. I'm not going alone." I smiled at him. "Just... leave it to me. Like the garbage man." I frowned. "Trust me. You don't need the bad karma, Kid."

     I hoped that I didn't have to kill anyone in front of Janey. I swallowed. A sedative would be nice, but I didn't know what they might have already given her.

     I went into the bathroom. When I came out, Jake was sitting on the bed, reading my operations plan. He grimaced as I dressed, one armed. "What... happened to you, Mr. Gibson?" The terrible puckers, wheals and zipper marks were nearly enough to make him gag.

     "I went to see the elephant, Kid. It wasn't pretty." I gestured at the plan. "Done?"

     Jake handed it back. "I plugged in your arm. The concierge is out getting you some extra charged batteries, right now."

     "Thanks." He was a hell of a dog robber. "What do you think of the op-plan?"

     He hesitated. "These guys have those stupid brain modules, right? So what if the EMP bomb shorts them out?"

     I froze. "You're right." He was definitely Daria's son. I swallowed. Well, it couldn't be helped. "If Jane doesn't have one, well use the bomb anyway."

     "What about the other people?" He was beginning to see why I hadn't wanted him involved.

     I shrugged. "We'll see how it looks."

     He looked distressed. "I'll see what I can find out about the modules. But how are you going to tell if Janey has one?"

     "Have you ever heard of a quantum thermoscan?" I eyed him. Of course he had.

     "The government's 'see through the walls' machine?" He looked interested.

     "It's more than that. A good crew can scan a guy walking down the street, see his tattoos and then read the cards in his wallet. You can scan inside a building, through clothes, through skin or bone. It's all in how you set it up." I grinned at him. "I borrowed one. They're scanning for Jane, right now. They'll be able to see the implant, if she has one."

     He looked relieved. "Oh, good."

     I traded in the limousine in for a nondescript autocab. He was upset that I wanted to get rid of him, but we shouldn't be seen together by Porter or his men. I had no interest in seeing Jake as another inmate in some prison. Daria just wasn't thinking. What did she imagine that I was going to do? Talk Janey out? I went to the apartment that Porter had taken over for the scanner.

     I went up the elevator. It wouldn't go to the top floor, so I got out and went up the last flight of stairs. There was a guard in the landing.

     "May I help you, sir?" He was a young, fit and professional looking oriental.

     "I'm Gibson."

     I pushed past him as he announced me on his comlink. He said, "Post one. The devil has come down to Georgia."

     "Smart asses," I grumbled. Porter guessed entirely too much. I was going to have to do something about him, and he knew it, unless I missed my guess.

     The four young soldiers that I'd bribed were in the midst of a pizza feast when I entered. They jumped to attention, reflexively.

     "How's it going, guys?" I saw Janey on the vid monitor.

     The corporal in charge of the crew, Salters, made his report. "Sir, we found the target on the tenth floor. She's being kept in an interior room. She doesn't appear to have been harmed or had any foreign bodies introduced into her nervous system. The room itself... " He turned on the vid and began showing me detailed views of the inside of the building. He'd taken it on himself to map out various routs, and pick out possible ambush points. He was good. The room was unguarded. The entire floor was empty.

     As we watched, Janey got up and tugged on the door handle. Then she started shouting. Presently, she slid down and sat, back to the door, head in her hands, obviously crying. There was no one outside to hear. I was tempted to go now. If I had just one other Alpha to cover my back, I would have gone.

     I gritted my teeth against the fierce shooting pains of my phantom limb and then used my commlink to send the signal to Billingsly. He acknowledged and gave an ETA of three hours. I'd already arranged for a rented step-van to be at the airport.

     Salters spoke up. "Sir, we'd like to go get her. "

     I nodded. "Me too. But they have weapons in there. You boys are brave enough, but you're not experienced."

     He shrugged, silently eloquent in his opinion of that. "We can stay another week."

     I looked back at him. "How is that?"

     He nodded at the scanner. "We got the LT to sign for that. Officially, it's not here. It's his ass if we get caught. He knows were away, and he's covering for us."

     I nodded. "Do you know what we're going to do?"

     "Yes," he answered. "Those people in there are zombies. We can see the implants, law or no law. We aren't big on slavery. If something bad happens to the leaders, no one here will cry."

     I sucked at a molar. "Look, supposing that some group was planning a raid and some people got killed. They wouldn't want it recorded and they wouldn't want it seen by a bunch of witnesses. On the other hand, someone that was talking to them on the radio and guiding them, would be a direct accessory."

     The sergeant swallowed. "Lotta guys, watching that building. One might talk."

     I shrugged. "If I can get her out without a casualty, I will. But she's coming out."

     "We want to be a part of it. Fuck those zombie making bastards."

     He was young and Janey was cute.

     "Okay. You boys get a hell of a payoff." They were a security unit. They knew how to keep secrets.

     Porter stepped into the room. "I heard you. We need to talk."

     He was tense.

     I nodded at the troops and went with him.

     Porter showed me to an empty bedroom. "Mr. Gibson, I don't know what you are to Ms, Sloane, but I was not prepared to be placed into a secondary role in this operation. I had a plan and I've been working to minimize the number of witnesses. Only six of my men know what we're really watching. Most think it's the office building, next to the temple. One of my men is in there, playing the suspect."

     I nodded. "Good. The soldiers won't talk. It's their ass if they do. How did she come to pick me?"

     "We made the decision to get her out. Dar- Ms. Sloane wanted the best in the world. I did the research and came up with a very short list of candidates that made the cut. We keep records on people like you, Mr. Gibson." Porter swallowed. "You were number six, in spite of your arm. You were a good choice because you still have most of your own team and can move fast."

     "How do you know?" I frowned.

     "You worked for us, through several intermediaries, last year. The Miller job." Porter eyed me, coolly. That one had been a near botch.

     "The coke guy." I'd taken Healy and Dace into Mexico to get a Coca Cola executive out of the clutches of one of the guerilla bands infesting the place. We'd joked with him about trying to sell coke in Mexico.

     "Yes." Porter fidgeted, uncomfortably. "I showed Ms. Sloane your picture and she... reacted very strongly. The next day, you showed up, in complete charge of everything." He looked at me. "What are you to her?"

     I didn't answer. "I'm the guy in charge." I stood. "Okay, here's the plan. Tonight I go in. No shooting, unless they resist. I get her out." I stood. "You guys, clear out, at five. My team will be here as soon as you go."

     Porter nodded. "Fujida and four other men that know the objective will be in crash cars. We'll block the police if they respond. We've all accepted jobs with Sloane Biodynamics. I'll be on the Sloane payroll, from now on."

     I was pleased. "Excellent. Is Fujida the man on the door?"

     He nodded.

     "The Devil went down to Georgia?" I looked at him, quizzically.

     Porter smiled. "Fujida's little joke. He read your army file." His smile died. "You're the only one still alive that was part of Murder Incorporated and Operation Starlight, in addition to the REACT squads. What do you have, 2000 kills?"

     Murder Incorporated was what the other units had called us. Operation Starlight had been the antiterrorist sweeps that had finally broken La Raza. REACT was just the Ranger squad. "I never counted." Only a madman would. None of the madmen had made it.

     I finalized the plan, then left him, to go talk to the scanners and memorize routs.

     It went flawlessly. We pulled up in front, piled through the front doors and were up the stairs before anyone even started to react. Resistance was nonexistent.

     I emerged onto the tenth floor and kicked the door open. Janey bolted upright. "Who are you." She stood, glaring, unafraid. I was proud.

     I raised the visor of the bug-like helmet that I wore and she shrank back, in revulsion. "Daria sent me. I'm here to get you out. Come on."

     She gasped. "Oh! Good. How did you know?"

     "Later." I bundled her into a flack jacket and helmet, then took her out, shielded on all sides by my men. I went first, visor up, a different rout than we'd taken up. Behind me, I heard gunfire. The tango's were shooting at each other.

     People melted away the instant they saw me, gasping and shrinking back into side rooms. We went right out the loading dock, into the back of another van and were quickly away, escorted by Porter's crash cars.

     Janey was pale. "Thank you. I was going crazy, waiting for them to put one of those things in my head."

     "Don't mention it." Billingsly grinned. "We're getting well paid, right, Sarge?"

     "How much?" Martinez was greedy. He'd been a consummate looter.

     I shrugged. "I don't know. A lot."

     He looked comically disappointed. "Jesus, Eddie! You mean that you never settled the deal? Ah! Shit! I hope we get a plane ticket back. I put off an important trip south for this."

     I grinned at him, watching him sweat. "What's the matter, Benny? Been shaking down mob bookies again?" We'd been in basic training together, many years ago.

     "No. I got a political career to think of. I'm gonna be president of Mexico."

     Everyone laughed. Mexico was run by druglords.

     "Ten thousand gold dollars apiece," said Jake, emerging from the front. He made his way back and hugged Janey, who was sitting next to me.

     That shut them up. They thought it was a joke. It was an unbelievable sum, in the new, ultra hard, gold backed currency. A thousand gold dollars was a year's pay for a bigshot executive.

     Billingsly stared at Jake, open mouthed, along with Hamms. Suddenly, I remembered that they had all known me, back before I got so messed up.

     "Who brought you?" I was angry. He might have gotten hurt.

     "I just came. Porter said I could."

     I winced. We hadn't checked on Porter, who was driving. I must be getting old, I thought.

     Hamms spoke up first. "Jesus. He's the spitting image of you, Sarge. Why didn't you say this was a family thing? You, with kids. Who'd of thought it?"

     Jake looked up, surprised. "What?"

     Hamms gestured at him. "You look just like ol' steady Eddie did, before the ugly son of a bitch got his face redesigned."

     Both kids stared at me. "Thanks, Hamms." I didn't look at them.

     Hamms blundered on. "You mean, you kids didn't know?"

     "Hamms?" I fixed him with my best Top Kick stare.

     "Yeah, Sarge?" He was grinning, too old to care about stares.

     "Shut up." My arm hurt too bad to put up with him.

     The squad boarded the plane, along with the scanning crew. I split up the rest of the operation's cash reserve and gave it to them, along with all the cash I had, so they wouldn't get antsy about being paid.

     We went back to the Sloane mansion in an armored limousine. Janey and Jake both stared at me, until I'd had enough. "Okay, out with it."

     Janey was the bravest. "Are you really our... dad?"

     I nervously cleared my throat. "Biologically. That's what Daria said. I never knew you kids existed, until the day before yesterday."

     Janey leaned forward and stared into my eyes. "You are." She kissed me on my ruined cheek. "Thank you for saving me, daddy."

     I was unable to speak. Finally I got control. "Any time, Janey."

     Jake swallowed. "So... our real name is Gibson?"

     I shook my head. "Sloane, Jake. Nothing's changed. Besides, Gibson is just a name I use, now." I stared, unseeing into the middle distance. It was all so long ago. I couldn't ever get back to that carefree guy. Silence fell.

     The stench of old cordite and pain rolled from my BDU's, filling the crushed velour cocoon we rode in with its rankness. I didn't belong. I was like an old used up grenade ring, in a fancy jewel box.

     Jake swallowed nervously, then said, "What does 'see the elephant' mean?" He was staring at me, again. It gave me the willies.

     I shrugged. "An old army joke, from the civil war. It means to go to war."

     "We knew Tom Sloane wasn't our father." He cleared his throat. "How did you really lose your arm?"

     "I forgot to duck." I didn't want to talk about it. Janey was staring at my hand, with horror, not having noticed before.

     Mercifully, we arrived at the mansion before she could bring herself to speak.

     Daria hugged both Jake and Janey to her, crying so hard that she was incoherent.

     Feeling out of place, I wandered off in search of some water. I wanted to give them some space and take my pills.

     I asked a small cleaning robot where the kitchen was and it lead me to a room that it assured me was a kitchen. I recognized nothing like a sink. It was hard to believe how far behind the rest of the country we were, in the ruins of Los Angeles.

     Unable to stand it anymore, I popped eight of the pain pills and swallowed them, dry. I was supposed to take them one at a time, with water, but the pain was unbearable. I turned to go, and the world abruptly winked out.

     A beeping sound. I was back in Walter Reed. Soon, the doctor would wake me up and tell me the bad news about my arm.

     "My arm. But how could I already know?" I mumbled. I considered opening my eyes.

     "Trent?"

     That was me, wasn't it? I opened my eyes. "Daria?" I suddenly remembered. "What happened?"

     She was sitting on a chair, next to the hospital bed. It was pretty fancy. Not an army hospital, that was for sure. "You took too many pills, too fast."

     I still couldn't remember, so I just stared. It was so eerie. Like seeing a ghost. She belonged in the upbeat past, not the downbeat present. I looked away.

     "What's wrong?" She touched my face. "Why are you avoiding me? I thought I was forgiven."

     I smiled, then stopped when I saw her wince. I occasionally forgot. My face wasn't really made to smile anymore. According to Mynah, it looked cruel, and predatory. "Sure you are. I just... Don't know what to say."

     She sighed. "The doctor says that you're in constant pain."

     I nodded. "It's the phantom limb syndrome. It's all in my head. It gets bad, when I stress."

     "Oh, Trent."

     I sat up. "How long have I been out?"

     She stood. "Twenty hours or so."

     I usually just catnapped. That was more sleep at one time than I'd had in years. "Where's my arm? I need to get to LA."

     "Why?" She didn't move.

     I shrugged. "I need to pay the men and tie up some loose ends."

     "You can do it from here." She pointed at a video phone, in the corner.

     I nodded. "I hate hospitals, Daria. I always seem to come out of them with less than I had going in."

     She snorted. "You don't have much left to spare."

     It made me smile again. "True."

     "I want you to stay." Daria sat back down.

     "Why?" I was feeling vaguely upset. I'd already reached rock bottom and I just wasn't willing to risk the drop, a second time.

     "Because you should. Your family is here." She looked at me, wistfully. "I'd like to have you around, you know."

     I shrugged. "As what? A door stop? I do alright, Daria. There's no reason to feel sorry for me."

     She scowled. "Alright? Get real, Trent. You're a handicapped part time cop, living alone in a rathole that I wouldn't make a dog-"

     "I prefer maimed. And the rats live in the nicer buildings." I couldn't help smiling. This was the Daria I remembered.

     "We can get you fixed up, Trent." She gestured at the room. "We'll get you real doctors. I had a specialist in to look at you. He said that your face can be fixed. I own the largest biotech company on the earth. If we can't do better than that myoelectric arm, a lot of people are going to be unemployed."

     I felt a little pang. "I'm sorry, Daria. I'm just not the Trent Lane you remember, any more. Eddie Gibson just isn't the kind of guy that you want around yo-"

     "For Christ's sake! Cut this Eddie Gibson crap! No one cares about your album now. You're Trent Lane!" She sneered. "Are you vain or something? Do you think I am?"

     "Why do you want me here! I look like chopped liver, I'm a stone killer and I can't even tie my damn shoes!" I shook my head. "Jesus, Daria. If you want a friend, get a dog. I don't think I could stand it, just being your friend."

     She rolled her eyes. "Looks? You think I care about that? Where am I going to find a guy that knows me? Where am I going to find a guy that I had a crush on, when I was sixteen? Where am I going to find a guy that I can talk about things with. Dammit, Trent! I'm lonely."

     I swallowed. My rathole had grown comfortable, over the years. I was a known quantity, with a semi-respectable job, terrifying the criminal classes into immobility. If I stayed, I might not be able to fit back into that life, when it all fell apart.

     She saw my hesitation and took it for victory. "You'll be happy here. I need you to help me, anyway. I have a lot of properties that need protection. You could be head of all Sloane security."

     "Hmm. I'll bet Porter would love that." I laughed until it degenerated into a cough. "No, I'm a sniper, Daria. Defense was never my thing."

     "Okay! Don't do anything. Hang around, watch TV. Scare off the undesirables that come around looking for Janey. Tell Jake not to join the army. He's got the worst case of hero worship that I've ever seen."

     I straightened in alarm. "Not the damned army! I'll talk to him."

     "Do I have to beg on my knees? I'll do it, if I have to." She seemed serious.