"No bet," Kit laughed. "You'll never guess what Bull's done now."

Goldie, carefully covering the carved carbuncle with her hand, asked, "Bull `fishpond him'?"-referring to the time Margo had taken offense at being mauled by a multibillionaire with a thing for nubile redheads. Margo had thrown him into the fishpond.

Kit laughed heartily. Robert Li was sure Goldie had intended, with careful calculation, to remind Kit of that particular incident. And such a ruckus the dripping wet old goat had raised, too, threatening to sue everything and everyone he could.

Fortunately, Bull Morgan had pointed out that said goat would have to file suit in the jurisdiction where the assault had taken place, then explained that no lawyers at all were permitted to hang their shingles anywhere inside TT-86. Better that way for everyone.

Of course, the way Margo looked and moved ...

A man could hardly be blamed for trying. Malcolm Moore was one lucky son if she said yes.

Kit leaned forward conspiratorially. "Good guess, but nope, you're way off the mark."

Kit's little audience leaned forward, unaware they did so.. Kit grinned. "Bull Morgan had Mike Benson place dear old Monty under arrest. Threw him into the brig with seventeen boozers, half-a-dozen brawlers, and three flea-bitten thieves clumsy enough to get caught."

"WHAT?"

The demand came out in stereo, Goldie's screech hitting soprano.

Kit's grin lit his thin, mustachioed face like an evil jack-o-lantern. "Yep. Seems like during their, er, meeting over jurisdiction up in Bull's office, Monty's sense of outrage and diligence to the letter of the law prompted him to, um, an assault."

Robert Li gasped. "Monty hit Bull? And he's still alive?"

"Oh, no," Kit laughed, eyes twinkling. "Much better than that. Monty assaulted Bull's prize porcelain of the Everlasting Elvis.. You know the one, sat on his desk like some serene Buddha for years after he, er, borrowed it from that cathouse in New Orleans."

Goldie's eyes went as round as the carbuncle she'd tried to hide from Kit's sharp-eyed gaze. "He broke Bull's Elvis?"

"They're still digging pieces out of the wall. And ceiling. And carpet."

"Oh, dear God," Robert said hoarsely, covering his eyes. "You know what this means?"

"Oh, do I ever. Open season on ATF agents and station security alike. The fights-and they're getting dirty, fast have already started. Just thought I'd warn you. Things are likely to get hot around here for a while. Oh, one last thing."

He winked at Robert. "That carbuncle you're trying to hide, Goldie? Forget selling it to that sweet young thing who asked if you could find her one. She's the newest narc on Monty's payroll."

Goldie's mouth dropped open. Robert grinned. Kit rarely had the pleasure of catching her so completely off guard. Goldie very primly closed her mouth. Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she said, "I am not even going to ask. Good day, gentlemen."

She took her carbuncle and left.

Robert glanced curiously at Kit. "This girl you're talking about. Is she really Monty's?"

Kit chuckled. "Hell if I know. But she walks and talks like ATF, for all the lace and perfume and goo goo eyes she's been making at Skeeter Jackson. He hides every time she comes near. And I've never known that boy's instincts about undercover cops to fail."

"She sounds guilty to me," Robert chuckled. "Poor Skeeter. Poor Goldie. What terrible, tangled webs."

Kit grinned. "Yeah, well, hey, they wove 'em all by themselves, didn't they? I just don't like the idea of ATF throwing its weight around where it's got no real jurisdiction. They mind their checkpoints, we mind our business. Problems like Goldie and Skeeter, we handle internally."

Robert Li laughed aloud, recalling just how Kit had "handled" his own family "problem" with Skeeter. The youngster was still -shy whenever Kit was around.

"When's Margo due in?" he couldn't resist asking.

Kit's world-famous grin flickered into existence. "Next time Primary cycles. Malcolms taking her to Denver."

"So I heard."

"Is nothing secret around here?"

Robert Li chuckled. "In La-La Land? Get real. Whoops, here comes a customer."

Kit wandered out past a young woman who wandered in. Kit paused in the doorway, giving Robert the high sign that this girl was trouble, then left whistling jauntily Robert Li watched the tourist narrowly as she paused to look at antique furniture brought uptime from London, then glanced appreciatively at a cabinet filled with jade jaguar gods.

"Is there anything in particular I could help you with?" Robert asked politely.

"Hi. I was wondering if you could help me out? I'm interested in buying something for my Dad's birthday and he's crazy about Roman antiquities. And he's a sports nut, too. So when this gems dealer showed me a gorgeous stone with a carving of the Circus Maximus on it ..." She batted eyelashes a half-inch long and let the sentence trail off.

She was all lace and perfume and goo-goo eyes. And her voice would've liquefied thousand-year-old honey. But Kit was right: this kid walked like a trained agent and despite the melt-in-your-mouth patter, her voice held a burr that told Robert, Monty's riding 'em hard, all right. This kid's out for blood. Robert Li folded his hands into the sleeves of the Chinese-style Mandarin's robe he affected while in his studio and waited for her to continue. Having a Chinese maternal grandfather gave him certain physical attributes that came through despite his mother's Scandinavian heritage; it also gave him an excuse to go inscrutable on demand. The tactic, so effective with other customers, even threw her off-stride. She floundered visibly for a moment, then recovered.

"I was hoping you could give me an appraisal, you know, so I'd be sure I was paying a fair price for lt."

"I am an antiquities dealer," Robert said humbly, "with some small knowledge of furniture and a slight interest in South American jades, but I do not presume to claim expertise in valuing gemstones."

"There's an IFARTS sign in your window," she challenged, as perfectly well aware as he what was required to become an WARTS official representative.

"Dear lady, I fear my consultation fee would be a complete waste of your money."

"Consultation fee?"

"A trifling charge for my time and services. It is not against IFARTS rules and one does have to make a living." He smiled politely. "I fear a thousand dollars to tell you, `I don't know' would be a great strain on the budget of someone as sensible as I perceive you to be. Surely you could go to one of the gems dealers on the station for such an appraisal?"

Her eyes narrowed in dawning suspicion. "Everyone recommended you."

"I would, of course, be happy to do my best, but there is also my reputation to consider. Think what damage I would do if I valued such a thing wrongly. You would be cheated, the current owner of the gem would be cheated and possibly greatly offended, and no one would trust my judgment again. I know my limits, dear lady, and my reputation will not stand such a strain as you ask."

She compressed her lips. He could all but see the thoughts seething behind her eyes: You're in an it, you bastard, you're all in on it and I'll never prove a thing on her ....

"Thank you," she said curtly. All trace of sweetness and goo-goo eyes had vanished. "I hope you have a pleasant day."

The hell you do, girlie. Robert smiled anyway. "And a pleasant day to you. And your father. May his day of birth be blessed with the freedom in life he so earnestly desires."

Robert thought for a moment she would actually break cover and scream at him that Montgomery Wilkes wouldn't be in jail long, by God! but she didn't She just marched out of his studio as though she were on parade ground. She's young, Robert sighed, and that idiot Wilkes is ruining her already. What a tight fisted, anal-retentive fool. Then Robert reminded himself that the ATF-no matter how attractively packaged-was the enemy and busied himself placing a few phone calls. There were friends who deserve fair warning before that little number came to call.