Julio, check in. The thought came winging from somewhere near.

Right here, Snake, he replied. All quiet.

Where's here?

Mike Teague's room. You?

In the parlor with Mrs. Costigan.

Right. Check again later.

They had divided the days into eight-hour watches so that each could get some sleep, and now at four in the afternoon they were both awake, circulating around the house and waiting for Gemstone to make a move. As he signed off with Snake, Julio felt a touch of excitement. As much as he hated to admit it, it felt good to be back in harness again, doing the work of a sensitive, even if the job was nothing more than standing guard over a ramshackle rooming house. And it was a pleasant change from the daily routine of hanging around the fronton, and telling the fortunes of elderly Cuban ladies. His only regret was that this renewed connection with Snake had not yet led to a renewal of intimacy. The eight-hour shifts made that impossible, but once the job was over…

He broke off the thought, and asked, "Did you ever see any baseball in Cuba?"

"Couple of times in the forties. The Havana Sugar Kings. You got some crazy fans down there."

"Was that when you were with the Dodgers?"

"Jesus, what's the use of me telling you things if you don't listen? I was with the Brooklyns in fifty-three, just that one year."

"Sorry." There was an electric razor on top of the bureau. Julio tossed it onto the bed. "Give yourself a shave, you look like a bum."

Teague let the razor lie. "The hell with it, I don't need it."

"Come on, Mike, the nurse will be here soon. Don't you want to look good for the nurse?"

"That old cow."

"Hey, she's a nice lady, Mrs. Coombs."

"Cow," Teague repeated, but he picked up the razor. "Maybe you were thinking about that Cuban runner I trained that time."

"Who was that?"

"Christ, don't you remember anything? That's him on the wall over there. To the left of the door, about halfway up."

Julio peered at the faded photo of a man in a warmup suit. It was inscribed, a mi bien amigo, Miguel Teague. It took him a moment to make out the signature. He said in surprise, "You worked with Alberto Juantorena?"

"Bet your ass. Fastest son of a bitch over a quarter mile that I ever saw in my life."

"You never told me, Mike, really you didn't. He was a hero in Cuba when I was a kid. When was this?"

"Seventy-six Olympics in Montreal," Teague said with a certain smugness. "Won the four hundred meters in 44.26. He was one rapid bastard."

"That's amazing. I thought you were still at Van Buren in seventy-six."

Teague shook his head sadly. "If I told you once, I told you a dozen times. I quit Van Buren after the seventy-five season. That was the year that we beat Polk in the big game, and then we won the tournament. That's the Van Buren team over there."

Julio followed Teague's pointing finger to another photograph on the wall. There were ten players standing or kneeling, with the coaches in the center, and Teague off to the side. There was no way that Julio could have known it, but one of the men in the picture was Hassan Rashid.

Julio, are you tapped in? Julio? Snake sounded hurried.

Go.

We're on. Mike's nurse just showed up and it isn't Mrs. Coombs. She says that Coombs has the flu and she's the substitute. She's on her way up.

Gemstone?

It figures, doesn't it?

Did you tap her?

No time. I'm coming up behind her.

There was a knock on the door, and a woman walked into the room. She wore a nurse's uniform, and she carried a black bag. She smiled at Teague, and started to say something. She never got the words out. Julio grabbed her wrist, twisted it, and pulled the bag away from her. He threw it across the room, and in the same motion he twisted her arm behind her back. He got his other arm around her neck in a lock. She screamed and struggled as he pulled her against him. She fell forward to the floor, and he lay on top of her, pinning her. She kicked, and a heel scraped his shin.

"Cut it out," he muttered. "I'll break your neck if I have to." She stopped struggling, and went limp. She felt warm and soft under him. Snake came pounding into the room. She had half a sandwich in her hand.

"What the hell?" said Teague. "What the hell?"

Tap her, said Snake.

Going in now. Come on along.

They went in together and poked around. They went through her head from the attic to the basement. They checked the closets and blew dust out of the corners. They mowed her lawn and spaded her flower bed. They gave her a thorough housecleaning, and when they were finished they had nothing. She was nothing more or less than she was supposed to be.

Martha Rattigan, registered nurse, Snake said disgustedly. On substitute duty for Ellen Coombs. She's clean.

And she's twenty-six years old, added Julio. You might have mentioned that she was young before I made a fool of myself. Gemstone was in Nam with Ogden. Does she look old enough to have been in Nam?

I think she's angry.

Wouldn't you be? What's the sandwich?

I was hungry, Snake said defensively. Who gets a chance to eat with these hours?

Teague said, "That's a nice solid lock you got there, Julio. I used to train a wrestler once."

I think you'd better let her up, said Snake. Unless you're enjoying yourself in that position.

I'm tempted. It's the closest I've been to a woman in a while.

Poor darling. Now let the nice lady up and apologize like a good boy.

I've got a better idea. At the count of three I'm going to get to my feet and run like hell. You do the apologizing. One.

"She's pretty cute," Teague observed. "Maybe I shoulda shaved."

Wait, said Snake. What do I tell her?

Tell her I get this way when the moon is full. Two.

But the moon isn't full.

Tell her I'm an escaped mental patient. Tell her I was abused by a nurse when 1 was a child. Tell her I have a thing about uniforms. Tell her anything you please, but I'm out of here. Three.

He jumped to his feet, and ran from the room. He hurried down the stairs, and stopped at the first landing. He heard the nurse's strident voice complaining, and Snake's soothing tone as she tried to calm her. He grinned, took a deep breath, and danced down the rest of the stairs to the parlor. Mrs. Costigan was there, and she wasn't alone. With her was a middle-aged woman with grey hair and a distinguished bearing. Mrs. Costigan was holding something in her hands, and on the floor was a salesman's sample case.

Mrs. Costigan said, "Julio, come and look at this. Isn't it lovely?"

Julio came closer to see what she was holding. "A clock?"

"Not just an ordinary clock."

"Not at all," said the other woman with a practiced smile. "Hello, I'm Stella Amsell, and I represent the Jefferson Timepiece Company of Wilmington, Delaware. What Mrs. Costigan is holding is a faithful reproduction of a Seth Thomas grandmother clock, slightly reduced in size, but otherwise the exact same clock that was first produced in the Thomas factory in 1871. It's a beauty, isn't it?"

"It certainly is." It was about three feet long and a foot high, the body sculpted of gleaming walnut that curved gracefully around the clock itself.

"And it's free," said Mrs. Costigan.

"Actually, it's a promotional gift," said Mrs. Amsell. "Normally, this clock sells for one hundred and thirty-nine ninety-five, but we're giving away a limited number of them to a selected group of people in the community."

"People like me," said Mrs. Costigan, beaming.

"People like you," Mrs. Amsell agreed. "We're hoping that your friends and neighbors will see this handsome reproduction perched on your mantelpiece, and will admire it so much that they will want one for their very own."