"She's not-" I checked myself.

"Not cold?" Moira laughed shortly. "Don't kid me, baby. I know these lovely, gracious ladies who hoard it like gold and restrict it like a private beach."

I wasn't going to discuss Beth's sexual attitudes with her. I said, "She's really a pretty fine person, Moira."

"Sure," Moira said. "The only trouble is, I loathe fine people."

"Particularly after they've kicked you out on your ear," I said maliciously.

She started to speak angrily; then she grinned. "Okay, maybe I am a little prejudiced." She sighed, leaning against me comfortably. "It's nice out here. I wish we didn't have to go back, ever. I wonder how many women have said that to how many men." After. a while, she said, "You don't have to say you love me. I just want to know… you're going to be nice to me, aren't you? As nice as… as circumstances permit?"

It was something else I didn't particularly care to discuss. I said crudely, "You mean, right now?"

She glanced at me, startled. She even flushed a little. Then she laughed. "Well, it wasn't exactly what I had in mind, baby, but if you want..

The dog stayed out just long enough, and then, while we were making ourselves more or less fit for civilization again, he came trotting in, grinning from ear to ear, and sat down to have the leash put on him. Moira got a wet rag and washed him off a bit-there was some gore that might have shocked her sensitive city neighbors- and we drove back to Reno.

I took her to the motel so she could pick up the Mercedes. I escorted her across the parking area, with the Afghan trotting alongside. That dog was hell on rabbits, but apparently he had no interest in humans. He didn't give the slightest warning. As a watchdog, he was a washout. I don't think he even knew they were around, until they jumped me from the bushes, and even then he seemed to figure it wasn't any of his damn business. Well, maybe he was right.

Chapter Eleven

WHEN THEY came at you like that, from behind, they never really expect you to be ready for them; and if you act fast and decisively, at precisely the right time, you can generally take care of one of them as you turn. The other-they practically always hunt in pairs, since nobody'd be fool enough to entrust just one with a responsible job-will generally run then, and you can let him go or pick him off as you choose.

I knew they were there, all right. I've been getting along on my own five senses, without any watchdogs to help me, for quite a while. The trouble was, they were so clumsy it was obviously the freshman team. Fenn apparently hadn't thought me worthy of his own attentions, if Fenn had sent them. Maybe he'd just reported to Fredericks that a certain long, lecherous drink of water was making eyes at his daughter, and Fredericks himself had called some unskilled labor off the street to do the job.

I took the chance that the awkward characters behind me hadn't been sent to do any shooting. They'd just been sent to issue an invitation, I hoped; and I might learn something by going along. I might also get hell kicked out of me-I wasn't forgetting what had happened to Paul- but on the whole I figured the biggest risk was that one of them might be sap-happy. You see so many TV shows these days in which people get beat over the head without deleterious results that the rising generation of punks tends to overestimate the durability of the human skull.

There was a very unpleasant moment while they closed in. I guess they thought they were moving with silent efficiency. I continued walking beside Moira. We paused by the car. She was saying something, I don't remember what. Maybe I didn't even hear it. My scalp had tightened up hard enough to pull my ears out of register, waiting for the blow to fall.

Then one of them had a gun jammed into my kidneys, and the other had danced around to threaten me with a long switch-blade knife. It was so childish I wanted to cry for them. Some day they'd do it to a man who didn't want to be taken, and they'd never be the same again.

"Don't move, Buster!" the knifeman said in a menacing voice. "Keep him covered, Tony!"

Tony kept me covered, while Switchblade folded his surgical implement, put it away, and searched me so efficiently that he didn't even spot the little Solingen knife in my pants pocket. Well, he was young. He'd learn, if he lived long enough, which didn't seem likely, or even desirable.

"Look out!" the man behind me warned him, and Switchblade turned just in time to catch a thrown white purse squarely across the face. He rubbed his nose and took a step forward angrily. The kid was ready for him, with her fists up, ready to take him on, and any three friends he might care to name. She'd apparently been something of a tomboy in her day. It must have been something to see. The one behind me said quickly, "Watch it, Ricky. If you lay a hand on her, The Man will have your hide!"

Moira said breathlessly, "Get him, Sheik! Get him, big boy! Get them both! Tear their lousy throats out!"

Switchblade Ricky took a quick step backwards, watching the dog. It opened its mouth lazily, showing the biggest, whitest teeth in the world; and the punk took another step back and reached into his pocket for the knife. The dog finished yawning and looked up' at its mistress in a puzzled way: any fool could see there weren't any rabbits here.

Ricky laughed, but he'd been scared, he'd shown it, and he had to regain status. He stepped forward, bravely now, and kicked the dog hard. It cried out like a hurt child and slunk away to the end of the leash and cowered there with its long monkey tail between its legs, looking back over its shoulder with big, outraged, heartbroken eyes.

Moira gave a little cry, and knelt on the dusty pavement, and hugged the beast to her. "Oh, Sheik!" she moaned. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…

She looked up, kneeling there. "I'll kill you for that!" she breathed.

Tony, behind me, whose face I hadn't seen, said, "For Christ's sake, let's cut out the comedy… Miss Fredericks, get in your car and go home." He cleared his throat and said a word that probably hadn't crossed his lips in years, if ever; they don't seem to teach it to modern youth much. "Please."

She glanced at me, standing there a helpless prisoner with the threatening gun in my back. "What are you going to do to him?"

Tony said, "It's got nothing to do with you, Miss. Big… I mean, Mr. Fredericks just said to bring him in. I'm just following orders, Miss."

"Well, we'll see about your lousy orders-"

I said, "It's all right, kid. Go on home."

She turned on me. "Don't you tell me what to do! What's the matter with you, letting these two lousy delinquents…?" She stopped quickly, and looked at me sharply. She wasn't someone you had to draw blueprints for, labeled in red luminous ink. After a moment, she rose to her feet and said, "All right, but I'm coming along."

Switchblade Ricky said, "The hell you-"

"Save it," Tony said. "Miss Fredericks says she's coming, she's coming. How are you going to stop her, when she knows where we're going? Let The Man worry about it." He spoke to Moira. "Suit yourself, Miss Fredericks. But we can't give you a lift; it would be kind of crowded in one car with four of us and that big dog… Come on, you!" he said, nudging me with his firearm.

We drove into town in a big Chrysler of some kind, with Ricky at the wheel and Tony in the back seat beside me, taking his duty as guard very seriously. I don't think I could have disarmed him more than half a dozen times during the trip. For a punk his age, with a prisoner of my age and experience, that was a pretty good performance. He was an underfed-looking specimen with too-long hair and too-loud clothes. The only thing you could say for him was that he was an improvement on Ricky, which wasn't really a high recommendation for anybody.