He'd already, apparently, pried the tire loose from the rim on one side. Now he pulled the rubber aside and produced a shiny, friction-top, tin can, which he set down in front of him. Then he reached in his pocket and came up with a screwdriver he'd probably got from the Jaguar's toolkit. All those British cars come equipped with enough tools to rebuild them from scratch.

Martell put one hand on the can and grasped Joey's wrist with the other. Joey looked up, surprised and hurt.

"I'll do it," Martell said.

"Okay, okay," Joey said.

Martell took the screwdriver and pried open the can. "Keep an eye on them, damn it!" he said sharply.

"Okay, okay!" Joey said, turning to face us.

Martell stuck a finger into the can. I noted that he seemed to poke deeper than necessary, as if he were feeling for something.

"How is it?" Joey asked, watching us.

Martell found what he was searching for. I saw his face go smooth with relief. He withdrew his finger, and tasted the white powder that clung to it, and spat.

"Not bad," he said. "They haven't cut it much." He slapped the lid back on the can and drove it home with his fist. "How many are there?"

"I didn't count. The whole damn tire's full of them."

"All right," Martell said. "Put it back. That Fredericks is a suspicious bastard; if he sees we've had it open, he'll be sure we've had a fix out of it, at least-as if I'd touch the lousy stuff!"

Joey hesitated. "Fenn."

"Yeah."

"That's a lot of horse. What's it bring, around a grand an ounce?"

"So?"

"I was just thinking-"

"Nobody ever got hurt just thinking," Martell said. "Not until they started doing something about it. Did you have in mind doing something about it, Joey?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then stick it back in the tire like I told you and stop dreaming. Okay. Now I want you to keep a sharp eye on these characters while 1 tend to some unfinished business… Duchess!"

Beth's head came up quickly. Martell walked over to stand above her. He looked her up and down, and licked his heavy lips.

"Do you walk or do I drag you?" he asked. "You're a big girl now, Mrs. Logan. You don't want these men of yours to see you dragged across the floor like a baby, kicking and screaming… That's better."

She got up very slowly. She looked at Logan, still staring at the ceiling with the sweat of agony running off his face, and she looked at me. She looked at me longer, I guess, because I had two good legs and might get a little farther before the bullet from Joey's big revolver cut me down. Then she drew a long, shuddering breath and started across the room, and stopped.

"Larry!" she whispered. "Matt!"

Nobody said anything. She started walking again. Suddenly Logan moved. I heard the click as Joey cocked his revolver, and Martell's gun was in his hand. Logan fell back to the cot with a groan, his face gray and wet.

"Helm!" he said. "For God's sake!"

I still couldn't see that it was worth getting killed for. Well, to prevent it, maybe, but nobody was going to prevent it, and I never could get excited about the idea of dying nobly for nothing.

I said, "You're the husband now. You want to be a dead hero, go ahead."

He said, "I can't… We're all going to be dead, old man, don't you know that?"

"I've known it for years," I said. "I'll still wait for the time."

Joey chuckled. He sat down at the table, resting the gun on the big wire wheel lying there.

"Go on, Fenn," he said. "Have your fun. They ain't giving me no trouble. None that I can't handle."

Martell said, in his best Penn voice, "Nobody's dying for you today, Duchess. Too bad."

Beth licked her lips, pulled her shoulders back, and walked straight into the bedroom. He followed her and closed the door. It didn't take long. There wasn't time enough for me to even begin talking to Joey, without looking as if I was rushing things.

He was wide open for it. I could have worked on his greed, which he'd just betrayed, and dressed it up pretty with an appeal to his patriotism. I could have worried him badly just by letting him know I was a government man. Ever since Dillinger they've had a kind of superstitious fear of the 0-men, and I wouldn't have to mention that I didn't happen to be working for J. Edgar Hoover… But she gave me no time at all.

Suddenly the door opened and she came out, looking, except for the expression of her eyes, exactly as she'd looked going in. She hadn't even got her hair badly mussed, not enough that she hadn't been able to pat it back into place. Except for the missing blouse, and the frozen look in her eyes, she looked as if she'd just been for a stroll around the house.

Martell was behind her, and he looked angry and unsatisfied. I knew exactly what she'd done. She'd undressed for him fast and let him have her, to get it over with, since she had no choice, but she'd given him no more than he could have got from a properly constructed store-window dummy. In the years to come, if she lived that long, she'd take pride in the fact, no doubt. He'd had her body but he hadn't touched her soul. Not that she was likely to live that long. None of us were, now.

He grabbed her and stopped her. I saw his glance touch the wheel on the table before it came to rest on Joey.

"Okay, Joey," he said. "Your turn." He rubbed his head ruefully. "Watch that damn upper berth or you're like to knock your brains out."

Beth's stony expression didn't change. She just stood there. Joey looked at her for a moment. It was hard to say what went through his mind, such as it was. Maybe, like me, he'd seen the direction of Martell's first glance, and got a vague hunch it might be best for him not to leave again. And I suppose he could tell that Lover-Boy Penn hadn't gone over real big in there. Maybe he just didn't figure it was going to be worth the trouble for him to try. But I don't discount the possibility that he had some kind of decency. This was a woman from a different world, and he'd just stick to his own kind, thanks.

"I'll pass it, Fenn," he said.

Martell looked surprised and annoyed. He started to speak sharply, stopped, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Suit yourself. I can tell you you're not missing much." He gave Beth a shove. "Go on back over there and sit down."

Joey glanced at his watch. "We'd better get on a phone and report to Mr. Fredericks that we've got it, before he starts getting impatient."

Martell said, "Yeah, sure, as soon as we finish what he sent us to do." He walked up to me and kicked me hard in the shin. He seemed to have a knack for hitting the same place every time. I let him know it hurt. "All right," he said. "I'm through horsing around, Buster. Where's Miss Fredericks?"

I said, "I'm not going to tell-"

He moved in fast and hard, slugging, chopping with the edge of his hand, slapping, kicking. I covered up as best I could and rolled with the worst ones, riding it out: this didn't mean anything, either. This was just Mar-tell taking it out on me because a pretty woman hadn't responded properly to his advances. Or maybe he was just stalling while he figured things out.

Pretty soon we'd settle down to the lighted-cigarette routine, or he'd send Joey for a pair of pliers. And when Joey came back, he might just possibly walk into a bullet-from my gun, to make it look good later, or Logan's, but that was lying outside somewhere. In any case, there was something in that tire beside heroin that Martell wanted, and he obviously wanted to get it without having Joey tell all about it later. And since Joey had been so foolish as to refuse to retire gracefully from the room, something might very well happen to him, as it was going to happen to all of us. Meanwhile, Martell was putting on a show, as Fenn, while he made up his mind.

I drew back from a punch in the eye, and the ancient chair groaned and collapsed, sending me over backwards. It was a chance, but I threw a glance towards the table as I went over, and Joey had the.45 trained on me rock-steady. There was nothing to do but cover up some more, as Martell moved in for some fancy kicking.