He slipped on the black leather. It fit. "Good thing she called me," he said again to himself. "I won't kill him, like Mike would. And I won't arrest him and make a lot of paperwork and noise about it, either.Jeither.Just the little girl, convince the guy to stay clear of her, and get her home." He flexed his hand inside the weighted glove. Sometimes it was easier not being a cop anymore.

He caught up his keys and went out the door,whistling "I'm Called Little Buttercup." The sky above him was grey, like dark smoke.

Ain't got time to listen,

Ain't got eyes to see.

Woah, lannan sidhe let me be.

"LANNAM SIDHE"

Three rounds of beer had come and gone. By now,he should be feeling them, should be numbed a little,should be able to let his shoulders slump against the chair back. Instead, Stepovich felt as if he were being drawn tighter and tighter, wound up like some little mechanical toy. His jaws were clenched, as if he feared too much truth would jump out of him if he relaxed. And Durand would never be able to handle the whole truth. Durand might talk wild and woolly,but when it came down to cases, he was absolutely by the book. Letter of the law. Stepovich cleared his throat, felt Durand's eyes jump back to him.

"Okay." His voice came out rusty, and he cleared his throat again. "I did some really stupid stuff. But I'm not dirty, Durand, and I didn't do anything really wrong. I mean, not wrong like morally wrong. Maybe wrong, like in ignoring standard procedure, but not wrong like ethics. You know what I mean?"

Durand nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm just not sure if I agree with it. Maybe you didn't do anything dirty, but you broke a hell of a lot of rules. And if you hadn't, your ass wouldn't be in a crack right now. And neither would mine. But I'm willing to help you out, as long as it doesn't mean breaking any more rules. You got to understand, Ste-uh-Mike, that I'm just starting out. Something like this could screw my career permanently. See, I'm not really as stupid as you think I am."

Stepovich was forced to nod, feeling both relieved that Durand could understand what he meant, and ashamed that he had always assumed his partner was too dumb to talk to.

"So. Where does all this leave us?" Durand demanded after a few moments had passed. The bag of ice was a plastic puddle in the middle of the table. He still fingered his jaw from time to time, but the worst of the swelling had gone down.

"Well," Stepovich gathered his thoughts. "It doesn't leave us with a lot. No hard information, anyway. Just feelings, and maybe s, and stuff that doesn't quite add up. Here's how it looks to me. We've got a guy killed in the liquor store and the old gypsy woman dead in the hotel. You think it's the same guy, both times, you think it's that gypsy we picked up-"

"Actually, the liquor store witness-" Durand began, but Stepovich held up a hand.

"Just let me finish. Because he matched the clerk's description, and because he had a knife that might have been like the one used on the old woman."

"And he matched the description the hotel clerk gave to homicide when they asked who the room was rented to," Durand interjected, but Stepovich chose to ignore him and plow stubbornly on.

"Now I'm with you on thinking the same guy did both of them. Damned if I can really say why, it's just a feeling and it's got nothing to do with the description from the liquor store matching the description from the hotel clerk."

"If you'd listen," Durand began, but Stepovich slapped the table.

"Damnit, let me finish. Hear me out. I don't think it's our gypsy. Think about this. One killed with a gun, one killed with a knife. That's weird. Because killers choose a weapon and stick to it, because it's the weapon that makes them feel the best, most powerful, most in control. Now I know the Gypsy didn't have his knife when the old woman was killed. But it was done with a knife very similar to his, and maybe in his room. Why? Frame-up? It's not a hell of a lotto go on, Durand. I admit that. The only thread I can see hanging loose is our gypsy. Only I got no idea of how to find him."

"You done?" Durand demanded impatiently.

"Yeah. I guess." Stepovich waited for Durand to blast his fragile theories to pieces.

"Good. Because here's one more thing that doesn't fit. The witness from the liquor store has changed his story. Now he says the killer wasn't a gypsy at all,but some skinny pale dude. No one wants to believe him, so the warrant is still out for the Gypsy. They all figured someone got to the witness and made him change his story-"

"Or," Stepovich interjected, "he was lying before,for whatever reason, and now he's telling the truth.Datruth.Damnto talk to that gypsy. He's the key."

"That's why Ed turned you on to Madam Moria,because he thought she might have a line on other gypsies in town?"

"Yeah." Stepovich took a sip of beer. Half of it went down before he choked. He coughed, couldn't form the question, but Durand answered it anyway.Sanyway. Somethingously like a blush rose on his face.

"So," Stepovich asked heavily. "How long you and Ed been getting together and comparing notes?"

Durand spoke like the words were being dragged out.

"It's not like that, Stepovich. What's between me and Ed goes way back; it's not just this gypsy thing.Sething. See my Dad's friend, a long time ago. Went through the academy together, I guess, then kind of lost touch. Or didn't get along. Ed's a lot like you,sort of free and easy with procedure, and my dad wasn't like that. Anyway. I'd forgotten all about him,but my mother hadn't. Mom called him when I got out of the academy, before I was even officially hired,and begged him to use his pull to get me partnered with somebody decent. Somebody he thought I'd be safe with. I guess he chose you." Then, as the anger washed over Stepovich's face, Durand added, "Look,I didn't know about it until after it happened. Pissed me off, that she thought I couldn't make it on my own. It isn't the kind of thing my dad would have liked either. My dad wasn't the kind of cop who took favors, or did them. I could have done okay on my own. I thought you knew about it and that was why you were so shitty to me, you thought you were babysitting or something."

"This is the first I ever heard about it," Stepovich began.

"I know," Durand cut in ruefully. "A couple days ago, Ed called me up, asked how we were getting on,and I lit into him. And he said you didn't know a damn thing about it, that he figured I'd have to earn your respect on my own. So then I felt like a real jerk for all the times I'd tried to show you I was so tough and so smart I didn't need your help."

"Makes two of us," Stepovich muttered.

"So," Durand said at last. "You get anything from Madam Moria?"

Stepovich swirled the last of his beer in his glass,then drank it down. Abruptly, he held his mug up and waved it, hoping the waitress would notice they needed refills. He took a deep breath, looked up and met his partner's eyes. "You ready to hear some really weird shit?" he asked him.

And at the end will be the place

Whence the owl has flown,

And I'll dance for you the Gypsy Dance

That you have never known.

"GYPSY DANCE"

The fight didn't have a beginning as far as Daniel was concerned. The first he knew of it, he was on his hands and knees, trying to get up, feeling bits of glass embedded in the back of his head, and knowing that a pointed-toed boot was coming, but also knowing how to avoid it. His Lore lei shrieked, and the red-haired waitress rushed in their direction with an upraised tray, and all he could think, stupidly, was that most dogs will run if you shout at them, but some will slink back later to bite you from behind. Daniel should never have walked away from him; he should have crammed his money down his throat and made him choke on it.