Gil listened as Jarlayne related her conversation with Davis Tubbs, unaware that Howard was listening at her door. His mind raced to form lines of strategy he could use in Brian's defense.

"He insists that I wait until whatever he's sending me arrives. It's supposed to come by courier in the morning."

"How did he know where to send it?"

"Please, Gil, the man's a computer spin-head. It wouldn't be a problem."

Gil humphed his way past her patient scolding. "He didn't tell you what it was?"

"Nope. But a hundred will get you a date with me it's some kind of insurance."

"And after you get it he wants to meet?" Gil deliberately ignored her offer.

"That's the plan, Gil. I think our Mister Tubbs is hoping to pull something off before he spills the beans and disappears."

"You think he's blackmailing whoever ordered the tapes?"

"I have no idea what it's about but since that's how he got into this, you might not be far wrong."

"Can you arrange for me to be at the meeting with you?"

"That'll have to be seen after I get this mystery package."

"Great work, Jar, keep me posted."

"Ooooh Gil, what an image-"

"Goodbye, Jarlayne."

•••

Davis packaged up the copies he'd made along with an explanatory letter and then taped a separate letter to the front reading: Open Me First. This was to inform the woman that unless something happened to him she was not to open the package but keep it in a safe place. He called the courier company and left the package downstairs with the superintendent for pick up.

Bases all covered, he thought happily, shucking his shirt and shoes and slipping on his slippers and the robe he'd filched from the hotel in Barbados one forgetful vacation ago. The fridge yielded one half bottle of wine and with the remainder of a chunk of creamy Havarti, Davis established himself in front of his TV and relaxed for the first time in weeks. He had no intention of meeting with the P.I. that was just a ploy to keep her on ice and buy more time. He would contact Mrs. Weston, aka, Janet Smith first thing in the morning and dictate his terms. By then the Brighton woman would have the package and he would be protected in case she and her friend tried anything.

The arrival of Howard Tillman did little to make Davis's hard sought reverie enjoyable. Not letting him in was definitely not an option and once inside, deceit was a bad choice of attitude. Davis hoped that the courier had picked up his package from the super.

"I know what you've been up to Tubbs, so let's not beat around the bush, eh?" He strolled around the room checking through doorways and closets after Davis let him in. "Where is the material you planned on blackmailing Mrs. Weston with?"

"I'm not blackmailing anybody," Tubbs said with a trace of truth, since he hadn't actually negotiated anything. "I did the work you wanted and that's it." He flopped back down in his chair and picked up his wine glass.

"What about your meeting at the Bellville?"

"I never met anyone at the Bellville." How the hell did he know about that?

"I know, I was there."

"So what the hell are you talking about then?"

Tillman picked up the wine and poured some more into Davis's glass and then took a swig from the bottle.

"I can get you a glass."

"What you can get me is your stash of material that you were supposed to have put in that garbage bag, the stuff you apparently kept and are planning on using to gouge money out of a certain lady. Remember?" He set the bottle down and loosened his jacket.

"I gave you everything and I don't know what you're talking-"

Howard set the bottle down and grabbed Davis by the shoulder. "Before you get all physical here," Davis protested nervously, "I've taken out a little insurance."

"And that would be with a Jarlayne Brighton, P.I.?" Davis gulped and felt the blood drain from his face. "I was there too, Tubbsy."

"If anything happens to me-"

"The same thing will happen to her, so you might as well turn over the stuff and save everybody a lot of grief."

"You're too late, I already sent it." Davis sat stiffly in the chair, watching Tillman's face.

"That's really too bad then, Tubbs." He stepped back and drew a large gun with a silencer from his jacket. "I guess my evening will be taken up with tearing this joint apart."

"You wouldn't..."

"Aah, but I would." Tillman placed the gun near Davis's stomach and before the man could react, pulled the trigger. Davis bucked in the chair, his eyes as wide as his silent mouth. He settled back under the pressure of Tillman's hand and gaped down at the gathering stain on his robe.

"That was a purpose shot, Davis. You can linger for a while and listen to me wreck your home while you bleed out. Reflect on what it cost you to lie to me."

•••

He lay crumpled in his favourite chair, a glass of red wine barely held and resting against his chest while his free hand probed with nervous curiosity at the damp hole in his stomach. He could feel the slippery wetness on his finger and when a sudden shock of pain struck, the glass jerked a splash of red wine onto his white robe.

Looking in at him from outside his window, the night sky, filled with sprinkles of light and the buildings across the way, seemed to show little interest in his predicament. His killer had finally found what he was looking for and left with a jaunty wave. He twitched as another spasm of pain raced through his abdomen and his hand suddenly filled with warm liquid. The glass fell from his grip, emptying its contents on his robe and pants then rolled silently onto the carpet beside the chair; he had tasted his last Australian Shiraz. A smoky blackness crept into his vision from around the edges, gradually blotting out the last of the light and he sagged even further into the chair with a soft, bubbling sigh.

*********

Myles listened to the caller with growing panic. He stumbled to the bar and pushed aside the empty wine bottle he'd shared with Moira and unscrewed the cap on a new bottle of scotch, slopping large puddles onto the counter as he spilled some into a glass. The voice in his ear was annoyingly patient and sarcastic. Myles gulped down the contents and grunted, clenching his teeth as the fiery liquid burned a path to his stomach.

"I did what you asked."

"No! I never said anything about shooting anyone!" He fumbled with the bottle again.

"It was clean, you've got nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about!" Myles screamed into the phone, his fingers raking through his styled hair in frustration. "The material is still out there! What now, you kill the woman?"

"Up to you."

"Oh my God..."

"You know, you keep pissing me off like this and I might just take up where our friend left off."

Myles sucked in his breath and sank onto a bar stool, holding out his hand as a stop sign. "Look- listen, Tillman, it's just that- I didn't- I'm suffering a little shock here, okay. Give me a minute to think." He filled the glass and swallowed the contents again, wincing a little less but feeling slightly dizzy. "Uh, the woman... you think you can get the package he sent her without- without any more...?"

"I just do what you ask. What was it you said earlier...'before I ah... finish?' You pay my fee, you get my service."

Myles recalled his words and groaned inwardly. "Fine, Tillman. Just acquire the package and please try to do it without any further casualties."

Myles hung up and tossed his phone on the counter. How in God's name did things get so complex? His head felt light and he eyed the scotch bottle with mixed feelings. Tillman is not of this planet and the sooner their business is concluded the sooner he would erase the man from memory. He shrugged and poured another, what-the-hell glass of scotch before dialing Moira's home number.

Tillman debated whether or not to call and report the latest developments, deciding in the end to just play wait and see.