Ortega stared through the filthy windshield and cautioned his driver to slow down. "There's the car."

"How do you know it's that one?" Jerry sat forward straining to see. "I can barely tell it's a car for Chrissake."

"Aside from being only one of two vehicles, detective, the other being a truck full of chickens, it's the only one with urban plates..."

"Nice, Jer. Pumps up our reputation no end." Bettmeir made a disgusted face as Manny braked to a dusty halt.

"So what's the plan? We just go in and get him? Surround the place?"

"Her, and I say we just go in."

"Let's do it then." The four men exited the car and immediately, inside the diner, Greenbaum leaped up and ran over to the counter, grabbing the woman and holding her against him, a knife pressed flat against her neck. Her customers exploded from their table without a backward glance.

The door flew open and the detectives all shouted, drew their guns and ducked down in shooting posture. The man galloped off in the direction of the chicken truck, screaming a string of Spanish as he went. A second later two more men stumbled through the door, bumping into each other in a panic and swearing loudly.

"What the hell?"

"Inside. They're yelling that some gringo has the owner hostage inside." Ortega ran to the diner, crouched beside the door and peeked around the doorframe. Behind the counter he could see the man holding the woman with a knife at her throat. He beckoned Bettmeir and whispered harshly.

"It ain't a dame, it's a guy and he's holding a knife to a woman's throat."

"Lemme see." Bettmeir exchanged places and peeked inside. "Shit!" He pulled back. "That's Greenbaum, the guy we went after for the drugs in that fancy club." He whistled to Jerry who loped over to the door.

"It's Greenbaum, not the dame!"

"What the hell's goin' on?"

Ortega butted in. "Listen, he has the papers because that's where the chip was. He must have taken them from the dame or she's somewhere around here too. Maybe they're together."

"Look, we can't stand out here wonderin' what the hell is what, there's a hostage in there and we have to do something."

"Has he got a gun?" Jerry.

"No, a knife at her throat."

"Right." Jerry pushed through the door into the diner while Bettmeir and Ortega tap-danced outside in a panic.

"What's he doing? Is he mad?"

"He's a little headstrong."

Jerry stood inside the door looking at Greenbaum, a smile growing on his wide face.

"So we meet again, Moriarty."

"This is no joke, detective. Call your friends off and get the hell out of here or this woman has dried her last dish."

"What happened to Rita?"

Greenbaum looked at him, wondering how much he knew. "No idea."

"You got her papers out in the car."

"How do- this isn't a social, detective. I'll give you five minutes to clear out and then you can be responsible for this lady's demise."

"How do you think we found you, Greenbaum?" Jerry took a step closer and the woman cried out as the knife pressed harder.

"It sure as hell wasn't your prowess as detectives." He did wonder and it bothered him just how much they knew.

"Let her go and I'll tell you."

"Don't be childish. Time is just about up, dete—"

Bettmeir came from the kitchen in a flash and jammed his gun barrel in Greenbaum's ear. They all stood frozen in time as thoughts, plots and plans were considered and discarded.

"Let her go or I'll empty your rotten head all over the décor."

"I'll slit her open if you don't back off."

"I'm gonna count to three, Greenbaum. If you think I'm kidding, then you just stay exactly the way you are...actually if you'll turn just a bit I won't get any mess on that pie holder. Ready? One... two..." Greenbaum heard the initial click of the trigger and he yelled his surrender, dropping the knife and pushing the woman away.

The others came in waving their guns and shouting commands. Greenbaum was handcuffed and dragged around to the front of the counter. Jerry pulled out his wallet and laughed, handing it to his partner.

"Another alias. Jesus, these people turned into a goddam crowd since this began."

"So, Mister John Cowley, what happened to Rita/Hatti/Jean?"

"I told you. No idea."

"She just gave you her papers."

"And a whack of money too," Manny said, dropping the carry-on on the counter. "There's a disc in the player with some very kinky looking business going on, I might put in for a transfer to the city. Plus, we have a regular pharmacy in the trunk of his car."

"Aww John, that's another ten to fifteen on top of all this hostage business. Bad luck, guy."

"Detective Ortega, could you arrange for some accommodation for our friend here until we get the necessary paperwork together for a transfer back to our bailiwick?"

"Happy to. Meanwhile maybe Mister Cowley would like to shed some light on the actions of Jared Weiss and Cresta Ettinger, alias whatever."

Bettmeir turned to the woman who was sitting at the end of the counter glaring at Greenbaum. "Senorita, telephono?"

"Jesus, Bettmeir, this isn't a John Wayne movie." Ortega turned to the woman. "Where's the phone?"

She pointed toward the kitchen. Bettmeir flushed and smiled weakly. He found the phone, wiped it clean with a dirty cloth from the cook stove and dialed his captain.

The shouts and clatter from the front caused him to jump and he dropped the receiver and rushed from the kitchen. Jerry was wrestling with the woman who was shrieking and kicking up a storm. Ortega was bending over Greenbaum who was slumped on the counter, his hands still cuffed behind his back. A large stain appeared on the back of his shirt and the detective was pressing a cloth over the wound, shouting in Spanish to Manny to get on the radio and at the woman to shut up.

"What happened?" Bettmeir looked from one to the other. What happened?"

"She picked up the knife and gave it to him in the back." Jerry grunted, wrestling the woman down to the ground, and wrenching her arm painfully up her back. "Stay, goddamit!"

"Oh shit. How is he?"

"Ortega shook his head and lifted the cloth. Blood spurted out in a thick fountain. "Right into a main artery and probably some vital organs."

Greenbaum rolled his eyes toward Bettmeir and coughed. Blood appeared in frothy little bubbles at the corner of his mouth as he tried to speak. Bettmeir leaned closer to listen.

"R- Rita... won't bother any- anymore." He gasped and Bettmeir jumped back to escape a small red shower.

"Where is she, Greenbaum? Is she dead?"

A dreadful smile appeared on his face and he slowly formed the word: "Worse." Ortega grunted as Greenbaum went limp and slipped from the counter onto the floor with a damp thud.

"Is he...?"

"I would say."

Bettmeir went back to the kitchen and picked up the phone. The Captain was railing on the other end, threatening the worst possible punishment and it took a few moments to break in and explain what happened. The Captain demanded to speak to Ortega and when he hung up he blinked a few times.

"He always like that?"

"Just with us, we have a – uhm- reputation..."

"Yeah, well he's somewhat satisfied that it wasn't you guys that got the perp killed. I told him he'd get a copy of my report and I gave you both a little support."

"You are a prince, Ortega. Jer and I owe you big time."

They turned and looked at the woman. "Now what about this? Shit, what do we do with her?"

"She's gotta go to jail. You want her?"

"Hell no, this is your jurisdiction, we've already got enough to deal with." He indicated the body on the floor. "That and the still missing, Rita Cornell alias Hatti Ambrose alias Jean Travis."

"What did he mean, worse?"

"Buggered if I know." Bettmeir thought for a minute. "Say, can your techie guy backtrack the track of the chip. I mean, can he tell where it's been?"

"It's all recorded, at least everything since we found it on the satellite."

"Ya-friggin'-hoo! C'mon Jer, we're gonna do some hi-tech detectin'."