Butch peered through the peephole and blanched. "Omigod! It's her, it's Bondra!"

Daryl turned from the desk he was searching and went to the door. "What's she doin' here?"

"I don't know, I don't know." Butch pranced in a nervous circle. "How do I look? Do I look alright?" He jumped as the sharp rap on the door sounded again—louder.

"Should we let her in?"

"We told her we were here, you idiot. Of course we let her in."

"Fine, I'll let her in." Daryl reached for the knob.

"No! Wait!" Butch ran to the mirror over the computer and pulled at his hair and his shirt, smoothing his face and turning his head side to side.

"Oh for Christ's sake, Butch." Daryl opened the door and stepped back quickly as Bondra stormed in.

"Where is she?" She did a quick scan of the room, settling on Butch who was trying to strike a suitable pose. "What the hell's wrong with you? You got some kind of twitch going on?" Her eyes traveled over the mess of the tossed apartment. A pathetic looking plant lay on the carpet, its pot broken in several pieces.

He stepped forward, flustered, and held out his hand. "There's nobody here, we heard them when we arrived and by the time we picked the lock on the door they just vanished."

"Vanished." Bondra pushed past the two men and went to the bedroom. She stepped out onto the balcony and saw immediately how the escape had been made. Coming back inside she saw the two standing awkwardly in the bedroom doorway. "They went over the balcony... what? Are you two bookends or something?" She watched with a sudden shock as their heads clanged together and they sank to the floor like cooked spaghetti. The image of the hulk that stepped into the room from behind them sucked the air from her lungs in a fearful gasp.

      "You must be Bondra Croft." The voice was surprisingly gentle and polite. She nodded, mouth hanging open, her beige skin turning pallid. "Mister Bonducci asked me to deliver a message."

Toto tried once more to get Bondra to tell him where Bernie's money was; his approach had been firm but non violent. Now he sighed mightily and removed his wristwatch, stuffing it in his pocket.

"I'm really sorry about this Miss Croft, you are a really beautiful lady."

She watched him take off his rings and from his pants take out a pair of huge rubber gloves. Bondra's stomach turned over and she felt her bladder threaten to let go. "Wha- what are you going to do?"

"I told you, ma'am, deliver a message." He let the rubber snap loudly around his trunk sized wrists.

"Wait, please..." She held up a hand and began to sob. "I'll tell you where the girl lives, please don't hurt me."

"What girl?"

"The one that took your money. She cheated me too, that's why we were here, and we heard she was with some man in this apartment."

"They were with you?" Toto nudged the heap on the floor with his foot.

"Yes. They're detectives I hired to find where the girl went." Bondra pressed her knees together and whimpered. "Please, I have to use the bathroom."

Toto drew his chin in, "Miss Croft, I may not resemble Einstein but I am a little smarter than that."

"No, please. It's true. Please. Where can I go? I can't get away."

Toto considered her for a moment and figured that it might be prudent from a hygienic standpoint; after all, he didn't want that kind of a mess while he was working her over. "Hurry up and no tricks, Miss Croft."

      Bondra nodded a grateful smile and stepping over her detectives, scurried to the bathroom in the hall. Toto listened patiently and nodded agreeably when he heard the toilet flush and then the sink. After a minute when she didn't come out he rapped on the door.

"C'mon Miss Croft, we had a deal." There was no sound. He knocked a few more times and then with little effort but much damage, he bashed the bathroom door off the hinges and stepped through the hole.

Bondra was ready. She aimed her can of Mace at the massive face and pressed the nozzle, holding it until the small tin emptied. Toto roared and scraped at his face, stumbling sideways and falling into the bathtub, bringing down the shower curtain, the towel rail and the shower nozzle. His girth was such that he wedged himself in the tub and couldn't get out. Bondra dropped the tin and fled from the room. She stopped for a few seconds to look at Butch and Daryl, then beat a hasty retreat from the unit and out to the elevators.

*****

Wallace and Nora sat in Rory's back room discussing the money and without being able to reach an agreement, the conversation turned to old movies.

"I didn't know you liked them," Wallace said.

"Ever since I was a kid. My dad used to let me sit up with him and watch them on TV. He would name all the actors and tell me little stories about them..." Her voice trailed away.

"I take it your dad's gone."

"Yes. Fourteen years this month. That was one reason I wanted the money so badly, I was going home to have a proper grave marker made for him. My mom just visits this little disc in the ground and she cries and cries."

"Where's home?"

"Wildfield. It's about four hours northwest of the city." She wiped at her face and they sat in silence.

"Jesus!"

"What?"

"I told my boss I'd be in to work this afternoon, I'm gonna get my butt canned." He went to the table in the corner and dialed his home number. "Think I'll check my messages first in case he called."

Instead of hearing his answering machine, Wallace heard a man's voice ask who was calling.     

Wallace held the phone tightly and answered carefully. "My name's Wallace. Who's this?"

"Mister Wallace, Christopher Wallace?"

"Uh... yes. Who is this, please?"

"City Detective Paul Houseman. I'm in your apartment Mister Wallace. There has been some kind of a disturbance."

"What kind? I mean what happened?"

"It would be better if you returned home, Mister Wallace, or met me downtown at my office at the station." The line was silent for a moment. "You aren't in any trouble if that's what your worried about. We just need some verification on a couple of points and an identification."

"Identification?"

"It would really be better if you came home, Mister Wallace."

"Give me fifteen minutes." He hung up and turned to look at Nora. "That was a detective. At my place. He says they need me to make some kind of identification."

Nora's hand went to her mouth. "Oh god. What do you think happened?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Look, you stay here, keep an eye on the bag and I'll call as soon as possible."

*****

Three police cruisers were stopped at random angles in front of the building. Yellow tape cordoned off the entrance where a large uniformed policeman stood, slapping a truncheon into his bare hand with monotonous regularity. Wallace left Nora's car at the curb and strode up the sidewalk toward the entrance. The truncheon paused mid slap as the policeman's head came up, drilling Wallace with an intimidating stare.

"Uh, uh, pal. Crime scene. Nobody in or out."

"Uhuh, pal. Witness. Here on Detective Houseman's orders." Wallace hooked his thumbs in his back pockets and waited for the policeman to move aside.

      The policeman unhooked a Walkie Talkie from his belt and mumbled into a burst of static, waited, then gave curt nod of his head, moving just enough for Wallace to squeeze past. He stepped off the elevator into a jumble of residents, all straining to see inside his unit and giving him dark looks as he jockeyed through their crowd to the door. The unit was filled with police, uniforms and plain clothes. A slim man with thinning hair, poor posture and a brief moustache turned when another officer nudged his arm.

"Mister Wallace?"

"Yes. You're Detective Houseman?"

"Right."

Wallace looked around in disbelief. All his drawers had been turned out, papers scattered about the floor. His kitchen cupboards were open with food and utensils tossed into the sink. Even the refrigerator stood ajar and he could see that the contents were spilled or torn open. He looked down at the wilted form of the only other thing that lived in the apartment.

"That's my plant, detective."

"Interesting, my condolences Mister Wallace, but not the I.D. I had in mind." He started into the hall and Wallace followed, catching sight of the shattered bathroom door.

"If you'll just stay here a minute," Houseman said. He flipped open his notepad and began a string of basic questions: full name, address, telephone number, place of employment, years of residency and a slew of others that Wallace felt were a waste of time.

"You know all that stuff already. Can't we sorta cut to the chase here?"

"Do you have any idea who might do this?' Houseman asked.

"No."

"None at all?"

Wallace just stared back.

"Okay. You ever heard of a Wiggens & DeFoe Private Investigations?"

"No."

"How about, Toto Argyle?"

Wallace gawked, "Who?"

"Never mind, I don't think you know him either." Houseman started down the hall again, beckoning Wallace to follow.

"Jesus, what happened in here?" Wallace leaned into his bathroom door to take in the complete wreck of the room.

      The door had smashed the top of the toilet when it hit, plaster was all over the floor from where the shower rail was torn out of the wall and the tub was chipped and scratched beyond repair.

"A neighbour reported a disturbance in your unit and a patrol car was dispatched. When they got here they found this mess plus Mister Argyle wedged inside your bathtub. It took the fire department thirty minutes to get him free and with the help of several more uniforms, another twenty to wrestle him down to the paddy wagon. Currently, he is being attended to in our holding tank."

Wallace listened with complete disbelief to the detective's account. "But what happened? Why was this Gargoyle here anyway?"

"Argyle. I don't know. He is an enforcer for Bernie the Club Bonducci. You know him at all?"

"Gargle. Bunchaduchi—I never heard of any of these people. What the hell brought them to my apartment?"

"That, Mister Wallace, was what I was hoping you might tell me." Houseman gave him a sad look but Wallace could see pinpoints of keen observation lurking in the forlorn eyes.

"So help me detective, I do not know anything about this."

"So help you... I spoke to a Mrs. Ashbury, your neighbour? She tells me you and some young lady climbed onto her balcony with some story about a little problem with your lock. You said you were going down to speak to the manager." Wallace tried not to blink as he watched the detective. "She also said something about the young lady's father in the hospital... dying." Houseman waited again, a ghost of a smile twitching the corner of his mouth. "Your lock was fine when we arrived, Mister Wallace, why did you leave by the balcony?"

      Wallace leaned back on his sofa and stretched his neck. Houseman had kept at him until the entire story about the money and the mistake and his speculation about the people in his unit came out. What he refused to say was where Nora or the money was at the moment. Instead, he just said that they split up after they left the apartment; after all, he didn't really know the woman. Houseman filled his little book with copious notes, listening to Wallace with restrained doubt.

"Can I make a call?"

"Your lawyer?"

"Yeah, right. Like I could afford one... do I need one?"

"I don't know, do you?"

"C'mon, Houseman, I wasn't even here when this happened. I haven't done anything wrong."

"Looking about, I would say there are some people out there who disagree. You could still be on the hook for abetting, Wallace. Don't think about going anywhere without sending me a postcard, okay?" The detective stood up and put his book away. "Make your call and then make one to your insurance company. I don't think you'll be staying here for a while."