Verna kept her voice low, her gaze skittering back and forth to the two bikers in the back booth.

What did you do, Hart? Why are they here.?"

"I sent the man who snatched Felicia Smythe-Frye and had Harry's arm broken, a bill. The two Druids in the back booth are temporary insurance."

"What do you mean, a bill?"

"An invoice if you like. If he returns Felicia unharmed in any way and makes compensation to Harry, I'll void the charge. If not, there will be interest . . . high interest."

"Hart what have you done? Why are they helping you? Last time you were dealing with them you were scared to death they were going to kill you."

"No. Last time we settled our problem over Thai Shrimp, remember?"

The attempt to lighten the mood failed and Verna slid out of the booth and went back to the kitchen. I waved goodbye to the bikers and left for my office. I figured if there was contact it would be there. Waiting again and my earlier bravado was being assaulted by rational misgivings. What the hell did think I was doing baiting a notorious crime boss.

When the phone rang I jumped, knocking my empty coffee mug onto the floor and hearing the various pieces skitter across the hardwood.

"Hello?"

"Richard Hart?"

"Who is asking please?"

"A representative of the man who is going to anchor you off his yacht after breaking you into little pieces." I looked at my coffee mug.

"Let him tell me himself if he's so tough." I gripped my chair to keep myself from shaking so hard.

"You've got stones, Hart."

"It's my theme song. Don't waste my time, put Nelly on the line or I'm hanging up."

If I held my breath any longer, straining for any clue as to what was happening, I would explode. When a voice came on I had to cover the mouthpiece and blow it out in a rush.

"You wanted to talk to me . . . talk."

"Felicia Smythe-Frye."

"What about her?"

"I want you to send her home unharmed in any way and forget all about any necklace dreams you might have had."

There was a derisive snort. "Or what, Mutt?"

"Or you will wind up being the employer of an army of orthopaedic candidates much like the one who hurt my friend."

"Are you threatening me? Do you know who-?"

"Not a threat . . . Buster . . . a promise."

"I'll have your guts for garters, Hart!"

"Suit yourself. Send the girl home. Forget the necklace and we all move on."

"You'll be moving on alright."

The phone went to dial tone. My hand was shaking so much I couldn't get the receiver on the cradle. What had I let myself in for?

********

Tattoo listened while I told him about my conversation with DiGregorio and how a couple of his friends watching my office would be quite welcome. He advised me that I wouldn't have long to wait for a response; DiGregorio wasn't one to procrastinate.

I called Verna at work and then again when she got home and listened once more to her opinion of my grand plan. She was right but I put on my John Wayne face and hunkered down to wait. My reclaimed coffee maker worked overtime and the pastries I brought in for the long haul were long gone, reduced to crumbs on my desk and trousers.

The street door slammed and I froze. Footsteps on the stairs sounded like a platoon and I checked the chamber of the gun I had bought from Sammy earlier. He encouraged me to be careful and asked for cash. The steps stopped outside my door and I sat up, holding the gun stiffly just below the desk top.

Three this time, all armed and pointing the said arms directly at me. I wondered if Sammy would give me money back since I didn't think I would be firing it.

"Let's go, Hart. Somebody wants to talk to you."

"Let him make an appointment."

"Unless you wanna be carried out with holes in both knees get up . . . now!"

"Having trouble here, Mr. Hart?"

The thug closest to the door turned and caught a vicious slash across the side of the neck from a length of chain. He screamed in pain and flailed back into the one talking to me. We were nose to nose across the top of my desk and as I saw his gun come up, I dropped mine, grabbed my stapler and hit it several times into his face.

He roared, clutching the bits of wire sticking in his skin while behind him the ugly sound of a breaking bone brought a noisy harmony to the sounds of pain in the office.

"You okay, Hart?"

"MMnnaah." I stumbled to the tiny washroom and delivered all my pastries into the bowl.

"You did okay, man." The voice behind me in the doorway sounded so comically relaxed. Who were these people that doled out hurt like candies to kids? "You did real good."

I washed and dried my face then returned to the office to review the carnage. Two of the bikers were dragging Nelly's men out the door and unceremoniously down the stairs.

"What now?" I croaked.

"Like we talked. We'll deliver them and I'll coach this one what to tell his boss so there's no misunderstanding . . . oh, and by the way, here's DiGregorio's address. He already agreed another broken arm wasn't worth holding back."

********

"Hart you look like hell." Verna flopped into to her kitchen in her bunny slippers leaving me to close the door. "What happened? How did your plan go?"

"It's a work in progress."

"You sound like you just had a spoonful of reality." She flopped back, handing me a steaming coffee.

"A shovelful actually."

"I told you."

"I know and I don't need a replay." I sank onto her bed love seat and leaned my head back staring at the ceiling.

She joined me and after a few seconds asked, "What now?"

"It's DiGregorio's play, I just wait and see."

"Well that doesn't inspire a whole lot of confidence, Hart. Your friends aren't going to stay at Harry's forever and- and the pair I saw outside here . . . you thought someone might-"

"An ounce of prevention, Vern, that's all."

"Not a shovelful?"

I turned my head and immediately fell into those eyes. I felt a real fear that I had possibly endangered this woman, this innocent wonderful person who was more a part of my life than I had ever realized before.

"Vern, I swear to God, nothing will happen to you or Harry."

"And you?"

"Well you know me - Mr. Invincible."

"Hmmm, invisible might be smarter." She set her mug down and leaned her head on my shoulder.

"Don't worry, Verna. This will all be over shortly." One way or another.

********

The message on my machine at the office was terse, threatening and two hours old. I quickly dialed the Smythe-Frye number and held my breath.

"This better be Richard Hart."

"It is. I just got the message."

"At the moment I have a team of mobsters occupying my living room with a photo of my daughter in tears, tied to a chair. The message is, get Richard Hart here if I ever want to see her again. You better be here in twenty minutes or you'll be the one crying and tied to a chair, Hart." The call ended.

I felt the sweat on my back and under my arms. Hardball was the game Nelly chose and on his home field. A quick call to Tattoo with an explanation of events and a request for subtle back up. He seemed inordinately eager and while that puzzled me, it also gave me some courage.

Bennett answered the door himself and pulled me inside, shoving me down the hall to the same room I been in before. Deborah and surprisingly, James Cord were together on the lounge and standing in a slight arc beside them, three more of Nelly's goons.

"This is him." Bennettt said with a distinct lack of cordiality.

"You're coming with us, pal." Two of the goons flanked me, one gripping my arm while the other ran a quick frisk, finding I had forgotten to bring my gun.

"He's clean."

"Thank you." The shove indicated my remarks weren't welcome.

Bennett blocked the way. "What about my daughter?"

"That's up to our boss."

"Oh, no. You call him and tell him you have Hart and he is to let her go immediately."

"Get outta the way or we'll take this one too." The third man held a gun loosely against Deborah's shoulder.

Bennett started to protest and I told him to do it their way. I would see Felicia got home safely. His look was incredulous but he backed off, muttering vague threats as we left.

The car ride was made in silence and I tried several times to sneak a look to see if I could spot my subtle backup. We pulled up in the drive of a large but unattractive house set back from a residential street and behind a stand of evergreens. I climbed out and let my escorts guide me up to the front door and inside.

The entry hall had rooms left and right and a central staircase dead ahead. We went left into a large study with floor to ceiling windows at one end that gave out to a rolling expanse of manicured grass. In front of the windows was the inevitable desk the size of a pool table and seated behind it was the man I assumed to be Nelson DiGregorio.

Beside the desk wearing a thunderous look and a black sling supporting his arm was the messenger from my office visit. Seated in an upholstered chair to my right with a drink and a cigarette was Felicia, no sign of ropes or tears.

"No need to ask how you are I guess." She gave me that dozy look of the doper she was.

"What's the game, Nelly?" I said with more bravado then I was feeling.

"No game, wise guy." Nelly stood and came around the desk to lean on the front. At about five foot eight he lost some of the impact of his statement. "You did some damage to a number of my employees and we are going to show you just how actions like that are treated.

Not good. Not good at all. "What's with young Felicia here?" I asked, hoping to divert attention.

"We reached an agreement. She would pose for the picture in exchange for a hit."

"She's a foolish kid, Nelly, don't do this to her."

"You better be more concerned about yourself, wise guy." He lifted his chin at one the men and I felt my arms wrestled behind my back.

"We could discuss this." I tried.

"He's all yours Mickey."

The man with the sling grinned and picked up a hammer I hadn't noticed from the desk. He started toward me and I had visions of a life, if I manage to keep it, in a bed wired to medical equipment.

The sudden crash and loud roar had everyone, except Felicia, hopping around in confusion. The large motorcycle clipped the wall sending up a shower of plaster as it skidded into the room carrying a grinning Tattoo.

"Hey, Gumshoe, party time!"

Nelly started to swear and pointed frantically to his men as the bike was followed by several Druids on foot, armed with chains and small clubs. I used the man holding me for leverage and swung my leg up, kicking my intended tormentor on the sling. He screeched louder than the bike had and staggered back, falling over the corner of the desk.

The man holding me let go, too busy fending off the blows from the hulking biker and his bike chain. Nelly scrambled back to his desk for a gun in the drawer as expected and I launched myself in a stomach slide across the top,tackling him around the chest and continuing with him through the large windows onto the lawn outside.