Peter Tolliver lifted his custom cut trousers by the knee crease and crossed his legs carefully, then sat back to contemplate his client. Everything about Tolliver seemed custom cut, from the elegant suit to the fashionably styled grey hair to the mannerisms and the baritone voice. He connected his manicured fingertips and placed the pointers against the tip of his nose.

"Bernard, it took a vast amount of legal and not so legal manoeuvring to limit your conviction to three years last time you became involved in a similar manner. This time they will not be as generous."

Bernie kicked at the ball he was putting on his carpet. "Generous! You call three years outta my life generous?"

"Considering the charge, I certainly do."

"Yeah, well I'm payin' you to see that it don't happen again, generous or not."

"I can only work within the parameters you set for me, Bernard. Murder accusations do not a cakewalk make."

"That was Jorge... the psycho. By the way, is he out?"

"Yes, but nevertheless, he takes his orders from you and that makes you just as guilty."

Bernie tossed his putter onto the sofa and jammed his hands into his pockets. He perched on the edge of his desk and scowled at the room and all its contents. "If that's the case, then what will a couple more matter?"

"Don't be naïve, Bernard." Tolliver dry washed his hands and straightened his perfect tie. "If this is a direction you're intent upon taking, I don't need to hear any more... it wouldn't be in either of our best interests."

"This is all privileged, this stuff, isn't it?"

"Knowing in advance of a potential crime removes that privilege in certain circumstances. It's better to not know, Bernard." Tolliver straightened his perfect jacket and extended a hand. "If trouble arises I shall be available as usual."

The two men shook hands and Bernie was left alone to ponder his next move. So far he had nothing to worry about unless the dame that saw Jorge whack Reg goes to the cops. That makes Jorge the center of attention, and Jorge leads right back to me, Bernie cursed to himself.

Jorge Starkman rarely responded well to authority whether it be the law or his employers and so when Bernie called him in began tearing strips off for killing above and beyond his mandate and then losing the woman called Karen, Jorge flipped him a finger and got up to leave.

"You better rethink that little gesture, Starkman."

"Yeah? I did what you wanted. Sometimes things don't go perfect, you know. Look at my head for Christ's sake. Twelve stitches."

"You didn't do what I wanted, you were seen, you idiot!"

"Screw you, Bonducci." Jorge shrugged his shoulders with attitude.

Bernie stood behind his desk with one hand behind his back and his left hand holding a huge automatic aimed at his man.

"You gonna shoot me, Bernie? You ain't gonna shoot me, you hire me to do the shootin' remember?" He wandered back to the front of the desk, shifting his shoulders under the big suit and straightening his tie. "Nobody tells me how to do my job. See this mess here," he said, pointing to fresh stitches in his head. "This is from doin' your work. You hire me, you get all of me, Bernie." His lips curled up in a defiant sneer.

The motion was a blur, and Jorge uttered only a surprised peep as the bat in Bernie's other hand connected with the side of his head in a sickening crunch, bursting open the fresh stitches. He flew across the room and slammed against the wall, sliding slowly down until he lay crumpled on the floor.

Bernie slipped the gun back into his desk and, hefting the bat, rounded the desk and stood over the limp form.

"It's Bernie the Club, Jorge, remember?" He kicked Jorge's foot and received an agonized groan. Another swing with the bat to the top of Jorge's head and the sound ended. Bernie stepped back and swore, looking at the spatter on his pants legs and shoes. He stood the club in the corner and went to the phone.

"Elrod. I need a cleaning crew at the office, and tell Zeet I wanna see him... now." He hung up and went to the bar sink and rinsed his hands before pouring himself a large drink. He swallowed hard and picked up the phone again, dialling quickly.

"Carmen? They still at the hotel?" He listened to the report and then told his man to stay on top of them. Old behaviour called for old solutions. The calmer, more restrained Bernie just left the building.

●○●○●○●○●

Ellington Bravo was not pleased to hear from me regarding how our plan exploded in our faces and the fact that we went to the police. His first flurry of questions covered the competence of the players and his and Nicole's precarious position on the same stage. Finally, he recognized the need for the protection of the same group and suggested his place as a temporary safe house.

I went over the top thanking him and promised we would be no trouble and would cover all our own expenses, and when I paused for a breath he shut me up with a command to get my act together with Karen and meanwhile he would advise Nicole.

"I guess she won't be continuing with the phony photo business." Might as well have told Houseman, I thought.

"Please don't waste my time with inanities. Just do as I said and be quick." The call ended.

I placed another call to the hospital and got an update on Rory. He was resting comfortably. His condition was still being monitored. Time would tell. Maybe time would, I thought, but the hospital? Never! My next call was successful in reaching the real Nora, who listened to my tale with restraint and very thin, tight lips, I'm sure.

She was kind enough not to say I told you so regarding Houseman. The fact that I was, on a temporary basis, still moving from a hotel into a sprawling estate with Karen Winsett, and now another woman as well, did little to enhance my image.

I pointed out that in the past two weeks she had been away more than I had been in three years. Somehow it was the wrong approach and after a frosty completion to our conversation there was a frostier goodbye. Not even a - be careful, sweetheart.

After another convoluted escape from the hotel to ensure we weren't followed, Karen and I arrived by taxi with our shopping bag luggage set and were ushered to a small bedroom suite off the rear of the huge house by Nicole, our less than happy host.

She had been lounging comfortably on an inflatable mat next to an inkblot-shaped pool outside the sliding doors to our room. I glanced around at the king-sized bed and thought a huge oh, oh as I followed Karen out onto the pool deck.

"Welcome to Ellington's paradise." Nicole said, returning to the lounge and raising a large glass of something red in salute. "I've enjoyed many a sunny afternoon here over the years."

I raised my brows to, 'tell me more' heights, getting nothing.

"It's certainly better than that cheesy hotel room," Karen said, bending down to feel the water temperature.

"Hey, it served its purpose." I defended. She pulled a face and went inside with her bag. "Uhh, where are you, uhm...?"

"Right there." Nicole smiled, pointing at the room we just exited.

"Ooookay." I turned a little pink and shuffled around. "There's only one very large, uhm- place to sleep."

"Karen and I can use that."

Karen came back out in a Barbie Doll sized bikini, that somehow appeared in her hotel bag as if by magic, and knelt down at the edge of the pool. "You can use this." She patted the air mattress. "It's very comfy."

"It gets cool at night." I offered, watching for Karen's response, which was a tiny grin into the surface of the water.

"We'll pull it inside. You'll be fine." Nicole could barely keep a straight face.

"Inside..."

"You're not afraid are you, Mr. Wallace?" The question went unanswered as we all realized suddenly just why we were hiding out.

"So uhm- where's Ellington?"

"He'll be along soon; he can do whatever he needs to do from here."

"You mean his plan?"

"I don't think that's still a viable option, Mr. Wallace." Conversation waned and the three of us just sat watching the pool water.