"Fifteen hours, I guess. It's almost midnight." She bent over to pick up
the bandages and to finish with his head. "Are you hungry? There's some
canned soup--I took the money from your pocket. Or coffee..."

"Coffee." He forced himself up again; Sheila propped the flimsy pillow
behind him, then went into her room to come back with a plastic cup
filled with brown liquid that passed for coffee here. It was loaded with
caffeine, at least.

"Why'd you come back?" he asked suddenly. "You were anxious enough to
pick the lock and get out."

"I didn't pick it--you forgot to lock it."

He couldn't remember what he'd done after he found the badge. "Okay, my
mistake. But why the change of heart?"

"Because I needed a meal ticket!" she said harshly. "When I saw that
Legal cop ready to take you, I had to go running out to save you.
Because I don't have the iron guts to starve like a Martian!"

It rocked him back on his mental heels. He'd thought that she had been
attacking him on the street; but it made more sense this way, at that.

"You're a fool!" he told her bitterly. "You bought a punched meal
ticket. Right now, I probably have six death warrants out on me, and
about as much chance of making a living as--"

"I'll stick to my chances. I don't have any others now." She grimaced.
"You get things done. Now that you've got a wife to support, you'll
support her. Just remember, it was your idea."

He'd had a lot of ideas, it seemed. "I've got a wife who's holding onto
a notebook that belongs to me, then. Where is it?"

She shook her head. "I'm keeping the notebook for insurance. Blackmail,
Bruce. You should understand that! And you won't find it, so don't
bother looking..." She went into the other room and shut the door.
There was the sound of the lock being worked, and then silence.

He stared at the door foolishly, swearing at all women; then grimaced
and turned back to the chair where his uniform still lay. He could stay
here fighting with her, or he could face his troubles on the outside.
The whole thing hinged on Trench; unless Trench had shown the badge to
others, his problem boiled down to a single man.

Gordon found one tablet of painkiller left in the bottle and swallowed
it with the dregs of the coffee. He made sure his knife was in its
sheath and that the gun at his side was loaded. He found his police
club, checked the loop at its end, and slipped it onto his wrist.

At the door to the hall, he hesitated, sta