t more dangerous.

"Too polite," I sneered. "And it ill becomes you. What's going on?"

"So I level," Horace conceded. "So I'm _not_ from the Grievance
Committee, and I'm not all hot that Maragon defended Keys Crescas."

"Much better," I said, sitting down again.

"This guy Passarelli is coming up for re-election shortly," our caller
said. A light began to dawn. "We're making sure he doesn't make
it--and that _our_ man does."

My laugh was more a bark. "He can't find Mary Hall," I told Renner.

Horace's lower jaw shot out at me. "I don't like guys who know what
I'm thinking!" he snapped.

I had to laugh in his face. "Who needs TP? You want to tar Passarelli
with the brush of Psi--and this hallucinator would be Exhibit 'A'."

He subsided. "So I can't find her. What then?"

I shook my head. "You say it," I suggested. "Too early to have to wash
my mouth with soap."

Dunn made his big pitch to Renner. "Maragon has a connection with
these Psis--it's all over town that he got Keys Crescas off. This
Crescas can find Mary Hall--you know how Psis stick together." Renner
nodded rapt agreement. "And," Dunn added, finally sticking it in us,
"it would be good politics for Maragon to do it--would kind of sweeten
up the stench of his getting Crescas off, eh?"

Renner thought he had to sell me: "Pete," he insisted, "You've _got_
to! Defending Crescas was sure to hurt our reputation. That girl has
it coming for--"

I waved a hand in his face, shutting him up. "Why should I care what
happens to the girl?" I said, getting up. "Just make sure Horace pays
us a fat fee. After all, it's tax exempt."

"Tax exempt?" he asked, frowning.

"Sure," I said, walking out. "Religious contribution. Thirty pieces of
silver."

* * * * *

Keys Crescas is the kind of odd-ball you can't find till after dark.
Good looking in a romantic, off-beat sort of way. No visible means of
support--a typical Psi. Renner made one white-jowled attempt to read
me the riot act for failing to plead him guilty when Passarelli had
tapped me as Public Defender. I came close to throwing the meat-ball
out of my private office.

What could I have done? Sure, Crescas has the Stigma--he doesn't try
to hide it. It's only TK, though, and I don't suppose much of that.
Just enough, the cops will tell you, to make him a good man at picking
locks and earn his nickname--Keys.

People like Crescas run to a pattern. I left my number in abo