ke a straight man who had been rehearsing his lines for weeks.

"He is a pseudo-oriental, utilizing a natural sallowness of the skin
heightened with dye. He is not Chinese. There has also been an operation
on his eyes, scars of which are still visible. This has been undoubtedly
done in an attempt to conceal his real identity, but Bertillon
measurements of his ears and other features make identity positive. He
is on the Very Wanted list of Interpol and his real name is ..."

China Joe was angry, and with a reason.

"That's the _thing_ ... that big-mouthed tin radio set over there. We
heard about it and we're taking care of it!"

The mob jumped aside then or hit the deck and I saw there was a guy
kneeling in the door with a rocket launcher. Shaped anti-tank charges,
no doubt. That was my last thought as the thing let go with a "whoosh."

Maybe you can hit a tank with one of those. But not a robot. At least
not a police robot. Ned was sliding across the floor on his face when
the back wall blew up. There was no second shot. Ned closed his hand on
the tube of the bazooka and it was so much old drainpipe.

Billy decided then that anyone who fired a rocket in a police station
was breaking the law, so he moved in with his club. I was right behind
him since I did not want to miss any of the fun. Ned was at the bottom
somewhere, but I didn't doubt he could take care of himself.

There were a couple of muffled shots and someone screamed. No one fired
after that because we were too tangled up. A punk named Brooklyn Eddie
hit me on the side of the head with his gunbutt and I broke his nose
all over his face with my fist.

* * * * *

There is a kind of a fog over everything after that. But I do remember
it was very busy for a while.

When the fog lifted a bit I realized I was the only one still standing.
Or leaning rather. It was a good thing the wall was there.

Ned came in through the street door carrying a very bashed-looking
Brooklyn Eddie. I hoped I had done all that. Eddie's wrists were
fastened together with cuffs. Ned laid him gently next to the heap of
thugs--who I suddenly realized all wore the same kind of handcuffs. I
wondered vaguely if Ned made them as he needed them or had a supply
tucked away in a hollow leg or something.

There was a chair a few feet away and sitting down helped.

Blood was all over everything and if a couple of the hoods hadn't
groaned I would have thoug