* * * *

When I pulled my thoughts together the answer was obvious. Too obvious.
I made as long a job as I could of reloading my gun.

"Refill your handcuff box, Ned. We are going out."

Like a good cop he asked no questions. I locked the outside door when we
left and gave him the key.

"Here. There's a good chance you will be the only one left to use this
before the day is over."

I stretched the drive over to China Joe's place just as much as I could.
Trying to figure if there was another way of doing it. There wasn't.
Murder had been done and Joe was the boy I was going to pin it on. So I
had to get him.

The best I could do was stop around the corner and give Ned a briefing.

"This combination bar and dice-room is the sole property of he whom we
will still call China Joe until there is time for you to give me a
rundown on him. Right now I got enough distractions. What we have to do
is go in there, find Joe and bring him to justice. Simple?"

"Simple," Ned answered in his sharp Joe-college voice. "But wouldn't it
be simpler to make the arrest now, when he is leaving in that car,
instead of waiting until he returns?"

The car in mention was doing sixty as it came out of the alley ahead of
us. I only had a glimpse of Joe in the back seat as it tore by us.

"Stop them!" I shouted, mostly for my own benefit since I was driving. I
tried to shift gears and start the engine at the same time, and
succeeded in doing exactly nothing.

So Ned stopped them. It had been phrased as an order. He leaned his head
out of the window and I saw at once why most of his equipment was
located in his torso. Probably his brain as well. There sure wasn't much
room left in his head when that cannon was tucked away in there.

A .75 recoilless. A plate swiveled back right where his nose should have
been if he had one, and the big muzzle pointed out. It's a neat idea
when you think about it. Right between the eyes for good aiming, up
high, always ready.

The BOOM BOOM almost took my head off. Of course Ned was a perfect
shot--so would I be with a computer for a brain. He had holed one rear
tire with each slug and the car flap-flapped to a stop a little ways
down the road. I climbed out slowly while Ned sprinted there in seconds
flat. They didn't even try to run this time. What little nerve they had
left must have been shattered by the smoking muzzle of that .75 poking
out from between Ned's eyes. Robots are