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light. Nothing happened. No one moved.
    "I would rather not shoot you in the dark," I said.
    Another moment when nothing stirred. Then a movement. And the lights came on.
    There were two men: the guy at my desk and another man standing against the wall just to the right of the bay window. Neither one was showing a weapon. I kept mine in hand, but let it hang by my side.
    "You have a bottle of Scotch whisky," the guy at my desk said.
    "I do," I said. "And I'm willing to share. But the sandwich is mine."
    The guy at my desk had a lot of teeth and very large black-rimmed glasses. His elbows rested on the arms of my chair. He had pale hands and long fingers, which he tented in front of his chin. His hair was smooth, flat to his head, and shiny black. Hairspray.
    "The Scotch will suffice," he said. "You have glasses, or must we pass it around like three winos." His voice had an undertone to it, like the murmur of machinery deep in the ground.
    "I have the setups," I said.
    The guy standing against the wall was round-looking, with a red face and a thick blond mustache that twirled up at either end. Both men remained still while I put the Scotch and the sub sandwich on the desktop, and my gun back into its holster. I got some ice from the little office refrigerator, and glasses and soda from the glass-front cherry cabinet that Susan had installed, which went with the rest of my decor like a necklace on a toad. I put it all on the desk in front of Pale Fingers and sat down in a client chair.
    "One of you can mix," I said. "Scotch and soda, a lot of ice, a lot of soda."
    I unwrapped my sandwich while the blond guy made the drinks. The guy at my desk had his with soda, no ice. The blond guy had it on the rocks, not many rocks. He handed me mine and went back and stood against the wall. I had a bite of my sub and a slug of my Scotch and soda, and waited.
    The guy at my desk took his time with the whisky, sipping it gently, letting it sit a moment in his mouth before swallowing it delicately.
    "Good year for Scotch," I said.
    He smiled at me aimlessly. The blond guy took about half of his Scotch at the first pull.
    "I'm with the government," the guy at my desk said. "We both are."
    "How nice for the government," I said.
    "You weren't here," he said. "We took the liberty."
    "It's a way to get shot," I said.
    "What gave us away?" he said.
    "Hairspray," I said.
    "You smelled it."
    "Yep."
    "Vanity will be my downfall," he said.
    I took another bite of my sandwich, trying to keep the peripheral fallout off my shirt. I chewed. I swallowed. I had a drink of Scotch.
    "Whaddya want?" I said.
    Pale Fingers nodded and smiled.
    "Direct," he said. "I like that."
    I had another bite of my sandwich and waited.
    "We are here to ask a favor of you, in the interest of security."
    I sipped some Scotch.
    "You have been asking questions about the death of a woman named Emily Gordon."
    The blond guy with the mustache looked at me steadily. I think he was being menacing.
    "We would prefer that you desist."
    "Because?"
    "Because it is in the best interest of the United States."
    "How so?" I said.
    "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm afraid I can't share that with you."
    "What a shame."
    "And if that is unpersuasive," he said, "I might suggest that it would be very much in your best interest as well."
    I finished my sub. It was excellent. But that was true of almost all subs.
    "Agreed?" Pale Fingers said.
    I finished the rest of my drink.
    "Buzz off," I said.
    The guy at my desk was tenting his fingers again. He glanced at the blond guy. The blond guy was still giving me the hard eye.
    "Are you sure you want to provoke the animosity of your government?" Pale Fingers said.
    His mouth was tight and his eyes, even magnified by his glasses, looked very small.
    "If this be treason," I said, "let us make the most of it."
    "Unless you reconsider," Pale Fingers said, "we may find reason to investigate you."
    "Given your track record," I said, "I remain undaunted."
    "And a tax