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they stood up and went out. Kepler held onto his beer, which he finished as he walked down the hallway. When he set the stein on the receptionist’s desk she smiled at them in confusion.
    At the car Chinese Gordon said to Immelmann, “You drive,” and sat in the back seat.
    They drove in silence for a few minutes until Kepler said, “That was a hard way to get a free beer, Chinese.”
    “Shut up and listen,” said Chinese Gordon. “‘Drug Research at ULA Campus,’” he read. “‘Spokesmen in the office of the president of the University of Los Angeles announced today that the controversial research on the effects of various controlled substances would continue in spite of resistance from alumni groups and even some members of the board of trustees. “The issue here is academic freedom,” said Dale Crollett, Assistant Vice-President for University Relations. “Professor Gottlieb and his colleagues have secured the grants, the necessary approvals and licenses, and it is the position of the University that there will be no internal interference with scientific research.” The controversy was touched off on Wednesday when the Drug Enforcement Administration turned over to the researchers one pound of the purest cocaine, which will be used in experiments to treat migraine headaches. Officials estimated the street value of the cocaine at over one million dollars when it was confiscated in a raid in East Los Angeles last July.’”
    “Interesting,” said Immelmann, “but not meaningful.”
    “Don’t you see?” yelled Chinese Gordon. “He was taking us up on it! We have a deal!”
    Kepler turned to Immelmann. “This man’s optimism is getting on my nerves.” To Chinese Gordon he said, “Do you think he sent Tiny Tears in there just to bring us a couple of beers?”
    “No,” said Chinese Gordon. “Actually, the tattoo just means he’s served time. Probably that’s where he got hooked on doing pull-ups. If he thought we were cops, would he even let us see an ex-convict in his office?”
    “Probably,” said Immelmann.
    “This is a terrific opportunity,” said Chinese Gordon. “If they confiscated the cocaine in East L.A., it probably belonged to Grijalvas. He’s given us a challenge. He wants to buy back what was taken from him, that’s all. If we get it, we have a deal—the start of a long and profitable relationship.”
    “What do you think?” said Immelmann to Kepler.
    Kepler opened another beer can. “I think,” he said, “that once upon a time there was a helicopter pilot in Viet Nam who got a bit off course and got shot down. As he climbed from the wreckage he said, ‘What a break! Now we know where the bastards were hiding.’”

7                   
As Chinese Gordon worked in his shop he tried to keep Doctor Henry Metzger in his sight. It had been a week since he’d installed the steel shutters on the windows and the automatic lock on the sliding door, both without consulting Doctor Henry Metzger. Now what was beginning to bother Chinese Gordon was that Doctor Henry Metzger didn’t seem to be aware that anything had changed. The entire building had been closed so tightly that Chinese Gordon would have believed nothing larger than an ant could possibly break into it. Still, a dozen times a day Doctor Henry Metzger would disappear from the shop and reappear a short time later, ostentatiously cleaning his fur of the dust and seeds and leaf particles he’d picked up walking through the tall weeds in the empty lot next door.
    At first Chinese Gordon had tried to ignore it, but Doctor Henry Metzger showed him no mercy. If Chinese Gordon didn’t acknowledge immediately that he’d returned, Doctor Henry Metzger would spit out the debris from his fur and sneeze and shake himself so hard that his ears made a noise flapping against his head. Once, to emphasize the ease with which he eluded Chinese Gordon’s security measures, he brought back with him a pair of panty