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answered in an affected voice. Lido doubled over.
    "What the hell are you talking about, Chalice?" I was surprised to hear the boss on the phone. "Have you been drinking or have you just gone insane?" Sonellio sounded less than chipper. The boss and his wife were devoutly Catholic—she probably had him wrapping Christmas presents until the wee hours.
    "Sorry, boss, what's going on?"
    "Just got off the phone with your friend, the Fed."
    "Ambler?"
    "One and the same. The ballistics on Gilberto Diaz just came back and it ties to a murder-kidnapping the FBI is working on. There's a briefing at 9:00 PM, FBI headquarters at Federal Plaza."
    For my money, Herbert Ambler was the only good Fed alive. He had been a longtime friend of my dad's, a real straight shooter, and diehard fan of the original "Mission Impossible" series. Ambler was senior staff at the FBI and only involved in high- level cases. My mind began to fire with excitement.
    "We'll be there," I said and hung up. "Back on the clock," I told Lido.
    "No more shopping?" Ricky asked.
    "Sorry, Ricky, Gus and I have to go back to work."
    "Can I come?" he asked sadly. Another pang. "Do you think Pamela Anderson will work on the case with you?"
    "No, Ricky, I doubt it."
    "Why?" he asked.
    "She doesn't do that anymore, Ricky. I think she works in a bookstore now." Lido looked at me and shrugged. He later explained that Pamela Anderson had a new show call "Stacked" of all things. I thought it was a reasonable lie. "We'll take you home to Ma's place. It's almost 'Tool Time.'"
    Ricky smiled devilishly. He was so different from most men, but sadly, in many ways he was exactly the same. I always wondered what it was about a big pair of boobs that could turn the coolest guy into a drooling zombie. I mind shrugged and moved on.
    I told you, my dreams were becoming really vivid. It was just a matter of time before the shit hit the proverbial fan.

Eight—THE OTHER SHOE
     
    It had been a couple of months since the last time I'd seen Herbert Ambler. There was no special reason for the passing of that time—we were both busy, playing at life. My Fed homeboy was practically family. Did I say practically? Ambler was family. He was the uncle I never had, a man I revered and respected. He had helped me solve my last case, a case that exposed the truth of my family's origin. In the process, we had brought Zachary Clovin to justice, a man who had become Manhattan's number one public enemy, a man who was a mass murdering psychopath, a man who turned out to be my biological father. Just recalling it triggered a panic attack. Ambler had played a big part in helping me hold the pieces together. I was more than looking forward to seeing him again.
    At the same time though, I couldn't help wonder what the shooting of a tenement superintendent had to do with a high priority FBI investigation. The door to the ready room opened. It appeared I wouldn't have to wait very long to find out.
    Ambler hadn't changed one iota since the last time I saw him—slow and steady, Ambler gave my life stability. His round face sported an ear-to-ear grin. He was wearing his old metal frame aviators over his pug nose—same ten buck crew cut. It was just Lido and me in the FBI ready room. I stood and crushed Ambler with a hug. "Hi, punk." I kissed him on the cheek and ran my hand over his sandpaper dome. I stepped back and looked him up and down. "Isn't that the suit you wore the last time I saw you?"
    Ambler didn't bat an eyelash. "Probably." He reached across the conference table and shook Lido's hand. " Whazzup , boyfriend?" Ambler was the only one that knew about my relationship with Lido. Like I said, the man was family and when his lips were sealed, they were sealed.
    "I'm good, G man." Lido grinned. "I'm good."
    "You look rested," I said. "No late night TV?"
    "I watched Letterman last night."
    "Letterman?" Good grief—poor Jim Phelps. "You gave up on 'Mission Impossible'?"
    "Never, but Letterman had interesting