Sometimes I guy's got to do what a guy's got to do. Sometimes that even means going to talk to the flatfoot. I dropped Lucky at work and drove down to the Station, parking at the far end of the block out of habit. I made the walk almost to the door, when it popped open and who should appear but Theet Logos, dazzled by the sunlight on the street and blinking like a gaffed carp. He fumbled for his Vuarnets and slipped them on before the rear door of his limo was opened by a uniformed attendant and he was swallowedby the plush Corinthian leather inside.

I waited until the stretch caddy had zoomed off before I hit the door, the big desk sergeant glancing at me with disdain before sticking his schnoz back into the Newsweek from which he was busily engaged in collecting a world view. Without looking my way again, he said "what can I do for you sir?"

"I'd like to speak with the officer who's handling the Loonbucket murder."

"Well he's very busy. What do you want?"

"I've got some information for him."

The cop sighed and slid open a drawer, sighed again and got up heavily from his swivel chair. "I'm out of witness forms. Stay here, I'll be right back." When he disappeared into a door on the left, I flanked the desk and went down a hall on the right toward a murmur of voices. In an office two doors down three men were gathered around three cups of java and Logos' hunting knife. The conversation stopped as I stopped outside in the hall. The biggest of the three, a red-faced, balding, Irish-looking guy says "who are you? Who let you back here?"

"Dan Blake", I responded, using my traditional lame alias that I fell back on time and again during periods of duress. "Are you the investigating officer on the Loonbucket case?" He nodded and walked around the desk, close enough for me to get a whiff of Bushmill's off his breath. "I've got something to show you. Not here. You've got to come with me."

"Where the hell?" he grinned but there was an undertone of threat in his voice.

"Just down the street. Place called the Zephyr."

"Alright", he grinned to my surprise. We walked out past the Desk Sarge who said "Hey! I told...Everything ok Lieutenant?" The big Detective just said "if anybody calls I'm in conference. At the usual place."

We went out into the street, and I had to pick up the pace to keep up with the cop. "My name's Obannion, Mr Blake," said the Irishman. "You got a lot of nerve interrupting like that. I figure you for a PI."

I grinned back. "Was it the snoopy attitude?"

"No," he said, "it's the whiskey on your breath and the gun in your coat pocket." I was on the threshold of a new experience....I had met a cop I liked."I'll drink to that," I said.

"Damn right you will," Obannion grinned back.