Chapter 27.

Trixie pushed the door of Spencer's Place open and breezed in like she owned the joint.

I followed behind, bouncing the door off my shoulder as my hands were full.

In the right I held the 45, always reliable.

In the left, I gripped the 38 I had taken from the bread box this morning.

It had spent the interval in my pocket and thought

it might as well get in on the fun. I couldn't actually fire both at the same time with any degree

of accuracy, but I looked damn good holding both of them. And since it was profoundly not my

intent to shoot anyone just now, looks were what mattered. Anyone who had ever seen a western or

read an adventure book would know I was not one they wanted to play with.

Hap Spencer jumped when he saw us, but I thrust the 38 towards him and he froze right enough.

The rest of the barflies were all to my right, and they seemed plenty impressed with the 45.

Hands on the bar, I said, do it.

They did it.

They didn't like it or understand it, but they did it. Where I can see them,

Mr. Spencer, I said, please. Please and everything, Hap Spencer snorted. I really hoped he didn't go

for the gun. I'd feel like an idiot shooting this guy. He kept his hands above the bar. I lowered my

gun arm. Mr. Spencer, Trixie said all business. You almost certainly do

not realize this, but my associate, Mr. Justice, and myself are in the middle of an uncomfortable

situation just now. Is that a fact, Hap Spencer said, quite lost? We are, as you may have gathered

private detectives, Trixie said. Hap nodded slowly, as if reluctant to agree to anything.

Without belaboring the events of the last 72 hours too much, Trixie said with something like

...