Malone said. "But tell me, did you actually make arrangements
for me to get into that warehouse? I suppose you know that's what I
want."

"I guessed that much," Fernack said. "I haven't made any arrangements
at all yet, but I will. I'll have Safe and Loft get the keys, and a
full set of floor plans to the place while they're at it. Will that
do, Your Majesty?"

Malone choked on his smoke and shot a quick look over his shoulder.
There was nothing there but the wall of the booth. Queen Elizabeth I
was nowhere in evidence. Then he realized that Fernack had been
talking to him.

"Don't _do_ that," he said.

"What?" Fernack said.

Malone realized in one awful second how strange the explanation was
going to sound. Could he say that he thought he'd been mistaken for an
old friend of his, Elizabeth Tudor? Could he say that he'd just had a
call from her?

In the end he merely said, "Nothing," and let it go at that.

"Well, anyhow," Fernack said, "do you want anything else?"

"Not right now," Malone said. "I'll let you know, though And thanks,
John Henry. No matter why you're doing this, thanks."

"I don't deserve 'em," Fernack muttered. "And I hope you get caught in
some kind of deadfall and have to come screaming to the cops."

That, Malone reflected, was the second time a cop had suggested his
yelling if he got into trouble. Hadn't the police force ever heard of
telephones?

He said good-bye and flipped off.

Then he stared at the screen for a little while, as his cigarette
burned down between his fingers. At last he put the cigarette out and
went downstairs again to the bar.

If he had to do some heavy thinking, he told himself, there was
absolutely no reason why he couldn't enjoy himself a little while
doing it.

The evening rush had begun, and Malone found himself a stool simply by
slipping into one while a drinker's back was turned. Once ensconced,
he huddled himself up like an old drunk, thus effectively cutting
himself off from interruptions, and lit another cigarette. Ray was
down at the other end of the bar, chatting with a red-headed woman and
her pale, bald escort. Malone sighed and set himself to the job of
serious, constructive thinking.

_How,_ he asked himself, _do you go about catching a person who can
vanish away like so much smoke?_

Well, Malone could think of one solution, but it was pretty bloody.

Nailing the kids to a wall would probably work, but he couldn't say
much else for it.