follow the fracases, but the major's
one of the best mercenaries in the field."

Sam scrambled to his feet and shook hands. "Gee, Joe Mauser."

Joe looked at him questioningly. "I thought you didn't follow the
fracases."

Sam grinned awkwardly. "Well, gee, you can't miss picking up some
stuff about the fighting. All the other guys are buffs."

Joe said to Freddy, "Could I speak to you alone?"

"Certainly, certainly. Sam, run along the major and I have business."

When the boy was gone, Joe sank into a chair and looked up at the
Telly reporter accusingly. He said, "This fancy uniform, I stood still
for. That idea of picking a song to identify me with and bribing the
orchestra leaders to swing into it whenever I enter some restaurant or
nightclub, might have its advantages. Getting me all sorts of Telly
interviews, between fracases, and all those write-ups in the fracas
buff magazines, I can see the need for, in spite of what it's costing.
But what in Zen"--his voice went dangerous--"was the idea of sticking
that punch-drunk prizefighter on me in the most respectable nightclub
in Greater Washington?"

Freddy grinned ruefully. "Oh, you figured that out, eh?"

"Did you think I was stupid?"

Freddy rubbed his hands together, happily. "He used to be world
champion, and you flattened him. It was in every gossip column in the
country, every news reporter, played it up. And hell all it cost us
was five shares of your Vacuum Tube Transport stock."

"Five shares!"

"Why not? He used to be champ. Now, he's so broke he's got to live on
stock he isn't allowed to sell. His basic government issue at birth.
He was willing to take a dive cheap, if you ask me."

Joe growled at him unhappily. "I've got news for you, Freddy. Your
hired brawler started off as per instructions, evidently, but after a
couple of blows had been exchanged his slap-happy brain lost the
message and he tried to take me. We're lucky he didn't splatter me all
over the dance floor of the Exclusive Club. He didn't take a dive. I
had to scuttle him."

Freddy blinked. "Zen!"

"Sure, sure, sure," Joe growled. "Look, next time you decide to spend
five shares of my stock on some deal like this, let me know, eh?"

Freddy walked to the sideboard and got glasses. "Whiskey?" he said.

"Tequila, if you've got it," Joe said. "Look, I'm beginning to have
second thoughts about this campaign. Where's it got us, so far?"

Freddy brought the fiery Mexican drink and