In The House Of Secret Enemies

'Because Anagori didn't kill them doesn't mean that someone else didn't.'

'Or that they did.'

'Okay,' I said tightly, rising to my feet.

'Hey! It's your turn to buy coffee!'

'I'm going to do some checking. Statler still stay at the same place?'

Garth came over to where I was standing. His eyes gleamed with the cold light of a policeman's curiosity. 'Yeah,' he said. 'He's in the Plaza, uptown. At least that's the address he gave me. What do you want with Statler?'

'I want the show's stop list. I want to know where the circus has been and where it's going.'

'What the hell for?'

I wished he hadn't asked. I had no answer.

'You're fishing, Mongo,' Garth continued, 'looking for something that isn't there.' He paused, and when he continued his voice was softer. 'You're blaming yourself for what happened. There's no way, brother. No way that works out. First Jessum tells you he wants you to talk to his wife, then he tells you to stay away. You were the one who said he seemed unstable. It's not your fault if he suddenly decided to kill the old lady and blow his own head off.'

'Yeah,' I said, turning away and heading for the exit. 'You've got a rain check on that coffee.'

Garth was right, of course. I was blaming myself for what happened, primarily because I kept remembering how close I had come to going all the way down the access tunnel. I might have prevented it.

Garth was also right when he said it looked like a clear-cut case of murder and suicide. Still, I had an itch down deep in my soul. Asking Statler for the show's stop list and combing those cities for a man with a motive for killing the Jessums might be like chasing a rainbow, but at the moment I felt I needed the exercise.

I went out the stage door, turned right on the empty street.

Somebody else was looking for exercise; the man behind me was coming up fast, almost at a trot. I don't like people coming up fast behind me. I stepped to one side to let the man pass and almost blacked out with pain as the knife skewered me, it's point slicing white hot into the flesh of my side, scraping along my ribs like fingernails on a blackboard and emerging four inches from the point of entry. I twisted with the force of the blow, taking the knife with me. At the same time I reacted instinctively, smashing the side of my stiffened left hand into my attacker's kidney. The man grunted and went to one knee. He seemed surprised, but that was about all. He slowly rose and stared at me, his pale green eyes absolutely expressionless.

I happen to have a black belt, second Dan, in karate, and usually when I hit a man in the kidney he stays down. This man was no mugger. He knew how to absorb pain; a professional, with skills at least the equal of mine. There was no doubt but that the man intended to kill me, and the knife in my side having effectively neutralized my usual bag of tricks, it didn't seem beyond the realm of possibility that he was going to succeed.

Blood was squeezing past the sharp metal plug in my side, my shirt and jacket were soaked, and I could feel the sticky warmth spreading. Dwarfs not having that much blood to begin with, I as beginning to feel dizzy-and cold, very cold.

However, the man had no intention of allowing me the simple dignity of bleeding to death. I watched, fascinated, as he slowly reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol. Carefully, deliberately, he began to screw on a silencer. His pale eyes never left mine. He moved as if he had all the time in the world, which was understandable since the street was empty and it was obvious that I wasn't going anyplace. Despite the blank screen of his face, I knew the man was enjoying himself; all of the best are endowed with generous streaks of sadism, and this one had to be at the top of his profession. It was my time that was running out, not his, and he liked that. Vaguely, I wondered which of my enemies could afford this guy.

I couldn't stand to see the man so happy. I decided to give the sand in the hourglass a little kick.

I reached across from the opposite side, grabbed the handle of the knife and yanked the blade from my flesh. For just a moment pain pierced through the pervading numbness of my body. Pain was life and, for the moment, I found that reassuring. I didn't have time to gauge the balance of the knife-I could see the small hole of the gun's bore pointing between my eyes-so I could only hope that one of my lesser-known skills hadn't deteriorated over the years. The man's finger was tightening on the trigger as I reared back and flung the knife out into the darkness that was rolling over me from all sides.

I awoke in a place that smelled more like a hospital than heaven. Nor did Garth bear the slightest resemblance to an angel.

'I assume I'm to live.'

'Which is more than can be said for the other guy.' Garth was shaking his head. 'You got him right in the heart. Not exactly dead center, you understand; about two inches into the left auricle. Of course, you're out of practice.'

I twisted uncomfortably. My side was stiff and sore and there were two needles hanging out of either arm. I didn't need my brother's sarcasm.

He let out a long, low whistle. 'Mongo, you're not to be believed! A criminology professor, gymnast, former circus great, black belt karate expert, and private detective who just happens to be a dwarf knife-throwing expert. Be thankful you're not the product of some guy's imagination; you'd be rejected by every editor in town.'

I wasn't amused. 'Who was he?'

The smile left Garth's face. 'The Compleat Professional. No ID, no mug shots, acid burns on his fingertips. He'd even ripped the labels out of his clothing. We figure he was a big chicken coming home to roost. You've got to admit you've made a few enemies in your short career. Big ones.'

'Uh-huh. Where's the circus?'

Garth thought for a moment. 'Albany. Don't tell me you think-'

'Feel like going for a ride?'

'Where?'

'Albany.'

'You've got to be kidding.'

'How serious is this cut?' I knew the answer before I asked the question. I could feel the tape over the stitches in my side; flesh wound, bloody but not disastrous.

'You lost a lot of blood and they think there's still danger of infection. They said about a week.'

'With the shortage of hospital beds they're going to keep me here a week?'

'Ah, but there's also a shortage of dwarf black belt-'

'Knock it off', Garth,' I said tensely. 'I have to see that circus. That's where the key is. I know it. I feel it. I want to see it, and I want to see it tonight. If you don't want to take me, I'll walk.'

I started to walk, or at least I gave it some thought. I swung one leg over the bed and willed that the rest of my body should follow. For a moment it seemed as if my head would reach the floor before my feet, but then there were Garth's arms reaching for me, all twelve of them.

I got out three days later, thanks largely to my natural dislike for hospitals and the nurses' inability to track me through a labyrinth of hospital wards, laboratories and corridors. Garth threatened to take me to Albany in my hospital gown, but my natural dwarf charm finally won him over. I promised to sit quietly and do nothing but watch, on the condition that he buy the candy apples.

We parked on State Street and headed for the Washington Armory. Once there, Garth automatically started toward the rear. I grabbed his arm and directed him back to the lines forming at the main entrance.

'You're not going back to say hello to your cronies? You want to stand in line with the masses?'

'Right. Maybe I'll go back later. Right now I just want to get lost in the crowd.'

'You're getting paranoid.'

'Uh-huh. You just run interference.'

Garth was humoring me, but I didn't have to remind him that New York's Finest still hadn't come up with the