don't you see anything wrong with that?"

"With what?"

"With using a physical attribute to get your way."

"I didn't say there was nothing wrong with it. I'm simply noting that what you're talking about is not merely a mammarial phenomenon."

She made a face. "Mammarial phenomenon?"

Myron shrugged, and mercifully the waitress came over. Myron made a point of not looking anywhere near her chest, which was tantamount to telling yourself not to scratch that irksome itch. The waitress had a pen behind her ear. Her overtreated hair aimed for on-the-farm strawberry blond but landed far closer to fell-at-the-4H-fair cotton candy.

"Get you?" she saicl. Skipping the preliminaries like "Hello" and "What can I...?"

"Rob Roy," Thrill said.

The pen came out of the ear holster, jotted it down, back in the holster. Wyatt Earp. "You?" she said to Myron.

Myron doubted that they had any Yoo-Hoo. "A diet soda, please."

She looked at him as if he'd ordered a bedpan.

"Maybe a beer," Myron said.

She clacked her gum. "Bud, Michelob, or some pansy brew?"

"Pansy would be fine, thank you," Myron said. "And do you have any of those little cocktail umbrellas?"

The waitress rolled her eyes and walked away.

They chatted for a while. Myron had just started relaxing and yes, even enjoying himself when Thrill said, "Behind you. By the door."

He was not much in the mood for clandestine games. They wanted him here for a reason. No sense beating around the bush. He turned without an iota of subtlety and spotted Pat the bartender and Veronica Lake aka Zorra dressed again in a cashmere sweater-peach-toned, for those keeping score-long skirt, and a strand of pearls. Zorra, the Steroid Debutante. Myron shook his head. Bonnie Franklin and Mall Girl were nowhere to be seen.

Myron gave a big wave, "Over here, fellas!"

Pat scowled, feigning surprise. He looked toward Zorra, She-Man of the Saber Heel. Zorra showed nothing. The great ones never do. Myron always wondered if their blaseness was an act or if, in truth, nothing really surprised them. Probably a bit of both.

Pat strode toward their table, acting as though he were shocked-shocked!-that Myron was in his bar. Zorra followed, more gliding than walking, the eyes soaking in everything. Like Win, Zorra moved economically-albeit in stylish red pumps-no motion wasted. Pat was still scowling when he reached the table.

"What the hell are you doing here, Bolitar?" Pat asked.

Myron nodded. "Not bad, but it could use work. Do me a favor. Try it again. But add a little gasp first. Gasp, what the hell are you doing here, Bolitar? Like that. Better yet, why not give a wry shake of your head and say something like 'All the gin joints in all the world, you have to walk into mine-two nights in a row.' "

Zorra was smiling now.

"You're crazy," Pat said.

"Pat." It was Zorra. He looked at Pat and shook his head just once. The shake said, Stop with the games.

Pat turned to Thrill. "Do me a favor, hon."

Thrill offered up breathless. "Sure, Pat."

"Go powder your nose or something, okay?"

Myron made a face. "Go powder your nose?" He looked pleadingly at Zorra. Zorra's small shrug was semiapologetic. "What next, Pat? You going to threaten to make me sleep with the fishes? Make me an offer I can't refuse. I mean, go powder your nose?"

Pat was fuming. He looked over at Thrill. "Please, hon."

"No problem, Pat." She slid out of the booth. Pat and Zorra immediately took her place. Myron frowned at the change in scenery.

"We need some information," Pat said.

"Yeah, I picked up on that last night," Myron said.

"That got out of control. I'm sorry."

"I bet."

"Hey, we let you go, right?"

"As soon as I was electrocuted with a cattle prod, slashed twice with a heel blade, kicked in the ribs, and then jumped through a glass mirror. Yeah, you let me go."

Pat smiled. "If Zorra here didn't want you to escape, you wouldn't have escaped. Get my meaning?"

Myron looked at Zorra. Zorra looked at Myron. Myron said, "A peach sweater with red pumps?"

Zorra smiled, shrugged.

"Zorra here could have killed you easy as pie," Pat continued.

"Right, fine, Zorra is a tough guy, you're super-generous to me. Get to it."

"Why were you asking about Clu Haid?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I was telling you the truth last night. I'm trying to find his killer."

"So what does my club have to do with that?"

"Before I got dragged into the back room, I would have said, 'Nothing.' But now, well, that's what I'd like to know."

Pat looked at Zorra. Zorra did not move. Pat said,