“I had business with him.” Eric frowned. “I don’t see that it’s any business of yours. If you know anything about him, you know he was a private investigator. Private.”

It occurred to Eric he’d just made an awful slip, but it seemed to go right past the man confronting him.

“What business did you have with him?”

“Look, I told you,” Eric reiterated as he took a step backward, “it’s none of your business.” He bumped up against something unyielding, glanced backward.

The man blocking his retreat was much larger and far more imposing than the one asking the questions. His expression was equally neutral. Both men were neatly, if plainly, attired, as if by affecting ordinary clothing they might mitigate their intimidating presences.

“What’s your name?” asked the questioner. The man standing behind Eric held his somehow ominous silence.

“Look,” Eric shot back, “I’m getting a little tired of this.”

The man in front of him sounded bored. “Don’t make things difficult, okay? My friend and I have had a long, trying day and we don’t need some sleek making it tougher for us.”

“I’m not trying to make it tough,” Eric told him honestly, trying to ignore the pejorative.

“Good. Then be a nice boy and tell us what you were doing in Polikartos’s office.” He looked down the hall. “I presume the lock still works. You might also tell us how you got into his office. Must have been something you wanted pretty bad. Breaking and entering’s not nice.”

Eric eyed the man uncertainly. “You two cops?”

“We might be.”

“Fine. Show me some identification and I’ll answer your questions.”

“I’m afraid we can’t spare the time. We’re working way past our deadline.” An imperceptible nod and suddenly a pair of massive arms locked Eric’s behind his back. The man doing the talking idly inspected the hall, was pleased to find it still deserted.

“Listen, sleek, I haven’t got time to stand here arguing with you. Now, you’re going to tell us what you were doing in that office, how you got in, and why. Probably it doesn’t matter. Probably it isn’t important. But I find your excessive interest intriguing, and I have my instructions.”

Eric stood very still. “Are you in the habit of interrogating everyone who goes into Polikartos’s office?”

“No. Only those who let themselves in. So far, you’re it. Just tell us your name,” he added coaxingly. “At least you can tell us your name.”

“I’m not telling you anything. Maybe I will if you tell me who you are and what you mean by this. If your friend doesn’t let go of me I’m going to shout for help.”

The other man’s voice lowered. “You might shout once, but it won’t last very long. I want answers and I don’t want to have to do that. Meanwhile take my advice; don’t shout.” He studied Eric’s face. “Johan.”

One arm left Eric’s and a hand started feeling through his pockets for a wallet. What would be the harm, Eric thought anxiously? Tell them what they want to know. Tell them your name. And another part of him said: no, let them find out for themselves. He didn’t want any trouble, though. And there were two of them, both bigger than he.

Johan produced Eric’s wallet, flipped through it, quite disinterested in the money and credit cards. He folded it up and slipped it neatly back into the gaping pocket, spoke for the first time.

“It’s him.”

The questioner looked slightly surprised. “Funny. You don’t have the look.”

“The look of what? What’s all this about? And what do you mean. I’m ‘him’?” That didn’t sound very pleasant, especially coming from Johan.

“We’ll tell you all about it … later. Right now I think you’d better come with us.”

“To where? The police station? You still haven’t shown me any identification.”

“Don’t be difficult. And don’t try shouting to anyone.”

“Or any police? You’re not police, are you?”

“Talkative.” The questioner shook his head. “Watch him, Johan.”

“Right. Let’s go, sleek.” The big man started walking Eric down the corridor, holding one arm up behind his back with just enough pressure to let him know what he could do if he wanted to.

“I don’t like the talkative ones,” the questioner said, leading the way.

“It don’t matter,” said Johan. “It all ends up the same way each time.”

Eric suddenly stopped. The pressure on his arm increased dangerously, but he held his ground. “I’m not going with you people until you tell me what this is all about.” It was strange. He couldn’t remember ever being frightened like this. But he was now.

“Explanations aren’t my line,” said the questioner. “My job is to fetch.”

“Like a dog?”

“Yes, just like a dog.” The man didn’t seem upset. “Every now and then my employer pats me on the head and throws a couple of treats my way. Nice treats. So come along quietly and no more noise, okay?”

Come on where, Eric thought wildly? Who are these people and what do they want with me? There was a dead man in the office he’d just left. Were they responsible for that? It seemed likely. And if he didn’t do something quick there might be another insignificant news item on the opto tomorrow:

BODY OF SELVERN DESIGNER FOUND IN CENTRAL ARIZONA PROJECT CANAL … SUICIDE SUSPECTED

“I said that I’m not going with you until I know what’s going on here.”

“I heard you,” said the questioner. “Shut him up, Johan, and bring him along.” The pressure on Eric’s arm increased. It hurt now. Another hand went over his mouth.

I can’t go with them, he thought frantically. I’ll end up like Polikartos. I’ve got to do something!

It seemed as though his body raced ahead of his thoughts. The hand across his mouth was half suffocating him. He reached up with his free right hand and grabbed the wrist, yanked impulsively. The hand came away from his mouth. It continued around, propelled by his convulsive yank, and spun the one called Johan sideways through the air. A shocked Eric released his grip, and the big man slammed into the far wall, dented the cheap plaster, and slid unconscious to the floor. He mumbled something and his eyes blinked open.

The questioner had been staring up the hall and hadn’t seen it. Now he spun around, saw Eric standing open-mouthed in front of him and his partner lying awkwardly against the wall. He eyed Eric strangely.

“What the hell happened?” he muttered, dividing his attention between Eric and his associate.

“I slipped,” Johan growled. His eyes narrowed as he climbed to his feet. He looked like a small lion. “I must have slipped and he threw me. Karate or judo or something.”

“You’re going to make things hard on all of us, aren’t you, smart boy?” said the questioner.

Eric was breathing fast. He felt oddly light-headed, his thoughts floating, detached from his body. This wasn’t happening to him. He was an observer, watching curiously, his own body a stranger in an opto play. His body still reacted to his distant thoughts, however. He started backing down the hallway.

“Stay away from me, both of you.”

“Come on, Johan,” said the questioner. “I haven’t got time for games.”

“No games,” rumbled Johan. “You asked for this, sleek.” Arms outstretched, he rushed at Eric.