The big man shot a glance around the bar to be sure no one was in hearing range, but the place was empty except for one couple sharing a late sandwich and beers.
"I see. Well then, what can I do for you, Harry?"
"I hear tell how you've been makin' a play for the Ice Bitch and thought I'd give you a call with a friendly warning. That's a real Stone Fox you're messin' with, bwana. Now, don't get me wrong ... you're one hell of a man, but that gal will eat you alive, manners and all."
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line.
"Are you, by any chance, referring to Ms. Laverna?"
"That's the one."
"Well then, I appreciate your concern and advice, Harry, but the truth of the matter is that Laverna and I are getting along rather well. In fact, I find her one of the warmest, kindest people I've met for some time."
"No foolin'?" The ex-biker was genuinely impressed. "Beeker, either we're talkin' about different women, or I'd be greatly obliged if you'd give me a few pointers on technique sometime over a few brews."
"I'd be glad to," the butler's voice came back. "But I'm not sure how much help I can be. I've never really considered my conduct with women as being `technique.' In fact, I make a point of being myself rather than trying to impress them, and the response has been favorable, for the most part."
"Hmmm. I dunno. There's got to be more to it than that," Harry said. "Every time I've tried bein' myself with the ladies, they tend to look around for a cop."
That got a laugh from Beeker.
"Of course, Harry, you should remember that when it comes to being oneself, you and I are notably different people. Still, I'll be willing to chat with you on the subject sometime, if you'd like."
"All right, my man, it's a date. Just say when and where, and I'll be there with a notepad."
"It will probably have to wait until this assignment is over," Beeker said. "I'm of the impression that while it's on, we're to avoid each other's company publicly, for the sake of secrecy."
"Yeah, I know." Harry sighed heavily. "Well, let me know when you think it'll be all right."
There was another moment's pause.
"Are you all right, Harry?" the butler said at last, a note of concern creeping into his voice. "Forgive me if I'm prying, but you sound a little down."
"I guess I am ... a bit," the ex-biker admitted.
"What's wrong? Is it anything you'd like to talk about?"
"I dunno ... It's just that ..." Harry struggled for a second, then the floodgates went down and the words came in a rush. "I just feel kinda cut off out here ... out of the information loop, you know? One of the things I've always liked about the cap'n is that he always made sure I knew what was goin' on, even when it didn't involve me direct. Now I only hear about some of the things that are happenin', and even then it's after the action is over. For the most part, I just stand around here and polish glasses and wonder what's goin' on with the crew. I'll tell you, Beeker, it's gettin' to me. You know, it seems like more and more often I see somethin' or think of somethin' and turn to point it out to the guy next to me, only there's no one there. I mean, there're folks here and all, but no one I can talk to. Know what I mean?"
"If it's not pointing out the obvious, Harry," the butler observed once the ex-biker had run out of words, "it sounds to me like you're lonely."
Harry thought for a few beats, then his face split in a wide smile.
"Damn! You know, I think you're right, Beeker! Son of a gun! That never occurred to me ... I guess 'cause I've never been lonely before."
"Excuse me, Harry"-Beeker's voice was gentle-"but don't you mean that until recently, you've always been lonely?"
If it was from anyone else, Harry would have simply laughed at the suggestion, but he had a great deal of respect for Beeker, so he gave the idea serious thought.
"I never thought of it that way," he said slowly, "but ... you know, it's funny. When I first heard about this assignment, I was really lookin' forward to bein' out on my own again ... gettin' away from uniforms, and maybe mixin' with a few of the folks like I used to hang around with. The way it is, though, I just can't get into it. There's even another biker here who keeps wantin' to talk about old times, but I have trouble gettin' fired up to brag about how bad the old club used to be. In fact, the more I think about it, the more it seems we ran on bullshit-all the time tryin' to impress each other with how tough we was so's nobody would think we was afraid. The fact is, the only place I've felt comfortable just bein' me is with the cap'n and the troops."
"I can't say I'm surprised, Harry," the butler said. "Of course, I've been with Mr. Phule for a long time now and watched the effect he has on those around him. Let me assure you that you're not alone in your reactions. After a lifetime of feeling one has to pretend to be something he's not, finally meeting someone who can not only accept but appreciate people as they are tends to generate-"
"Excuse me, Beeker," Harry interrupted. "Hang on just a sec."
A flurry of activity at the door had caught the ex-biker's attention. Four men had just trooped in, Stilman the obvious leader. Paying no attention to Harry, they took seats at a table and noisily called for a round of drinks.
"It's okay, Beeker," Harry said. "Just a little movement in the enemy troops. What was that you were sayin'?"
"Just that many people who had long since resigned themselves to being alone or the oddball in any group, find that ..."
Harry was only listening with half an ear, the rest of his attention focused idly on the table of heavies.
They seemed to be in a good mood, shaking hands and patting each other on the back, and he caught the flash of Stilman passing out thick envelopes, presumably full of money, to the other three men.
"Hold on, Beeker," Harry said, still eyeing the table of men. "There may be something goin' on here. You might want to pass the word that ..."
He broke off in midsentence, his blood suddenly turning ice cold.
Stilman had produced two objects from his pocket and was holding them up for inspection. From the back of the room, the ex-biker couldn't see too clearly, but he didn't have to. He'd know those things from a mile away. He should ... he'd issued enough of them.
Stilman was holding two of the company's wrist radios.
"Harry?" came Beeker's voice in his ear. "Are you there? What is it?"
"Listen close, Beeker," Hang growled into the phone, barely recognizing his own voice. "I may not have time to say this twice ... got me? Tell the cap'n to run a body count on the company. Fast. I think someone's in trouble. Only ... listen up, Beek ... be sure to tell him not to use the wrist radios for the check. In fact, tell him to pass the word to be careful what gets said over the radios period! It looks like the opposition has gotten hold of a couple of 'em, so there's a good chance they'll be listenin' in ... for a while, anyway. You got that?"
"Got it, Harry," the butler shot back. "Do you want him to get back to you when he's done?"
"Tell him not to bother. I'll get back to him later if I can."
"Harry, are you in trouble? You sound-"
"Just tell the cap'n," the ex-biker said hurriedly, and broke the connection.
Stilman had just gotten to his feet and, after one last round of handshakes, was heading out the door.
Forcing himself to move casually, Harry strolled behind the bar.
"Can you cover for me for a few, Willie my man?" he said. "I gots to slip out for a minute."
"I suppose so," the other bartender said. "It's not like it's real busy, or-hey! What's up?"
Harry had been fishing around under the bar, but now he straightened up holding a sawed-off pool cue loosely in one hand. Effectively a lead-weighted club, it was kept to break up fights and happened to be one of Harry's favorite weapons.