"Then you know that if that bozo gets itchy"-- Myron head-gestured toward the blazer with the gun--"you die."

Granite Man wrestled with his facial muscles and this time he achieved a smile, though not without effort. Heart's song "Barracuda" played in Myron's head. "I am not without my own, uh, talents, Mr. Bolitar."

"If you really believe that," Myron said, "then you don't know enough about Win's, uh, talents."

"I won't debate the point. But I will point out that he doesn't have an army like this at his disposal. Now, are you going to tell me why you're asking about Dennis Lex?"

"I told you," Myron said.

"You're really going to stick with the dying-child story?"

"It's the truth."

"And how did you get Dennis Lex's name?"

"From the bone marrow center."

"They just gave it to you?"

Myron's turn. "I too am not without my own, uh, talents." It somehow didn't sound right when he said it about himself.

"So you're saying that the bone marrow center told you that Dennis Lex was a donor--that about right?"

"I'm not saying anything," Myron said. "Look, this is a two-way street here. I want some information."

"Wrong," Granite Man said. "It's a one-way street. I'm a Mack truck. You're like an egg in the road."

Myron nodded. "Cutting," he said. "But if you're not going to give me anything, I'm not giving you anything."

The guy with the gun stepped closer.

Myron felt a quiver in his legs, but he didn't blink. Maybe he did overplay the wisecracks, but you don't show fear. Ever. "And let's not pretend you're going to shoot me over this. We both know you won't. You're not that stupid."

Granite Man smiled. "I might beat on you a bit."

"You don't want trouble, I don't want trouble. I don't care about this family or its fortune or any of that. I'm just trying to save a kid's life."

Granite Man played air violin for a moment. Then he said, "Dennis Lex is not your salvation."

"And I'm just supposed to believe you?"

"He's not your donor. That much I personally guarantee."

"Is he dead?"

Granite Man folded his arms across his paddleball-court chest. "If you're telling the truth, the bone marrow people either lied to you or made a mistake."

"Or you're lying to me," Myron said. Then added, "Or you're making a mistake."

"The guards will show you out."

"I can still go to the press."

Granite Man walked away then. "We both know you won't," he said. "You're not that stupid either."

Chapter 16.

Bruce Taylor was in print-journalist garb--like he'd gone to his laundry hamper and dug out whatever was on the bottom. He sat at the bar, scooped up the free pretzels, and pushed them into his mouth as though he were trying to swallow his palm.

"Hate these things," he said to Myron.

"Yeah, I can see that."

"I'm at a bar, for crying out loud. I gotta eat something. But nobody serves peanuts anymore. Too fattening or some such crap. Pretzels instead. And not real pretzels. Little tiny buggers." He held one up for Myron to see. "I mean, what's up with that?"