He opened his coat. The handle of a gun protruded from his belt— my revolver. "Artemis Bock came by my place. He said there was some trouble at his store."

"Yeah," I said. "Bad guys were trying to rough him up. I argued with them about it."

Billy nodded. "That's what he said. He found this in the alley outside. He said there was blood."

"One of them clipped my leg," I said. "I got it taken care of." Billy nodded, worried. "Um. He was worried about you."

"I'm fine." I stood up, careful about my leg. "Bock okay?"

"Um," Billy said. He looked at me, his expression clearly concerned. "Yeah. Not hurt, I mean. Some damage to the store, which he said he didn't mind. He wanted me to thank you for him." He pulled the gun out of his belt and said, "And I thought you might need this."

"Shouldn't carry it in your pants like that," I said. "Good way to sing soprano."

"It's empty," he said, and offered me the handle of the gun.

I took it, flipped the cylinder open, and checked it. The gun wasn't loaded. I slid it into the pocket of my duster, then opened the drawer of my desk and took a small box of ammunition I kept there. I put it in the pocket along with the gun. "Thanks for bringing that by," I said. "Why'd you come looking here?"

"You didn't answer the phone at your place. I went by there. It looked like someone tried to tear the door off."

"Someone did," I said.

"But you're all right?" There was a little more weight on the question than I would have expected.

"I'm fine," I said, getting impatient. "Hell's bells, Billy. If you've got something to say, go ahead and say it."

He inhaled deeply. "Um. Well. I'm sort of afraid to."

I arched a brow at him, and scowled again.

"Look. You… aren't acting right, Harry."

"Meaning?" I asked.

"Meaning not like yourself," Billy said. "People have been noticing."

"People?" I asked. My leg pounded. I had no time for this kind of psychological patty-cake. "What people?"

"People who respect you," he said carefully. "Maybe who are even a little bit afraid of you."

I just stared at him.

"I don't know if you know this, Harry. But you can be a really scary guy. I mean, I've seen what you can do. And even the people who haven't seen themselves have heard stories. Believe me, we're all glad you're one of the good guys, but if you weren't…"

"What?" I said, suddenly feeling more tired. "If I wasn't, then what?"

"You'd be scary. Really scary."

"Get to your damned point," I said quietly.

He nodded. "You've been talking to things."

"Excuse me?"

He lifted his hands. "Talking to things. I mean, you were talking to things when I was outside your door."

"That was nothing," I said.