“I’m not witness,” Church shouted. “You dirty squealer. After Ben Reich promised—”

“Shut up. You think I want permanent exile? Like you? You were crazy enough to trust Reich. Not me, thank you. I’m not that crazy.”

“You whining yellow peeper. Do you think you’ll get off? Do you think you’ll—”

“I don’t give a damn!” Tate cried. “I don’t take that kind of medicine for Reich. I’ll bust him first. I’ll walk into court and sit on the witness stand and do everything I can to help Powell. Tell that to the Guild, Linc. Tell them that—”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Powell snapped.

“What?”

“You were trained by the Guild. You’re still in the Guild. Since when does a peeper squeal on a patient?”

“It’s the evidence you need to get Reich, isn’t it?”

“Sure, but I’m not taking it from you. I’m not letting any peeper disgrace the rest of us by walking into court and blabbing.”

“It could mean your job if you don’t get him.”

“To hell with my job. I want it, and I want Reich… but not at this price. Any peeper can be a right pilot when the orbit’s easy; but it takes guts to hold to the Pledge when the heat’s on. You ought to know. You didn’t have the guts. Look at you now…”

“But I want to help you, Powell.”

“You can’t help me. Not at the price of ethics.”

“But I was an accessory!” Tate shouted. “You’re letting me off. Is that ethics? Is that —?”

“Look at him,” Powell laughed. “He’s begging for Demolition. No, Gus. We’ll get you when we get Reich. But I can’t get him through you. I’ll play this according to the Pledge.” He turned and left the circle of light. As he walked through the darkness toward the front door, he waited for Church to take the bait. He had played the entire scene for this moment alone… but so far there was no action on his hook.

As Powell opened the door, flooding the pawnshop with the cold argent street light, Church suddenly called: “Just a minute.”

Powell stopped, silhouetted against the door. “Yes?”

“What have you been handing Tate?”

“The Pledge, Jerry. You ought to remember it.”

“Let me peep you on that.”

“Go ahead. I’m wide open.” Most of Powell’s blocks opened. What was not good for Church to discover was carefully jumbled and camouflaged with tangentional associations and a kaleidoscopic pattern, but Church certainly could not locate a suspicious block.

“I don’t know,” Church said at last. “I can’t make up my mind.”

“About what, Jerry? I’m not peeping you.”

“About you and Reich and the gun. God knows, you’re a mealy-mouthed preacher, but I think maybe I’d be smarter to trust you.”

“That’s nice, Jerry. I told you, I can’t make any promises.”

“Maybe you’re the kind that doesn’t have to make promises. Maybe the whole trouble with me is that I’ve always been looking for promises instead of—”