^I thought it was appropriate, in a morbid way.

Ahem.

After typing up the previous post and staring at the "Published Successfully" message for a while. I grabbed my jacket and called Murray; he retired twenty years ago, but he still had to have some connections. After all, I had never seen him swear at his parking tickets.

It seems amazing, in retrospect, that I was even thinking properly. I suppose I was numb, and moving automatically. Which is strange, because I've never had the police come in with warrants to search one of my tenant's apartments before. Yeah, I know, New York, but it's true.

At the station, I wait quietly on a bench while Murray makes miracles. Probably look like some guy bailing his son out. After all of 6 minutes, he comes out, and Det. Green ushers me into the interview room.

The door stays open.

Green hands me coffee, two sugars, stirred, not shaken. As opposed to me, who is shaken as a dry martini, and can feel the bile rising up my throat. It doesn't get any better when I find out what happened to Stoney.

Reynard "Ray" Greenleaf-the name Gavin Gunhold on the lease agreement was false, as I suspected-was in his early thirties. A wolf-fur, he had been arrested several times for possesion and dealing, nickle-and-dime stuff. A few years ago, he moved into my building. Then he went quiet, until his body was left in front of the Smith in a cardboard box. Since it was a potential bomb, they called the police. After identification of the contents-I am told the officers responsible will have nightmares for years-his pieces were sent to the ME. He was sapped and paralyzed by an aerotal injection of something with too many constonants, and slowly amputated without aesthetics or sealing the wound. Whoever had killed him had been nice enough to line the box so that no blood would leak out.

Green reaches around the doorframe and hands me a bucket to retch in. "We think it was a hate crime," he says one of the times I come up for air.

"No, really, ya think? He was tortured, dismembered, and shipped, postage due, to an augmentation institute!"

Green leans back. "What we want to know, Mr. Paxton-"

"Jake."

"-is what your intrest is in this."

"He owes me money."

Green cracks a smile.

"There was a time when any person who was a guest of a great lord was under their protection up until they left or were thrown out. A host being remiss in these was punishable by law. I guess...I see myself as a sort of great lord, and I want to find out what happened to one of my guests."

"Had any experience in investigating homicides?"

"Good a time as any to start."

He sighed and stood up. "C'mon, I'll escort you out."

"What about Murray?"

"He's enjoying the company of a Magnum in his old office."

"The gun?"

"No, he left some champagne in there after a party last month."