Don't like it, but this is getting complicated. I steer Mic out of the warehouse, and think about sending Blackie off to find Becky. The message is simple. See me --DC's at nine. I tweak my ear, to call Frank on my implant, which amuses Mic who doesn't know about it. Too many guys around here beating up everybody. I got rights to protection, Frank's got manpower. Besides, too many mokes for me to round up, and I am too close to Semperton's place. Never hire muscle you can get for free.

The hospital guy, Davis, is somehow in this up to his neck, whether he works for Semperton or not, and now I owe him one.

Doesn't take Frank long. Three Black and Whites hustle onto the lot, skidding a little. No sirens, but their lights are on, a code two response. Looks like Frank almost trusts me. Slams the car door behind him and comes on at a jog. A little red in the cheeks, maybe.

"We going downtown again, Wander, or is this legit?"

I point to the three goons sprawled around. "Assault and battery, high-jack, attempted destruction of property, cruelty to animals, and unless I've missed something, they have no reason to be on this wharf; I don't think they are employees, so maybe trespassing and B&E. There's more in the warehouse. Mic here can give you a video of some of it."

Mic perks up. "Already done, I transmitted the video log to your cruiser's database."

Frank shoots a quick glance across the street, then eyes me narrowly.

"Awful close to Semperton's place." Frank notes.

He waves some cops back from the warehouse, to check out the guard-shed, two more shuffle over to the half loaded truck. This is really going to save me some time poking around, as I've developed a sudden interest in Michael Davis.

Blackie limps up, lifts his nose to Frank. "Bad men."

Frank scowls down at the mutt. "I'll take the dog's word over yours. So let's hear it, Wander."

I start going over the events of the day. Frank stops me when I get to my visit with Semperton.

"You talked with Semperton? Sure this bunch isn't his?"

"Don't know. Don't think so though."

A cop pops out of the shed, shuffles up to Frank, a crime scene journal flapping in one hand. "Lieutenant, the shed was full of surveillance equipment. A directional mike, a microwave scanner, binoculars, bunch of stuff. Looks like they were staking out Semperton from here."

Frank glares alternately at the cop, then me. "Shit. Call in. See if there's some Fed task-force watching Semperton. Ritchie, so help me, if you've smashed your way into some federal stakeout, I'll fry your ass." Then to the cop, "go find out what was in the truck, then get me some word on the warehouse."

The cop snaps to. "Yessir."

I'm thinking while puzzle pieces continue to rain down. Let's say Semperton's not working with Davis, who is snooping Semperton, maybe from the shed here. These goons weren't Feds. I can smell Feds a mile away. Does Becky know it's Semperton she's been dodging? Semperton sniffed at the cube, but it isn't what he's looking for, he wants something else from the girl. Something of her Dad's. What? Everyone's dancing around each other. Whatever it is, Davis is worried Semperton might have it, or maybe Becky, since he went after me through Mic.

I didn't mention Mic to Davis, but if he was hot enough to bug Semperton, he probably knew about Mic from the police files, or from the hospitalized goons. As to the investigation of Becky's father's death, Semperton could care less. Like it was a non-issue.

Somehow, that didn't seem right. If Semperton had some hand in the murder, why wasn't he more interested in what details I had turned up? He treated it like an annoyance, like some con skipping bond. He was betting Becky had whatever it was he wanted; Davis maybe not sure, but guessing Semperton did. Nothing conclusive there, but that's how it shapes up. That hospital geek, Davis, is fast rising to the top of this cesspit, bobbing there shoulder to shoulder with my client, truth wise. No hospital researcher has goons on staff, or the money to pay them.

Normally I could care less. The more the client holds out, the longer an investigation takes, which is money in my pocket. But this was costing me in grief.

It's looking more likely Becky was right though. Her dad was in the middle of something that could have got him murdered. There was motive in the air. All this buzzed around her father's projects. Bet Becky's old man had her in the operating room too, not sure what that meant, if anything. I am not a big believer in coincidence though. She was in the hospital the same time her old man had reserved the operating theater. Maybe not a fall, and maybe not Semperton's work, either. Turns out, the truck is stuffed with high tech medical equipment. Is there a black market for that? Probably, but somehow I get the feeling Davis is fitting up a private lab somewhere. If the stuff was for the hospital, it would have been delivered there. Not shipped to the port dock for pick up. Oh, I remembered, Davis was in charge of ordering supplies for Becky's dad. Huh.

Frank decides six goons and a bunch of contraband, backed by three eyewitnesses, are enough of a haul for one day and lets us go.

Me, I'm really looking forward to seeing Becky.