Bishop Gravestone watched in comfort as the city raced past the tinted windows of his chauffeured limousine. Danzig had cleaned up as much as possible in the Philippines and was now tracking Vincent and his friend; it would not be long before he was rid of the bumbling idiot that had twice now failed to produce positive results. Why he had considered using him again bothered and baffled him. Bishop did not want to think that perhaps his judgement was slipping.

The limo swept around the shallow curve in the exclusive residential street and up a slow grade to the gated, colonial-styled mansion that Bishop called home. A remote signal from the car opened the gates, and it sped through without slowing, down the tree-lined drive and onto the crushed stone parking area beside a huge triple car garage.

He climbed out and made his way up to the front door, waving good night to his chauffeur. The door opened immediately and the young woman backed away, accepting the coat and briefcase with a polite greeting.

"Anything I need to attend to before I have dinner, Helen?"

"Nothing, sir. There was one call, but they hung up when I answered."

"Hmmm, okay. I'm going up to change and then I'll eat."

"Very good, Mr. Gravestone." The phone rang again and he paused at the bottom step as Helen hurried to answer.

"Gravestone residence."

"One moment please." She covered the mouthpiece and asked him if he wanted to speak. "The caller didn't say who he was."

"No. Tell whomever it is that I'm not taking any more calls this evening. They can reach me at the office tomorrow if it's important." He continued up the stairs listening to Helen repeat his instruction.

><><><><

"He's home now." Vincent hung up and rubbed his hands together.

"About time, this is the fourth bloody night we've tried this." Harley griped.

"Look, to try anything at his office would have attracted way too much attention. This way we only have one or two servants to worry about."

"So let's get on with it, I'm getting nervous about how long this is all taking. That Danzig guy could be getting close for all we know."

"Oh, so suddenly you're concerned about him?"

"Don't screw with me, Vince, let's just do what we decided to do."

"He'll have to damn good to track us here; it's the last place they'd suspect."

"Still, let's get goin'."

><><><><

Harley was more prophetic than Vincent was, as it turned out. The trail of their flight from Borneo to Canada was not difficult to follow. Danzig managed to pry everything he needed from airline personnel with very little trouble. When he settled himself in Toronto, he used various sources to further his search and was quite surprised to find that Vincent was actually able to fall off the radar. He called Gravestone and advised him that he was back and that he was tracking Crocadero right there in Toronto, but it was going slowly.

Gravestone left it in his hands, confident that Danzig would be able to clean things up with a little time wasted as possible. The break came when an informant revealed that he had seen Crocadero just the previous night, leaving a hotel with another guy in the city's west end. The hotel confirmed the descriptions of the two men who were guests and had been for almost one week. Danzig maintained surveillance on the hotel and was rewarded a short time later when he saw them both entering together.

Knowing where they were and how easily they could be reached, Danzig decided to take a well deserved break and treat himself to dinner and a show—something classier than the last performance he'd witnessed at the Love Pole. His choice was a private club that catered to well-heeled, anonymous patrons, where he enjoyed a fair meal of lobster and a pleasant Merlot. The entertainment was provided by two extremely attractive and physically endowed young women, who performed an erotic sequence that brought cheers from the assembled audience.

Danzig watched with a growing tension as some of the men reached out and stuffed bills into the panties of the dancers. He patted his pocket and dithered as to whether he should take a pill, then decided that the execution of his job should provide the necessary release and satisfaction. He finished his wine and paid the bill, casting a final, eager eye over the bold women thrusting their bodies forward to receive the proffered cash.

Danzig cruised by the hotel and parked where he could watch both the front entrance and the service alley at the side. With a CD of classical music playing softly in the car, he settled back and relaxed, waiting patiently and vigilantly. Almost an hour later he sat up and turned off the player, smiling as he watched Vincent and Harley leave the hotel and climb into a rental car that had been parked just down the street.

><><><><

"Okay now. Nothing rash until we see how he reacts to calling off his attack dog." Vincent patted the air, physically shaping his instruction. "We need to learn everything we can about Danzig first, in case Gravestone balks."

"I like that, 'first' part. The old bastard needs a good lesson in loyalty."

They left their car a few hundred feet down the road and walked back to Gravestone's entrance. The gate was locked but they were able to climb over where it was threaded through the bushes surrounding the property and make their way to front of the house.

Helen's eyes bugged out as Harley pushed through the open door, pressing a gun against the front of her uniform. Vincent closed the door quietly and held a warning finger to his lips. They moved quickly through the foyer to the dining room and ducked back when they saw Gravestone sitting at the huge table alone.

Harley pushed Helen ahead and the men followed, interrupting any reaction from Gravestone by waving their guns threateningly.

"What the hell is this? Vincent? What the hell are you doing?" He tossed down his napkin and prepared to rise but was roughly ordered back down.

"This is your loyal employees reacting to being put on the hit list of that psycho, Danzig."

Gravestone paled slightly and paused to gather his thoughts. "Now wait just a minute, Vincent. Who- where did you get the idea—?"

"Bishop, don't play that game. We've already confirmed it. What I don't understand is why. You didn't even give us a chance to explain or deliver what we did find out."

"And what would that be? That Gretta Lawrence found the site too? That she already informed her blasted CONGA of the whereabouts? That I paid for all this and got nothing?"

"But a chance! Shit everybody at least deserves a chance." Vincent spread pleading hands.

"You had yours, Vincent. And as for this hit list—"

"Can it, old man." Harley blurted. "We know, okay? Skip the bullshit."

"He's right, Bishop. Bullshit just baffles brains, and these two are woefully shy." The voice was tinged with a sarcastic, but sympathetic humour. Two shots roared in the room and the unsuspecting maid and a surprised Harley both fell where they previously stood.

Vincent darted behind Gravestone and held his gun to the trembling man's head. "I don't think you want to try the same shot with him, Danzig."

"Why would I bother? You're not going to shoot him. There's absolutely no advantage to be gained." He wandered to the table and helped himself to one of the sweet rolls Bishop was having with his dinner.

Vincent swallowed hard, so hard it hurt. Danzig was right; there was no advantage any more. He let his eyes wander over the dead maid and Harley and he saw his future.

"So Vincent. What now?"

"We only came here to ask Bishop to call you off. We didn't do anything to deserve this. If anyone's to blame it's that bloody Lawrence woman, if it wasn't for her we'd be counting the gold now."

Bishop pulled free and snapped at Vincent. "It's the second time you've let her beat you, that's why I got fed up. You're a bungler, Vincent."

"You hired me, what does that make you?" He knew he sounded petulant but he was shredding before their eyes. Danzig was smirking, as he poured himself some wine and Gravestone had actually turned back to his unfinished meal. He felt his string running out and he blurted more juvenile taunts.

"I notice you've never got the best of her, with all your smugness."

"Ho, ho, he's got you there, Bishop." Danzig sipped his wine and added some butter to his roll.

"Well?" Vincent poked Bishop in the back with his gun.

"Well what? You want to save your lousy skin, tell me how I'm going to get that gold out of the Philippines."

"Jesus you're cold, Gravestone. Your maid's lyin' there with half her face shot off and you just go back to eatin' and worrying about your gold."

"I've had a second thought, Vincent." He said, through a mouthful of fish.

Impossibly, Danzig was at Vincent's side without having seemed to move, his gun resting pointedly in Vincent's ear. Bishop wiped his mouth and turned in his chair.

"Whether I'm beaten or not, you were paid to win for me and you failed... again. Now you'll learn the price of that failure."

"I could pull this trigger and really spoil that fish dinner, you bastard."

"Not before I sent a bullet through the already existing hole in your head, Vincent." Danzig whispered menacingly. Gravestone waved them away with disgust as he turned back to the grilled lake trout on his plate.

"Shall we dance, Vincent?" Danzig applied a tad of pressure with his gun.

"Not in here," Gravestone barked. "There's already enough mess in here for one meal."