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father’s brainstorm or your mother’s idea, the bearded lady? And what’s the ‘R’ for — Runt ?”
    From behind, Rillie says, “Oh, shit!”
    I guessed right about flying fists. He comes up with a pretty fair uppercut. His quickness catches me off guard.
    I step back but run into Rillie before I’m far enough to avoid the full blow. His knuckles catch the edge of my chin, and it hurts like hell.
    He follows with a roundhouse left. The guy is good. His meaty paw is large for his height. His fist glances off my bicep as I block, but it catches me in the ribs. That punch puts stars before my eyes.
    I return with a snap-kick to his groin, but he’s ready. He twists to the side, blocking with his own thigh.
    I’m impressed.
    Time to regroup. I’m thinking I’d like to push off the outside door and fly at him, but Rillie is still behind me. I chide myself for being unprepared as I step backward again, pushing Rillie into the closed entryway.
    I can’t help but admire this railroad bull. He’s tough, and he doesn’t jaw-jack about it, he just acts. Still, he doesn’t like Doc.
    “You’d better back off,” I tell Dye. “Or you’ll regret it for the rest of a very short life.”
    Out of the side of my mouth, I tell Rillie in a low voice, “When I tell you, shove me as hard as you can.”
    I feel Rillie’s foot on my butt after I turn back to the little man. I’m not giving her more than a foot of room, so I’m sure she must be as limber as a circus contortionist — that’s a titillating thought. But the image that pops into my head is distracting in a particularly unpalatable way; Rillie, the beautiful rubber girl, standing between the detective’s midget father and his bearded-lady mother. That mental picture I don’t need right now.
    “Threatening an officer of the law?” Dye grumbles.
    I answer, “Let’s put it this way, you’ll never sucker punch me again. I gave you two strikes.” I don’t tell him that he got the strikes for disliking my father and not for punching me twice. “One more swing and I’m up to bat.”
    Without hesitation, he comes at me like some kind of ninja hamster. I’ve never faced anyone so fast. And his short but powerful punches are real whoppers.
    This time, I’m busy blocking, his fists and feet flying at me. Hamster, hell, he’s like an octopus armed with rotor tillers.
    “Now!” I yell out, and Rillie answers with one hell of a shove.
    I’d underestimated Rillie’s strength, as well. I’m vaulted inside the railroad dick’s punches so hard, I bowl him over and to the floor. I’m on top of him in an instant. Standing little chance wrestling my thick-muscled adversary, I somersault off him, back onto my feet on the other side and then give a smile to the four other office workers at their desks ogling back at me.
    When I turn toward him, he stands, and I give him a snap-kick to the face. I don’t wish to kill this man and end up back in prison, so I ensure my effort doesn’t strike him in the bridge of the nose. My toe lands squarely on his cheek, and I snap it back and return it into his chest, then again into his gut and a fourth kick into his groin — all within two seconds.
    As he collapses to the floor, Rillie picks up a three-foot pipe wrench leaning against the wall, and she steps up behind him.
    Dye is somehow able to raise his head, preparing to get to his feet, but Rillie rears back the long steel tool and whacks him on top of the brain cage.
    I cringe. That blow alone could have killed a normal man. But this guy’s about as normal as a three-peckered billy goat—and every bit as tenacious. He’s shaking the blow off, his eyes fluttering.
    I point at him and order, “Stay down!”
    He’s putting his feet underneath himself to stand when Rillie swings the big adjustable plumber’s wrench a second time.

Chapter 4
    Stepping in Chicken Schmidt
     
    I frowned at her as Officer R. Yule Dye’s face hit the floor. “Damn, Rillie, don’t kill