I parked Ol' Betsy about a block and a half away, gong the rest of the way on foot. I peaked through the iron gate, saw nothing and continued with my back against the wall, hoping those pivoting cameras didn't spot me. I got to a spot that was hidden by a hedge and stared at the camera on the left, and right of me. There was a four second gap where the section I was at wasn't on camera. I counted down, then leaped and hoisted myself up and over the wall. I closed my eyes and waited for an alarm to go off, but nothing happened. I continued along the wall and up the winding driveway until I saw the mansion. I looked up again at the rotating cameras and waited until I saw a blind spot. Finding it, I waited two more times before I ran and flattened against the wall of the mansion. This felt too easy; I kept looking over my shoulder as I moved to the rear of the joint. I stopped where the building ended and peaked around the corner. Taking up a considerable section of the property was the hugest satellite dish I ever saw in my life. This thing could probably pick up signals from Jupiter if aimed right. My eyes followed a thick cable coming from the dish, going into the ground and coming up at the base of the mansion's wall.

I moved along the wall, still dodging the cameras, until I got to a double glass door. I peered around the frame and saw it was dark inside the room. I let my eyes adjust and found it empty - no sign of movement whatsoever. I dropped to my hands and knees by the door and took out the leather pouch. I took out several picks and tried them on the lock until one worked. I held my breath, opened the door and ducked inside.

Even in the gloom, I could see I was in Curtin's office - the one he got bumped off in. I padded across the room, heading for the sliver of light coming from under the office door. I opened the door slowly and listened. I could hear the lovebirds talking about something, but the sound was coming from above, from the second floor, and I couldn't make out the details. I opened the door a little further and saw what I assumed was the door to the room where the satellite cable lead to. I went to the door, hoping that the pick that opened the French door, would do likewise with this one. The Big Guy must've been watching, because it opened as nice as you please. I closed the door quietly behind me.

I ran my hand against the wall, located a light switch and flicked it. About a dozen 250 watt spotlights went on.

"Well, call for Phillip Morris. Now don't this beat all?"

It was a very large black room that was intersected by white gridlines running along the ceiling and the floor.

That was it. No furniture. No shelves. Nothing. Just blank black walls with the white gridlines. I jammed my fists into my hips and stared and thought. It reminded me of the monitor that mug was fiddling with at the Megapix offices. But it also looked too sparse. Minimalism I've seen, but this was ridiculous!

Then my mind, as it tends to do, thought of a movie; The Old Dark House. A real chiller-diller. Seemingly innocent looking room was filled with secret openings and hidden passageways. On a whim, I began to slide my hands along the wall, pressing and prodding. I heard a soft click and the section of the wall I touched receded into the wall then rose and lifted into the ceiling. On a lit rack I could see hundreds of DVD movies, their labels showing the titles.

Stunned, I leaned against the wall, which shifted, receded, and rose, revealing several computers, all emitting a low audible hum. I looked down and noticed a large drawer at the base of one of the computers. I opened it and slapped my hand across my mouth. In the drawer were hundreds of those flying computer thingies. I froze on the spot, waiting for one of those things to move, but none of them did. I closed it with the toe of my shoe and took a few steps back for good measure.

I removed my small mini-camera from the pouch and walked up and down the wall, taking shots of everything. When I stopped to reload, I noticed a switch marked, Virtual Reality Emitter. I leaned forward to take a close-up shot, but I couldn't read the label. I leaned forward even more and lost my balance, the corner of my hand hitting the switch. All at once, the computer's hum rose a decibel and an octave. Not knowing what I did, I backed away from the rapidly blinking panel, and not wanting to hang around and find out, I headed for the door, in search of Chuck.

I hadn't made three steps when a large and heavy hand wrapped itself around the back of my neck and flung me backwards across the room. I saw my heels skim the surface of the floor, then felt my back, shoulders and head slam into a wall, which I slid down, landing on my kiester. I looked up, shaking away the cobwebs, and found my vision blocked by the huge Mr. Pratt, who was slowly coming for me.

I stood and looked around for something I could use as a weapon, and found nothing. The thing smiled at me, which didn't make me feel any better. Pratt reached out, but I latched onto his/its wrist, ducked under his armpit, and went for a shoulder toss. I managed to lift the monster off his feet, but the thing simply relaxed and sent me face first into the hard floor, with him on top of me. As the room went black, I was glad I wasn't seeing stars again.

Tweety-Bird was shooting me the raspberries, though.

I woke up to bright lights stabbing my eyes. I peeked out from behind my lids, which sent a sharp pain to the center of my head. I was still in the black room, but there were only two spotlights on in front of me, otherwise the room was black as pitch. I tried to stand, but found myself attached to a chair with thick course ropes. The ropes went around my wrists, then followed around my chest. They were tight enough to hold me firmly in place, but not enough to nix the circulation in my arms. That would be to my advantage, should I ever get out of this fix. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I spied two familiar figures standing in the center of the spots. On one side stood Cook and on the other, Pratt. I could see a slight movement between the shadows, but couldn't make out who was there.

"Welcome, Mr. Beal. You took longer getting here than I imagined. I'm happy to see you are among the living; for now."

I knew the owner of that voice. Not personally, but I had seen enough of his movies to pick it out.

"Didn't know I was expected."

"Your being here was a simple method of deduction. When Mr. Sullivan's transmission began to break up, we switched on the monitor, changed DVDs, and watched your actions. Quite entertaining. Seems there was a small virus in the programming. That has since been corrected."

I felt myself smile. No one but one person had that ability of sounding courteous, ingratiating and threatening all at once. No one but . . .

"Okay, Mac. Who are you supposed to be?"

"Why, the Professor, of course, Mr. Beal. Don't tell me you've forgotten me already?"

Peter Lorre walked into the light, smoking a cigarette in an ivory holder. He was as young and as skinny as he was in the Falcon, but without the skin tint, rouge, lipstick and curls. He wore a suit exactly like the one Price wore earlier, and carried the same walking stick. As he stepped forward, he came to a stop. Somebody was playing with the remote again. I glanced over to Cook and Pratt, but both were equally paused.

"I think Mr. Beal's had more than enough demonstrations for the night. What do you think, my dear?"

Out of the shadows walked Baxter and Mrs. Curtin. He was holding a small remote control in his hand. He tapped a button and the all the lights went on.

Finally, answers. Now we're getting somewhere.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the lovebirds. What have you done with Chuck Phizer? And would you mind explaining what the heck is going on around here? "

I directed my question to the shyster; for the widow, I shot her a wink. The mug didn't seem to notice, but she did.

"The Lieutenant is safe for the time being, Mr. Beal. You know? I thought you would have figured all this out all by yourself."

"Humor me, Angel."

"All right then, as you probably guessed, our hush-hush secret project is an interactive virtual reality projection unit, which my husband perfected before his untimely demise. Due to legalities, Frank could not explain to you and your detective friend this afternoon that the movie studios had offered only a measly twenty-five to fifty million for it, with nothing on the back end. Mere pocket change in comparison to an offer of one-hundred million for the first shipment alone. Certain individuals in high government positions want to use it to create the perfect assassination squad. Because of Leonard's technology, you could transmit, say the T-1000, from Terminator 2, into any secure area. Once there, like in the movie, the T-1000 could transform itself into anything it wanted, until it completed its programming by seeking out the chosen target, kill him and vanish into thin air."

"Okay, I got the gist of it. But how did it get there, wherever there is, in the first place?"

"May I continue, Victoria? I don't want you to drain yourself; you've been through so much in the past few days."

"Always thinking of me, Frank darling? I think you worry a little too much."

"You know I know how sensitive you . . . "

"Excuse me. I don't mean to break up this romantic interlude, but could one of you get on with it before I fall into a diabetic coma?"

"If you do fall into a coma before the night's over, Mr. Beal, I personally would consider myself quite lucky."

"Dream on, Shyster; dream on."

He shot me a dirty look and walked past the still frozen Lorre to the control panel.

"I will attempt to explain this so even you will be able to understand it."

"Don't strain your brain, sweetheart."

"What we do is select a movie from our vast array of programmable DVDs you see before you, download the character of your choice into our bees."

"Bees?"

He reached into his pocket and held one out between his thumb and forefinger. He looked at it like he was looking at a mega-carat diamond. Based on the thingamabob's price tag, I guess he was.

"Yes, Mr. Beal. That is what we call them. Within these seemingly harmless objects is a microscopic holographic imager. It not only creates a three dimensional image, but, using a hard light process, gives them density. Leonard's nano?technology also makes them easy to program, completely interactive and able to select the proper response to any outside stimuli, questions, or simply interact. It, like certain computers, is almost sentient. It also has a tracking range of five-hundred miles. Now by that look on your face, I bet you're wondering how a image kills, say, with a gun?"

"No I wasn't, Shyster - that was gas. But don't let that stop you; you seem to be on a roll."

He let that one go by. I could tell I wouldn't be allowed too many more.

"To create something like that, you need more than one bee. A bee for the image, a bee for the gun, and several more for bullets, etcetera. And once it has completed it's programmed task, it self destructs. No evidence at the, how would you put it, scene of the crime. You can call it, a very smart bomb." He chuckled and held his hand out to the widow. "Darling? Please?"

Angel pulled one of the DVDs from the rack and handed it to Baxter, who put it in an open port in the computer. He hit a button on a keyboard and Peter Lorre blipped out of the picture in a small puff of smoke. Baxter then presses a button marked 'PLAY' and one of the wall's panels became a monitor screen, which showed the opening credits of Citizen Kane. He tapped a button and the film accelerated. He finally pressed 'PLAY', then a 'PAUSE' button, freezing the screen on Orson Welles as old Charles Foster Kane in bed.

"We then download the image into the Virtual Reality setting."

He returned to the console and tapped a few more buttons. A bee in his pocket flew out and hovered in front of me. I tried to remain cool, but I had a sudden picture of Freddy Kruger's gloved talons coming for my eyes.

I don't mind telling you, I was scared.

And I don't scare easy.

The thingamabob began to glow. Then the glow began to pulsate. Then the throbbing light expanded and became Wells/Kane, and his entire bed. I felt like a kid watching his first magic trick, I was truly amazed. I was looking at a real hologram. I've seen a lot of weird things in my life, but this was the cat's meow. But, in comparison with the other holograms I've seen today, this was not up to snuff. It was clear as crystal, but was flat and transparent.

Baxter caught my look and moved back to the console.

"Then use the Virtual Reality Emitter, which gives the two dimensional characters substance, and overlays it with a hard light image for density."

The black and white image began to shimmer, then began to bulge, and became three dimensional. I could see definition. I could see the individual hairs of his scruffy mustache. I could see the wrinkles in his covers as he breathed. I glanced over to Baxter. I didn't think this was the ta-daa. He tapped a few keys on the control board, then skipped over to Wells/Kane.

That's right. Skipped.

Call me old fashioned, but I never trust a mug who skips.

"Rosebud."

On cue, the snow globe in his dead hand rolled off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. But instead of breaking, it bounced twice and rolled against my foot.

I felt it when it hit. I was impressed.

"Okay, you convinced me on this." I used the tip of my chin to point at the Frankenstein monster, still wearing that oversized Armani suit. "But how about the change to modern clothes? And the skin tone. They weren't like that in the movie, y'know?"

"The latter is far more simple than the former. All we have to do is apply the system's colorization technique, refine it with Leonard's morphing program to add simulated clothes, and/or weapons, which over-writes the original costume, or prop. Like so."

Baxter tapped a few more keys and Wells/Kane sat up on the bed and sharply pulled the covers off. He hopped off the bed wearing a green plaid sport jacket and bright yellow shorts; on his feet he wore pump sneakers. He was smoking a long stemmed pipe, which appeared fully lit, and looked younger.

Wells/Kane stepped in my direction and placed a friendly hand on my shoulder.

"Mr. Beal, I presume?"

I looked at the shyster, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"Speak to him, Mr. Beal. That's the civilized thing to do."

I ignored that remark and looked up at now-living legend.

"Uh, yeah. That's me."

"Really a shame we have to meet under these conditions, Old Man. I really would have liked to speak to you at great length; possibly do a interview for my newspaper."

"Your . . . newspaper?"

He looked at me slightly dumbfounded, then fisted his hips and let out a huge laugh.

"Of course, Old Man! The Inquirer! The biggest newspaper on four continents!"

He continued to laugh, slapping my shoulder, like I was an old pal. Then he stopped suddenly and gave me look of complete surprise. The next second he vanished in a single white blip. In his place was one of those bees, just hovering in mid-air. Then the bee suddenly burst into a puff of smoke. When the mist cleared, I could see Baxter's finger pressed against a button on the keyboard.

"Which is exactly they way we eliminated Leonard."

"Where did Duncan Taylor fit in all this?"

Mrs. Curtin sashayed over to Baxter's side, a cat-like smile on her beautiful face.

"He was needed to sign and authorize the government contracts. Nothing more."

"Okay. But why knock him off? He was just a harmless paper pusher."

A sour look plastered itself on the shyster's kisser. Whatever the reasons why they bumped off old man Curtin and Taylor, he took it personal.

"Like Leonard, the old fool felt sharing the new technology with the Government would be morally wrong. He was sure they would use his technology in an actual battle. Of course they'd use it for war! There's a great deal of money in war! Besides, Duncan knew how Leonard was killed. He was a witness; an acceptable loss. "

"You're a real humanitarian, Shyster."

"Leonard just failed to see the true potentials of his technology. Well, I hope you have enjoyed our small demonstration, Mr. Beal, but I'm afraid that in the next ten minutes, you, as well as the good lieutenant, will no longer be among the living."

"You never did tell me what you did with Chuck, Shyster. I don't like unanswered questions."

"As we said earlier, he is safe. For now. You two will be joining each other in due time."

We locked peepers, daring the other to blink first. That got stale real quick.

"Have it your way. Then one last question, Baxter. Why did you sic the wax museum on me? And why the old flicks at that? You could have probably done more damage to me using some of the creatures they play in movies nowadays."

"That's two questions, Mr. Beal."

"So sue me; I was always lousy in math."

While Baxter glared at me, the widow ran her tongue across very sharp and white teeth.

"May I, darling?"

"Of course, my dear."

"We knew you were investigating his death ever since we caught you hacking the computer in his office."

"The red lights! Cameras! If you got 'em here, why wouldn't you have them at the office? Well, wasn't that a genius maneuver."

"Wasn't it? As for your other question, you seem to have this fixation with old movies. We felt you were getting too inquisitive and thought it would be an appropriate tool to discredit you, get you to question your sanity, and leave the Lieutenant no alternative but to ban you from the case." She came in close enough for me to smell her perfume and to feel her heat. "Tell me the truth, Jake. You thought you were losing your mind, weren't you?"

"Yeah, Angel. Have to admit, you almost had me going for a while there. Your brainstorm?"

"No, Jake. That was all Frank's. That's quite a movie obsession you have. You almost made it too easy."

Ouch.

"Me, I understand - but where does Chuck fit in?"

"Your friend had the lab report on the bee found in Leonard's library. It seems Leonard's secretary, Ms. Marlowe, took a fancy to the Lieutenant and told him more than he needed to know. We get rid of you and your friend, the lab tech, then Ms. Marlowe. No witnesses."

"Nice and tidy."

Baxter stood there, eyeing the two of us. By the look on his face, he didn't like what he saw.

"With you and Phizer and the rest out of the way, Victoria and I could sell his technology to the highest bidder without any interference."

"You're not going to start that and-we-will-rule-the-world malarkey, are ya?"

"Hardly. Besides, I'm only following orders."

I stared at him for a few beats, then it sunk in.

"You're only . . . Angel? You mean you're behind all this?"

"I'll ignore that chauvinistic tone, Mr. Beal. You see, with Leonard and Taylor out of the way, Megapix is all mine. I used to work in R & D for Megapix before I married Leonard. I understand the technology. I just needed Frank to handle the legalities."

"And all this time, I thought you and the Shyster were an item."

They exchanged looks, and began to laugh, like I said the funniest thing in the whole wide world.

"Want to clue me in on the joke?"

"Victoria is my sister!"

"Your sis . . . very cozy. Don't this keep it in the family?"

"Frank darling? Please have the Lieutenant join his friend."

"Of course, my dear."

Baxter turned back to the computer and tapped a few keys, making Pratt return to his animated state. The thing shambled to the wall, opened a panel in a section near the computer and dragged Chuck out. Chuck, who was bound and gagged, was dragged across the room and unceremoniously dumped at my feet. Pratt returned to his original position and froze in place.

I looked at Chuck. He was conscious and was trying to say something from behind the gag. The widow came forward and removed it.

"You okay, Chuck?"

"Fine, Jake. You were right all along!"

"A little late coming to that conclusion, Bub. Jer tells me you met the Hunchback of Notre Dame and Jimmy Stewart?"

The shyster stomped his foot on the tile floor and glared at us.

"Enough!"

I looked deep into the widow's eyes. She looked back, and how! She placed a calming hand on Baxter's arm.

"I really don't care about the Lieutenant, Frank, but do we have to kill Jake? He amuses me."

"Oh, really, Victoria! Haven't you grown out of your slumming phase yet?"

"Do we, Frank?"

He turned towards me with a sneer on his lips. He looked me like a was a bug ready for extermination.

"You know my feelings about Beal, Victoria, but I'm in a sporting mood. Let's leave it up to the gumshoe. So what's it going to be, Mr. Beal? You still could join us. There'll be plenty of money going around."

"What do you think, Shyster?"

He stared deeply into my eyes and again shook his head. Angel began to pout, but didn't seem surprised.

"Sorry, dear. No witnesses, remember?" His face brightened and he looked at me with a look I didn't like. "I have an idea! Why don't you run along and I'll follow when I've finished with our guests?"

"Promise you won't be long?"

"Of course, my . . . "

"Oh, this sounds very strange."

Baxter was about to fire off a snappy response when Peckington-Smythe opened the door.

"Madam. Sir. Please pardon the intrusion."

"What is it, Peckington-Smythe?"

"Detective Gerald Blessing is here to see you, Madam. And he appears to have brought . . . reinforcements."

The widow spun and faced the shyster. I spotted a crack in her gilt facade.

"Frank?"

He, on the other hand, was as cool as a cucumber.

"We'll both go upstairs. Let me do the talking; it will sound better. I'll explain that, as the family attorney, you requested me to stay overnight to handle . . . certain contractual things."

"Hey, Shyster! Want a microscope to locate that contractual thing you're handling?"

He turned and took a step forward. A vein throbbed visibly in his temple.

"That's it! I've had enough of you!"

He hauled back and walloped me one. I felt something warm drip from the corner of my mouth to my chin. I looked back up at him. I smiled.

"Nice one, sweetpea. You're gonna love it when its my turn."

Baxter puts his arm around the widow's nicely shaped shoulder and lead her to the door. He took a second to look over at me.

"Don't touch that dial, Mr. Beal. We'll be right back. Tell you what; why don't you, the Lieutenant and Mr. Pratt have an in depth discussion on minding your own business?"

The shyster pulled the remote out of his pocket, and with the same hand tapped a button as he closed the door. Junior came to life, looked around and spied me. By the time he started walking towards me, I had already untied myself. Gotta remember to send a thank you card to Jack Damian. Now free of the chair, I undid Chuck's ropes.

"You must show me how to do that, Jake."

"Your training begins tomorrow, Chuckie, if we're not in traction by then. We've got to stop Junior. Follow me."

"But we're running towards it!"

"The computers, Chuck! I've got to shut that thing off!"

The monster roared and lunged at us, teeth bared. I faked a move to the right and went into a slide between his legs, popping back up on my feet and dashed to the computer. I looked over my shoulder to see how Chuck was doing; not so good. Pratt's huge hands were closed on Chuckie's neck, and was lifting him off the floor.

"Jake!"

"Keep your shirt on! I'm working as fast as I can!"

I had to concentrate for all I was worth - Chuck's life was on the line here. I had a photographic memory and had to remember the sequence the shyster tapped on the keyboard to activate which function. Hearing my friend scream my name behind me wasn't helping any.

I couldn't get it! I turned and saw Chuck's eyes rolling back. I spun towards the DVD racks an began lobbing them at Junior's head. DVD after DVD bounced harmlessly off the thing's squared skull. I had to do something to get him to draw his attention from Chuck.

"Hey, ya mug! It's me you want!"

My legs suddenly felt like rubber.

"Now what did I go and say that for?"

Pratt slowly turned his head towards me and dropped Chuck on the floor. Chuck began gasping for air and back-peddled away. The thing snarled and reversed speed towards me.

"Oh, I've got a biiiig mouth."

The giant's arm swung at my head and missed. I feinted to the left, and began to move to the right, back to center, then to the left again. I changed the order several more times, hoping to beat feet in a direction it didn't expect I'd go. It tried to follow my directions, but because of his locked legs, he stumbled over his own two feet.

"Ya dope! Never played street football, did ya!"

Pratt straightened and placed his hands on his hips, waiting. That caught me off guard. The thing just stood there, watching me jump and run around like a monkey. I realized how much I was taken off guard when I didn't catch his arms coming around in a straight-armed clap, with my head between his palms. I felt an explosion in the center of my skull before I felt the pain. I suddenly knew what a walnut felt like. My eyes crossed, my legs became wet noodles and I sunk to the floor.

"Tweety-Birds, stars, and flashing Saturn's; this I can deal with."

Pratt wrapped his hand around my neck and lifted me from the floor. My eyes focused enough to see him drawing his fist back to deliver the coupe-de-Gracie, when a DVD caught him in the eye. He dropped me and screamed in pain, as more plastic boxes peppered his face and chest. The thing screamed again and went for Chuck. I reached out and wrapped my arms around his leg, trying to trip him. The thing ignored me and dragged me across the floor. I began to get hit with ricocheting DVD boxes.

"Stop with the throwing and push the third left button on the right computer, for Christmas sake! That should stop him!"

Chuck dropped the DVD boxes, turned and pressed a button; the wrong button. The whole room, except for the open sections on the wall where Chuck was held hostage and the computers and DVD racks, changed its graph configuration to the actual black and white laboratory that was in the 1931 Frankenstein movie. When the room reconfigured, the thing's arms, which were reaching out for Chuck, found themselves stuck between two globes that were connected by a sparking string of electricity. The monster and I both screamed as I-don't-know-how-many volts went through us. I felt the electricity spark off the fillings in my molars. I thought I heard Radio Belgium.

"The left button, ya maroon! The left!"

Junior pulled its arm out of the current and reached down and slapped me in the head, trying to make me let go.

"Hey! Watch it, ya mug! That hurt!"

The hard stone floor changed to expensive tile and dozens of shoes came at me. Pratt, momentarily stunned by the visual change, stopped in his tracks, allowing me to be trampled by dancing men and women. When the first wave ended, I looked up and saw a young, smiling Orson Wells, dancing a Can-Can. I was now a part of the party for Charles Foster Kane in Citizen Kane.

"Will you please press the button I tell you!"

A second wave of dancers went over me, faster this time, as the tempo of the music sped up.

"Ow! Watch where you're going, will you? Ouch!"

Kane, still grinning, looked down and extracted the cigar from his mouth with two fingers.

"Sorry, Old Man. Didn't see you."

The vibrations on the floor told me I was in for another stampede.

"Chuck! Will you hit the right button for the love of Mike!"

"I'm trying! I'm trying! That thing knocked out my contacts!"

"Wonderful."

I closed my eyes, expecting a leather shower, when I felt the ground turn hard and cold. I could hear the sounds of traffic going by, and the sound of people calling out their wares. I opened them and saw myself in 1930s New York. The streets were lined with pushcarts selling fruits, hats, clothes, any and everything anyone could ever want. Junior, who's leg I was still attached to, growled in confusion. I looked up to see a very young Billy Hallop, Huntz Hall and Leo Gorcey, coming out from behind a fence. All three of their jaws dropped, they spun on their heels and darn near killed themselves running down the block, screaming hysterically.

The room suddenly returned to the grid pattern and Junior, who was now an arm's length from Chuck, froze in his tracks and blipped out. Me, now holding air, went mush first into the floor.

"You took your sweet time."

"I couldn't see!"

I stood up and joined him at the computer, dusting myself off.

"We've got to get out of here. Do I have to play seeing eye dog for you?"

I saw Chuck's hackles go on that one, then his face brightened and he reached into his jacket pocket and took out an eyeglass case. He opened it and put on a pair of specs.

I shook my head and punched him in the shoulder.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"You could have put the cheaters on about thirty feet ago, for one!"

"Cheaters?"

"Not now!"

Chuck glanced down into the section of the wall he was held captive and reached in, coming out with our heaters. He passed me mine while I studied the computer. If this didn't work, we might need the guns. As long as the shyster had that remote, he could set off anything, anytime.

My eyes fell on a bank of DVDs marked, SECURITY. Each slot was marked for a different section of the house. I found the one labeled, HOLO-ROOM, and spied a green light, telling me it was still recording. I popped it out of its recess and held it up for Chuck to see.

"Remember Curtin's paranoia? Writable DVDs. These dopes never shut off the security system! They were being recorded all the time! We have our evidence!"

"If we ever get out of here alive."

"Oh, we'll get out. But we're going out with a bang."

"What do you mean?"

"Just going to give the shyster and the widow a taste of their own medicine; Jake Beal style. Use my movies against me, will you?"

"You know how to operate this thing?"

"Don't have to. Remember my Polaroid mind? All I have to do is remember the sequence he entered." My eyes had never left the computer panels and keyboard - I smiled. "Okay. I got it. Now pass me the movies I tell you from the rack and watch the fireworks."

Chuck and I quietly opened the door from the Holo-Room and spotted a quaint tableau. There was Jer, standing there listening to Baxter's malarkey, trying his best not to stare at the widow. The widow, on the other hand, was dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, while the reject from a drawing room comedy stood quietly at her side.

"So after we identified Duncan, we came back here."

"Mmmm. I see. By chance, has either Lieutenant Phizer, or Jake Beal stopped by in the past hour, Mrs. Curtin?"

The widow snuffled and shook her head. Baxter gave Jer a sympathetic look.

"So sorry, Detective Blessing. The last time we saw the Lieutenant was at the station this afternoon. We then met Mr. Beal coming out of that Smiley's place. Can't say we've seen either of them since. And Mrs. Curtin and I have been here all evening."

"Gee, Baxter; you hurt my feelings. And here I thought we was pals."

They all turned. The shyster, the widow and the stiff's mouth dropped open. Jer face contorted in what I assumed was a smile.

"Chuck! Beal!"

"Still as sharp as a bowling ball, Jer. Now I really hate to break up this little clam bake, Baxter, but I'm curious; aside from Jeeves, yourself and the Missus . . . "

I pulled out a pack of smokes and lit one.

" . . . who else is in this joint?"

Baxter was about to say something, when Jer grabbed him by his lapel.

"I thought you said you hadn't seen then since this afternoon?"

"Uh, no one, Mr. Beal. The other servants and our security staff have left for the night. Why do you ask?"

I smiled and took a peak at my wrist watch.

"Well, Angel, by my watch, you have a few seconds before this place gets interesting. Chuck, Jer; arrest the Shyster and the lady for the murder of Leonard Curtin and Duncan Taylor, for attempted murder of Chuck and myself, roughing us up, and for messing up my duds."

I felt Chuck's eyes bore into the back of my head.

"Hey! Dry cleaning ain't cheap, ya know."

Baxter pulled away from Jer, grabbed Jeeves by the arm and swung him into Jer, and the other boys in blue by the door. He then grabbed the widow by the wrist and made a break for the stairs.

"Halt! Or feel the point of my blade!"

At the top of the stairs, brandishing a very sharp saber, was Basil Rathbone. He came down the stairs slowly, snake-like, dressed as the villain from The Mark of Zorro.

Baxter pulled the remote control from his pocket. Before he could shut down Basil, the remote was plucked out of his hand by the tip of a saber. It was caught in the gloved had of Tyrone Power, dressed in Zorro's flowing black cape, flat black hat and mask. A toothy grin was plastered on his face.

"It would be very wise of you not to move a muscle. My friend here is quite exceptional with a sword. And I'm not so bad myself. Senor Jake! Catch!"

Power flipped the remote to me, which I caught, one handed. I looked at the remote and saw my fingers depressing a few buttons. I quickly placed it in my pocket and crossed my fingers I didn't bollix it up.

The butler, Jer and the boys were just getting up when Baxter pulled a quick U-turn, hauled Jeeves to his feet and pushed him into the crowd, making a hole. He ran out the door with Mrs. C in tow, leaping over the sprawled bodies.

They made it to the driveway just as a chair came crashing through one of the upstairs windows. It spiraled over their heads and came crashing onto the asphalt in front of them. They looked up in time to see Errol Flynn, sporting his Robin Hood duds, swinging down on a rope. Flynn leaped the last ten feet, landed in a crouched position, and rapid-fired four arrows from his bow. The arrows landed inches from Baxter and the widow's feet in a neat line.

Chuck and I were on the lawn, watching. Jer, and two of the boys came up behind us. Without looking, I knew they were all amazed by what they were watching.

"Beal? What in hell is going on?"

"I'll explain later, Jer. In the meantime, just be quiet and watch the fun. Though I do suggest you guys move your kiesters closer to the gate, unless you want to get mussed up."

They looked at me, at Errol Flynn, who was fitting a fifth arrow in the bow, Powers and Rathbone, coming up behind them, their sabers at the ready, then back to me. They hot-footed it over to a safer distance.

Flynn stood to his full height and promptly sat down on a throne that wasn't there a second ago. The bow, arrows and quiver on his back disappeared. He threw one leg over the throne's arm, a flagon of ale blipped in one hand and a broadsword aimed at their throats blipped in the other. Baxter and Victoria Curtin held onto each other, not knowing which way to turn.

"Hey! Rob!"

"Yes, Jake, dear boy? Are you in need of assistance?"

"Naw. Could you escort these two crumbs to where the fat slob and the boys in blue are standing?"

"Is that all? Certainly!"

He flipped the flagon over his shoulder and leaped to his feet.

"If you would be so kind to walk in that direction? I would hate to have cold steel mar such a beauteous visage as yours, fair lady."

"Rob! Can the mush and move 'em out. Okay?"

He turned and gave me a sweeping bow that was coated in sarcasm.

"At once, my liege!"

He motioned over to where Jer and the others were standing with the tip of his sword. They obediently walked in that direction in silence. Though I thought I heard Flynn hiss behind my back, Barbarian! Wiseacre.

Jeeves came up to me and began pawing my sleeve. He looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"Mr. Beal! Mr. Beal!"

"You're touching me. And you're wrinkling the material. Now go over there with the rest of them."

"Please, Sir, tell these officers I am just a lowly butler who was following or . . . "

I brought him up to eye level by sticking a finger up his nose and lifting.

"Shaadup! Now move, or do I have to get rough?"

I released him and Peckington-Smythe hurriedly moved over to where Jer stood with the siblings and started bending their ears. I looked around and watched the entire estate begin to fill up with famous characters from the movies, each one materializing out of thin air.

I heard a familiar roar behind me. I turned and saw Pratt standing there, but dressed in his original Frankenstein's monster costume. His hand was raised above an old large switch that was fused to the door frame.

A shot rang out. I looked to see which one of Jer's boys had an itchy trigger finger, then heard a second shot and realized it came from over my head. The boys had their weapons drawn - I waved them to put them away and pointed up.

Cagney/Jarrett was on the roof of the mansion, rocking back and forth, gibbering and drooling like a madman. He was shooting off his gat, aiming in front of him, but not at any particular thing. The bee-bullets he fired, burst into puffs of smoke as soon as they left the barrel. Fortunately for the boys, I tossed in a few safety protocols. Cagney/Jarrett was suddenly knocked over by a bullet from a high powered rifle.

Below, Edmond O'Brien, who had blipped next to Chuck and the crowd on the lawn, played Fallon, the undercover Fed in White Heat who was firing at Cagney/Jarrett. When the rifle went off a second time, Angel screamed, and a twitch began to flutter in Chuck's left eye. Fallon looked above the rifle sight in confusion.

"What's keeping him up?"

Like in the film, Cagney/Jarrett fired a shot into the roof, causing a pillar of flame to shoot out at his feet. The mansion began to tremble, like it was in the middle of an earthquake. Chuck, who was checking on group, moved around O'Brien/Fallon and over to me. We looked at each other. I was just as shocked as he was. My hand pushed the remote deeper in my pocket.

"Jake! What did you do?!"

"Uh, don't get mad, Chuck, but I think I might have overloaded the machine a little."

"I thought you said you know how to use the damn thing?!"

"Oh, so now its my fault? Who kept pressing the wrong buttons?"

From the front door, Pratt let out a howl and grasped the switch that had morphed on the frame. He pointed at the crowd and gazed at us through sad eyes.

"You go! We belong dead!"

At the same time he pulled down on the lever, Cagney/Jarrett stood with his arms raised above his head in psychopathic triumph.

"Made it, Ma! Top of the world!"

The sound of explosions filled the mansion. Windows on all four sides blew outward, and the crowd hit the ground. Fireballs shot through the sky, lighting up the grounds around the building. Then the entire foundation burst into flame, turning the mansion into a raging inferno.

Baxter, seeing everyone's attention was focused on the burning mansion, slowly backed away. He didn't make it too far. He collided with the Three Stooges' Moe Howard.

"Watch where you're going, numbskull! Spread out!"

Moe V'd his fingers and stuck the shyster in the eyes. We all heard the trademark poinking sound.

Angel moved to catch the blind shyster as he fell backwards, only to find herself directly in front of the remaining Stooges, Curly Howard and Larry Fine. Curly grinned out of the side of his mouth and stepped forward, tipping his two-size-too-small bowler hat.

"Hey, Babe! Want to cut a rug? Nyuck-Nyuck-Nyuck!"

Larry grabbed Curly by the seat of his pants and dragged him back a few feet, taking his place up front.

"Beat it, stooge! This one's for me. Lovely moonlight, huh, toots? Let's you and me get away from these uncouth slobs."

Moe, who was standing behind Larry, glared at him with his hands on his hips. He grabbed him by his frizz and pulled him backwards as well.

"Who are you calling uncouth? I'm as couth as the rest of 'em."

"Yeah!"

Moe nodded to Curly in agreement and promptly did a double take.

"Who asked you to speak, Cueball?"

"Yeah, Cueball! Who asked you?"

"Talkin' out of turn again, eh, porcupine? The frail wants a gentleman! So, am-Scray!"

Moe reared back and slapped them both with one swing. Larry tried to hit Moe, but fell for the old pick-out-two bit. Curly held his fist under Moe's nose as a warning. Moe sneered and slapped the fist down, sending Curly's arm pinwheeling around until his fist struck him on the top of his own bald head. Larry swung a roundhouse at Moe, who easily ducked underneath the oncoming punch. When he popped back to his feet, Larry, who had spun in a circle on his toes, nailed Moe in the jaw at the end of the revolution.

Their tête-à-tête was interrupted by a loud roar. The Stooges turned to see the Creature from the Black Lagoon raising his finned hands at them.

"NYAA-AHH-AHH-AHH!!!"

Larry and Moe's hair went straight up; Curly's hat raised above his bald pate. They ran off towards the tennis court with the Creature right behind them.

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy blasted us from our left on full volume. I turned to see the Andrew Sisters, snapping their fingers and bopping to the beat. They were accompanied by the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra. Well, all-reet! I loved that number!

Within seconds, I was bouncing with the beat as well. The music was so infectious, I began dancing in place. Chuck looked at me like I was crazy. I grinned wildly at him.

"Hey, Jackson! Let's grab some action! Let's cut ourselves a piece of rug!"

I grabbed Chuck by his wrist, jittering him to the left, then bugging him to the right. I was about to throw my leg over his head, when he pulled away - the twitch in his eye was beginning to find a life of its own.

"Get off me!" His face went blank, then he squinted at me.

"Cut a piece of rug?"

I stopped dancing and stared at him.

"Cut a rug - as in, to take up a spot on the floor when you dance; or simply, to dance."

"Oh. No. That's alright."

We heard the soft snap and hiss of a match being lit. We turned to see two horses harnessed to a western style buckboard. Despite the fact that they were holding cocked rifles in their laps, Steve McQueen and Yul Brynner, in costume from The Magnificent Seven, were calmly watching the events. Brynner joined McQueen in a smoke by sticking a thin black cigar in his mouth, lighting his match against the rough wooden seat. Through the flame, I could see his dark eyes meet mine. He shook the flame out, winked at me and snapped the reigns, sending the horses into a trot. McQueen tipped his hat to me as the wagon pulled away. Riding in the back of the wagon, laughing through a heavily chewed cigar, was Alfonso Bedoya, dressed as his Mexican bandit character in The Treasure of Sierra Madre.

Meanwhile, the boys in blue were drooling at Marilyn Monroe, who was standing in front of them on a subway grating that had morphed into the lawn. She was barely holding down her billowing skirt, but the boys did not move to help her.

Baxter, who was still loose and trying to find an escape route, noticed that Chuck was equally transfixed by the ex-Miss Norma Jean Baker. The shyster ran up besides him, and before I could move, snatched Chuck's gun from his hand. He held it on us and backed away.

"I have no argument with you, Lieutenant, and I don't want to have to use this. Beal, on the other hand, is a different story."

"Hand over the gun, Baxter; you're in enough trouble as it is."

Chuck moved forward and Baxter aimed the heater at his nose.

"Back away, Lieutenant."

"Go on, Chuck. The Shyster and I have a few things to discuss."

"But, Jake . . . "

"Do it, Chuck." I looked over Chuck's head as he backed away and spotted Jer and his men begin to take aim. "You, too, Jer! Call 'em off, Chuck! Let me handle this!" When the officers holstered their weapons, I turned my full attention to Baxter. "Now, Shyster. What did you want to say?"

"You ruined everything, Beal! My sister and I had everything planned, and you ruined it all!"

"My gums bleed for you."

He raised the gun at my eye level. His eyes looked at the black metal and back at me. His lips twisted into a sneer and he tossed the gun away.

"I don't need this to take care of you, Beal."

"Oh, great! You're going to talk me to death!"

"On the contrary, Beal. I'm going to teach you a lesson."

He quickly moved forward and caught me in the mid-section with a jab. I backed away from the next blow, and countered with a right cross, that he easily swatted away. I tossed a left, then a right, and another left, but Baxter just calmly slapped each punch down.

"We going to play slap and tickle all night? There's a Frank Capra retrospective on in an hour I want to catch."

"I'm sorry, Beal. Will this do?"

He spun on his heel and did a wheel kick - the side of his shoe connected with my jaw. Before I could recover, he did a reverse wheel and connected with the other side of my face. I tried to shake off the blows, but he came at me with punches, chops, slaps and more kicks. I back peddled out of his reach; he bounced from foot to foot. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

"I should have warned you, Beal. I'm an expert in Tai Chi Chuan and Tae Kwon Do."

"Sorta guessed that, Shyster. Then it is only fair to warn you that I am an expert in Bronx Chi Kwon."

"Bronx Chi Kwon? Never heard of it."

"Well, let Daddy show you how it's done."

"Sorry, Beal. No time. This ends now."

Baxter backed away a few steps, screamed like a banshee and launched himself through the air with a flying kick.

I, on the other hand, locked both hands into a fist and went into a baseball slide, connecting with his southern region. The shyster's scream went up three octaves and he crumpled to the ground. I got to my feet and dusted myself off.

"Yep; five years in the Bronx. There are just some things you never forget."

I walked over to him and reached down, grabbing him by his hair and lifted him to his feet. I wrapped his tie several times around my fist and backhanded him with my free hand.

"That's for Chuck."

I let him fall backwards, only to send a pile driver to his gut.

"That's for trying to drive me nuts."

I then gave him five quick jabs to the button.

"That's for the love tap back in the basement."

The Shyster surprised me by head butting me. I went back and felt a drop of blood go into my eye.

Baxter, who was still unsteady on his feet, swung at me with a half-hearted wheel kick. I reached out and caught his heel inches from his face.

"Now, where was I? Oh, yeah." His face paled; he knew what was coming. I kicked him in the obvious place and let him drop. "That was for Ol' Betsy. And don't think you're going to get out of paying for the damages!"

I glanced at my watch. Things were getting screwy with the programming I set, but a couple of things hadn't showed up yet. I was wondering if the system would blow a gasket before my big finish. Then I heard a clarinet mournfully wailing. I turned and saw the Benny Goodman Orchestra, circa 1937. There was Teddy Wilson, Harry James and Ziggy Elman, calmly sitting in their places, smiling, watching Benny work the stick. Lionel Hampton was wiping the handles of his mallets with a cloth, while Gene Krupa, soaked to the skin in perspiration, was tightening the keys on his snare. His damp hair hung in his face, and he rapidly chewed a wad of gum. He glanced up in my direction and shot me a grin and a wink. They were doing Sing! Sing! Sing! and were at Benny's solo.

I always envied Pop when he told me of the Goodman concerts he had seen when he was a kid. Not any more, Pop.

Not any more.

I spotted Chuck moving towards me from the gate, so I met him half way. Baxter, who still had a little in him, ran unsteadily towards the house. I placed a firm hand on Chuck's sleeve, stopping him from following.

"But he's getting away, Jake!"

"Where's he gonna go? The placed is surrounded." I looked at the burning mansion and the Shyster staggering across the lawn. "I sure hope the system doesn't blow before the program ends."

"What are you talking about?"

I didn't have to answer. I just pointed.

"Look!"

At the exact moment Benny and the boys ended Sing! Sing! Sing!, a small red fireball started spinning on the wall in the center of the second floor. In seconds, it became a gigantic flaming wheel, tears of flame spitting out in all directions, blocking the entire mansion from view. The shyster came to a stop and fell to his knees. He turned and looked over his shoulder and shuddered. I suspected he came to the realization that he didn't have the strength to run back towards the gate before the ball of flame went up. His whole body went limp as a soggy dishrag and he fell face forward on the grass.

But that's not what I programmed.

The words, Merry Melodies, written in script and canted on an angle, ran across the wall of crimson fire. Popping his upper torso through the flame, a giant Porky Pig, wearing his brilliant royal blue blazer and bright red bow-tie, gave a smile and a slow wave.

"Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-Dat's All Folks!"

Porky and the flaming pinwheel turned black and vanished in a pin point blip. A loud Boooo-Whoop echoed across the grounds.

One by one, Flynn, Rathbone and the rest of my pals slowly began to fade out and dissolve in a white blips, leaving small bursts of white powder in their wake. By the time the smoke literally cleared, it was just me, Chuck, the sibs, Jeeves, Jer and the boys in blue. I turned to Chuck with a grin.

"Case closed, Chuck. Take these bums away."

One of Jer's boys grabbed Baxter, who pulled away and latched onto my trench's lapels.

"Where's the proof, Beal? All the evidence you think you had is in there! No court will believe any of you! They'll think it was mass hypnosis, or . . . "

The words died in his mouth when I pulled out the security DVD box, the words HOLO-ROOM visible for him to see.

"You never shut off the security cameras, genius. Everything that happened, even your admission of the deaths of Curtin and Taylor, are on this disc. But what do I know? I'm just a gumshoe. A wannabe-Bogart, didn't you say? You're the Shyster; you think this is enough evidence to convict?"

His whole body seemed to shrink inside that custom made suit. To most, he probably looked smaller, older than before. But I knew that look from experience.

The shyster looked beaten.

Jer grabbed his arm, snapped a pair of bracelets on and led him away. He turned and gave me the fish eye, then turned away. I knew that was as much of a thanks as he would ever give.

"Thanks again for your help, Jake."

"Always a pleasure, Chuck, my boy. Always a pleasure."

"May I speak with Mr. Beal before I go? Privately?"

Jer was just about to put Angel, who also sported a pair of bracelets, in one of the patrol cars, when she piped up. All eyes turned towards me. I nodded and she came forward. I walked her out of earshot.

"Jake. It doesn't have to be this way."

"It doesn't?"

"No. I could plead as an accessory; you can back me up. I'll tell them it was all Frank's idea; that he made me do it."

"Yeah? And what's in it for me?"

"Me, Jake. You can't tell me you didn't feel something back in your office?"

She then hooked her cuffed wrists around my neck and kissed me; deeply. I kissed her back, just as hard. I stepped back and looked over at the waiting police, then back to her.

"Sorry, Angel, I'm going to send you over. Chances are you'll get life. That means if you're a good girl, you'll be out in twenty years; I'll be waiting for you. On the other hand, well, I'll always remember you."

"Jake!"

"I won't play the sap for you. You see, Angel, you run hot and cold. The hot I can only imagine; the cold I don't like." I took two steps back and turned around. "Chuck! Get her out of here! If I never see her again, it'll be too soon."

As they took her away, I lit another stogie. Though I never smoked the real ones, part of me considered starting a new habit. Chuck came over and placed a strong hand on my shoulder.

"You okay?"

"I'll have a few sleepless nights, but I'll get over it. Roughed up much?"

"No. I'm fine. Let's go home, Jake."

"Yeah, Chuck; it's been a long night."

We made our way across the huge lawn, past the smoking debris of the mansion. A headlight from a police car shined through the smoke in the distance. We walked into the swirling mist, towards Ol' Betsy. I looked around and started to chuckle.

"Chuck?"

"What, Jake?"

"You know, Chuckie; this could be the beginning of a . . . "

"Oh, no you don't! I'm not going to let you set me up like that!"

"But, Chuck . . . "

"Don't but, Chuck me! Even I saw Key Largo!"

"Key Largo?! That's the last line from Casablanca, you dope!"

"No it wasn't."

"Yes, it was!"

"Oh, yeah, wise guy? Then what was the last line in Key Largo?"

"What does that have to . . . "

"You don't know, do you?"

"Chuck!"

"I don't believe this! I stumped you! I stumped you good!"

"It ain't that way at all."

"Don't pout, Jake."

"I ain't pouting, ya berk!"

"Berk?"

"Now don't start on that!"

Unfortunately, this argument continued until I dropped him off at his house. But that's the sort of thing pals do, don't they?