That had been a dumb play, all right. I didn't have time to curse my stupidity, though. I didn't care one bit for the idea of me having shot an SBI man. It was his own fault, but it wouldn't help my record any. "All right," I said, "so they were SBI men. That's tough--for them." "Why haven't we been picked up? I've been hiding out all day--but how did you get away with walking in Transolar in broad daylight and coming out again, if you didn't make some kind of deal?" She was gnawing on her lip. "Damn it, give me a reasonable explanation, and I'll forget the whole thing." That sent me off. I knew why I hadn't been picked up, all right--they were waiting for me to blow this deal open for them. Maybe, if I did that, they'd forget I'd killed one of them. I'd have to do a really good job, though. But I wasn't doing too much reasoning, right then. I'd been mad all night, but that was nothing to what I felt right then. I could feel a big red ball of pure rage building up inside me. My fingers started to tremble, and my vision got hazy. I swung out my hand and slapped the muzzle of the gun as hard as I could, and to hell with what it did to my bum hand. The gun went spinning away, taking skin off her fingers as it went, and crashed into a wall. I swung my hand back and slapped her across the face. She fell back and hit the floor. She lay huddled in a corner, looking up at me, her eyes wide and her mouth open with surprise. "You'll forget the whole thing, huh? All I have to do is explain away some half-baked idea that came into your head, and you'll forgive me, is that it?" I reached down, grabbed her shoulder, pulled her to her feet, and held her there. Her mouth was still open, and she couldn't get any words out of her throat. "You're going to _forgive_ me for getting me into a deal that involves killing SBI men. You're going to forgive me for having a guy that used to be a buddy of mine hate my guts, I suppose. You're going to forgive me for slapping my face, and I'm going to get your gracious pardon for having to fight it out for my life tonight against five guns. That's just fine! Is that supposed to cover getting shot and knocked around and slugged?" I hauled back and slapped her again. "And that's for pointing a gun at me! Twice. I live by a gun, and I expect to die by one, someday. But not at the hands of a woman who can't fight a man on his own terms, and has to keep him off with a gun after she gets herself into a mess. All right--you know how to use one. But, so help me, you wave one of those things at me again, and I'll ram it down your throat catty-cornered!"