"Dry-fly fishin's my specialty," he said bitterly, "but no thank you! When I'm pittin' myself against a trout, it's my private purpose to be a better fisherman than he's a fish. Usin' what you've got would be like dynamitin' a stream. No sport in that! No! But this Big Jake, he doesn't act sporting with the public. I'd give a lot to stop him." "You'd get no credit for it," said Brink. "No credit at all." "I'd get the job done!" said Fitzgerald indignantly. "A man likes credit, but he likes a lot better to get a good job done!" Brink grinned suddenly. "Good man!" he said approvingly. "I'll buy your idea, sergeant. If you'll play fair with a trout, you'll play fair with a crook, and an Irishman, anyhow, has a sort of inheritance--I'll give you what help I can, and you'll do things your grandfather would swear was the work of the Little People. And for a first lesson--" "What?" "Big Jake discourages me," said Brink. "So I'll call him up and say I'm coming to see him. I'll say if he wants this business I'll sell it to him at a fair price. But I'll say otherwise I'll tell the newspapers about his threats and the four of his hoods in the hospital and the two others on the way there. Want to come along?" Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald reached his hand to where his service revolver reposed in its holster. Then he drew it away. "He's a very violent man," he said hopefully. "I wouldn't wonder he tried to get pretty rough--him and the characters he has on his payroll. If they have to be stopped from bein' violent by--what is it? Psi units? Sure I'll come along! It'd ought to be most edifyin' to watch!" * * * * * There was a clanging outside. Brink and Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald delayed while the two unnerved, helpless, and formerly immaculate gunmen were loaded into the paddy-wagon and carried away--to the hospital that already held four of their ilk. Then Brink called Big Jake on the telephone. Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald listened with increasing appreciation as Brink made his proposition and explained matter-of-factly what had happened to Big Jake's minions who should have wrecked the Elite Cleaners and Dyers. When Brink hung up, Fitzgerald had a look of zestful anticipation on his face. "He said to come right over," said Brink. "But he was grinding his teeth." "Ah-h-h!" said Fitzgerald pleasurably. "I'm thinkin' of the cab-drivers an' truck drivers that've been beat up. I'm thinkin' of property smashed and honest people scared.... Do you know, I'm terrible afraid Big Jake's too much in the habit of violence to stop, even if his eyelids twitch? It's deplorable! But on a strictly personal basis I think I'll enjoy seein' Big Jake an' his hoods discouraged by ... what is it Psi units? Yes!"