Norris frowned. "Look, pop, I've had a rough day. I _could_ start naming some things around here that need fixing--sanitary violations and such. Not to mention that sign--'dumb blondes.' They outlawed that one when they executed that shyster doctor for shooting K-108s full of growth hormones, trying to raise himself a harem to sell. Besides, you're required to keep sales records until they've been micro-filmed. There hasn't been a microfilming since July." The wrinkled face twitched with frustrated anger. O'Reilley shuffled to the counter while Norris followed. He got a fat binder from under the register and started toward a wooden stairway. "Where you going?" Norris called. "Get my old glasses," the manager grumbled. "Can't see through these new things." "Leave the book here and _I'll_ check it," Norris offered. But O'Reilley was already limping quickly up the stairs. He seemed not to hear. He shut the door behind him, and Norris heard the lock click. The bio-agent waited. Again the thought of a black market troubled him. Unauthorized neutroids could mean lots of trouble. * * * * * Five minutes passed before the old man came down the stairs. He said nothing as he placed the book on the counter. Norris noticed that his hands were trembling as he shuffled through the pages. "Let _me_ look," said the bio-agent. O'Reilley stepped reluctantly aside. Norris had memorized the owner's receipt number, and he found the duplicate quickly. He stared at it silently. "Mrs. Adele Schultz ... chimpanzee-K-99-LJZ-351." It was the number of the animal he wanted, but it wasn't the number on Mrs. Schultz's neutroid nor on her original copy of the receipt. He held the book up to his eye and aimed across the page at the light. O'Reilley's breathing became audible. Norris put the book down, folded two thicknesses of handkerchief over the blade of his pocketknife, and ran it down the seam between the pages. He took the sheet he wanted, folded it, and stowed it in his vest pocket. O'Reilley was stuttering angrily. Norris turned to face him coldly. "Nice erasure job, for a carbon copy." The old man prepared himself for exploding. Norris quietly put on his hat. "See you in court, O'Reilley." "_Wait!_" Norris turned. "Okay, I'm waiting." The old man sagged into a deflated bag of wrinkles. "Let's sit down first," he said weakly. Norris followed him up the stairs and into a dingy parlor. The tiny apartment smelled of boiled cabbage and sweat. An orange-haired neutroid lay asleep on a small rug in a corner. Norris knelt beside it and read the tattooed figures on the sole of its left foot--K-99-LJZ-351. Somehow he was not surprised. When he stood up, the old man was sagged in an ancient armchair, his head propped on a hand that covered his eyes. "Lots of good explanations, I guess?" Norris asked quietly. "Not good ones." "Let's hear them, anyway."