Phil found it difficult to believe that the man in front of them was Moe Brimstine. For one thing, his hair was red, even to the stubble on his cheeks and chin. For another, the eyes that Moe had always kept behind dark glasses were as small and squinting as a pig's. And although the fugitive from the FBL must recognize several of them, he didn't show it in any way that Phil could discern. He looked them all over stolidly, polishing the speckless bar with the immemorial soiled towel. For that matter, the whole bar looked much as a bar might have looked fifty or a hundred years before; robots could not supervise B-girls, nor had they ever been legalized as bouncers. "What's your pleasure?" the big red-head asked. Phil felt Carstairs' gun dig his ribs. He tried to wet his lips. "Mr. Brimstine, I want my green cat," he croaked. Moe Brimstine wrinkled his forehead. "That made with creme de menthe, chartreuse, or green fire?" "I mean my live green cat," Phil told him. "We don't serve drunks here," Brimstine said evenly. "Your friend's had one too many. What would you ladies and gentlemen care for?" Mary Akeley opened her handbag and laid the Moe Brimstine doll on the counter before her. She looked at it thoughtfully for a moment and with deliberate finickiness took off its tiny dark glasses. Its eyes were piggy. She smiled. She replaced the glasses and fished out of her handbag a hatpin, a pair of scissors, a small knife, a little pair of pliers, a sample size flame-pack, a tiny iron with insulated handle, and a white crusted black bottle, and lined them up in a neat row. "This isn't a powder room, lady," Brimstine said. "Order your drinks." Phil couldn't help but be impressed by the big man's composure, and then without warning he felt a gust of terror that he knew at once had nothing to do with guns behind him and could hardly stem from the childish paraphernalia for black magic Mary Akeley had set out. He could tell that the gust had hit Moe Brimstine too, for the big man dropped the towel and backed up against the shelves of bottles behind him. Mary Akeley said, "Mr. Brimstine, you stole the Green One, whom my husband adores as Bast. You are going to suffer until you return him." Her voice shook a little at first, then settled down to a cold and cruel monotone. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring my little rack and iron maiden, but these implements are quite adequate." She ignited the flame-pack and held the tiny iron over it. Phil heard Juno draw in her breath and Carstairs give a funny grunt behind him. The end of the iron grew red. Mary Akeley turned the doll over on its face and touched it lightly with the iron. Its pants smoked.