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“Not in here you don’t,” she said.

It was the big man in front who searched us. Somehow I’d known it would be. His power beat against my back like a nearly solid wall of power. Shit. He patted me down like he’d done it before. He found the knives at my wrist and back, as well as the guns. He also found the cell phone but placed it on the bar in front of me instead of taking it.

You could see the effort it took for Bernardo to let the man touch him, pat him down, take his gun. He also took a knife out of one of Bernardo’s boots. Anything was an improvement over the last crime scene, but the day really wasn’t going well.

“Can we stand up now?” I asked.

“Not yet,” she said.

Bernardo gave me a look that said plainly if he died, he was coming back to haunt me because it was all my fault.

I kept my voice calm, tried to make sense. “You know I’m Anita Blake. You know why I’m here. What else do you want?”

“Harpo, check the man’s wallet. Find out who he is,” she said.

Harpo? The big man, the vibrating mountain of mystical energy was named Harpo. I said none of this out loud. I really am getting smarter.

Harpo took out Bernardo’s wallet. He’d stuffed Bernardo’s ten mil down the side of his pants and my Browning on the other side. I didn’t see the Firestar or the knives. Maybe he’d stuffed them in his pockets. “The driver’s license says, Bernardo Spotted-Horse, but there ain’t no credit cards, no pictures, no nothing.”

The woman’s eyes had gone back to pitiless. “You say he’s a close friend?”

“Yes,” I said. I was beginning to get scared again.

“He your lover?” she asked.

If she hadn’t had a shotgun pointed at me, I’d have told her to go to hell, but she did, so I answered. “Yeah.” I was trusting that Ramirez knew what he was talking about, that I needed to belong to a man. I hoped the lie was the right answer.

“Prove it,” she said.

I raised eyebrows at her. “Excuse me?”

“Excuse me,” she mimicked, and that brought low rumbling laughter from the rest of the room.

“Is he circumcised?” she asked.

I hesitated. I couldn’t help it. The question caught me too far off guard. I swallowed, and said, “Yes.” I had a fifty-fifty chance, and being American and under forty I had a better than even chance.

She smiled, but it left her eyes like empty glass. “You can stand up now.”

I fought the urge to wipe my hands on my pants. Didn’t want to insult her cleanliness, but I also wanted desperately to wash my hands. I moved closer to Bernardo, as if I wanted a hug. I even put my left arm around his waist, though I wondered if I was getting his nice white shirt dirty. His arm slid over my shoulders, but I’d really just wanted out of the line of fire of the damned shotgun. I was betting it was on a stationary mount and not a swiveling one. I hoped I was right.

Her hands were back in plain sight. A good sign. “Drop your pants, Bernardo,” she said.

I felt him tense beside me. We both looked at her. I started to say excuse me again, but Bernardo said, “Why?”

I’d have asked her to repeat it, just to make sure I’d understood her. He just asked why, as if this had happened to him before.

“So we can see if you’re circumcised.”

I moved my hand out from behind Bernardo’s back, standing close together but not entangled in each other’s arms. We might be in for a fight after all. “I said he was. Isn’t that enough?”

“No. You see, you’re right. You do work with the cops a lot. You alone might have been okay to see Nicky, but him, we don’t know anything about him. If he’s your lover, then fine, but if he’s not, then maybe he’s a cop.”

Bernardo laughed, and the sound startled all of us, I think. “Now that is a new one. Me being mistaken for a cop.”

“What are you, if you’re not a cop?” she asked.

“Sometimes I’m a bodyguard. Sometimes I’m someone you need to guard the body against. Depends on who’s paying better.” His voice sounded very sure of itself, very matter of fact.

“Maybe you are, and maybe you’re not. Drop the pants, and we’ll