While I tried to take the gun away before it went off again Hoyle got in some double-quick punches. We rolled and grunted and kicked and suddenly he wasn't there anymore, and I found my feet, but he was outside and racing down the alley where a car waited at the far end. It was Ruzzo at the wheel. Didn't know which one. Hoyle made the running board, and they took off.

No sign of Mitchell.

Faustine.

I turned and choked, for she seemed to be huddled in a vast pool of blood until the mass of brilliant color resolved into being her kimono. Took a whiff. The only bloodsmell was my own.

Went to her quick. She stirred and cautiously opened an eye. "Es over, yesss?"

"You okay, doll?" At a loss to help I plucked at the kimono.

A smile. "Amer-i-kans, zo shy." She gracefully found her feet, slipping the silk wrap around her lithe body in one move. She was unhurt and beaming. "Es like Jeemmy Cagney seen-e-ma, yesss?"

About two inches from where her head had been was a bullet pock in the brick. "Oh, yeah."

"But Jek, you are heet?" She spotted the bloody graze in my side.

"Faustine!" Roland hurtled toward her from the hall and grabbed her up. "I heard shooting! Jack... ! My God, what's going on? Darling, are you all right?"

The last was aimed at his wife, who had a ready explanation, except it was in fast-flowing Russian, which he clearly didn't understand.

I went to the alley door, looking both ways as I emerged into the cold wind. All clear. No Mitchell, and no bouncers, either. I shoved the door shut, took a chair off a stacked column of spares in a corner, and angled it under the doorknob. Randomly, I thought I'd better get a new lock, the kind that only opens from the inside.

Faustine recovered enough English by then to provide Roland with the beginnings of a highly dramatic episode of how she'd saved my life. He seemed to be getting more upset by the second, so I skipped toward the main room. The second I was out of sight I vanished, not inclined to see anyone on my way to the lobby. I materialized in the a blind spot in the curving hall leading to it and kept going.

All four bouncers were gone.

"Where are they?" I roared at Wilton. He looked ready to duck behind the bar, and the hatcheck girl went "yeep!"

and did duck under her counter.

"The men's room," he said, astonished.

All of them? If they were having a craps game, I'd have their balls on a-

I pushed in, loaded for bear, and found them sprawled or heaped on the floor like so many bodies after a battle. I froze for a second, thinking the worst, but one of them groaned. To a man they'd been coshed. From the way they were lying, they must have been lined up and hit one at a time. Even Ruzzo could have done it with no trouble, one to hold them in place with a gun, the other to swing away like Babe Ruth on a Sunday.

Checked them quick. Alive. Fortunately. The man that groaned opened his eyes and squinted. "Boss? Wha'

happened?"

Went to the door and yelled for Wilton. He came in and gaped. "Boss, what happened?"

"Look after them, make sure nobody dies."

As I left, the groaning guy made it to a urinal and began throwing up.

I returned to the backstage hall the same way, but going solid more slowly to make sure no one saw. No need to worry. Waiters clogged the place, all looking in the same direction. Faustine was apparently telling her story again, this time with sound effects and gestures. She pointed with finger and thumb, not needing the pistol Mitchell had left behind. That lay forgotten on the floor where it had dropped in my fight with Hoyle. I quietly pocketed it again.

" 'I vill keel you, you dirdy radt!' Zen beng-beng-beng off goes de gun, but Jek leaps on de bedt guy like de mad tiger!

Ah! My heee-rrro!" Faustine beamed at me, parting their ranks as she flew through them to throw her arms around me. Suddenly she was kissing both my cheeks and planting more all over my face. Roland rushed over, too, and grabbed one of my flailing hands, pumping it.

"Grand work, sport!" he yelled, as though I'd gone deaf.

"That will teach those rowdies! You saved her life! I can't thank you enough!"

Teach who? I wondered. What had she been telling them?

"Uh... well... yeah, okay, glad to have been of help." I managed to get out of Faustine's grip, firmly guiding her toward Roland's protective embrace. "C'mon, guys! Show's over, get back to work!"

"What happened, Boss?"

"Drunk customer. He's gone. Now, back out there while we still have others. If anyone asks, you don't know nuthin'."

"But we don't know nuthin'," one of them grumbled as they filed past, disappointed.

I leaned against the wall and rubbed my face. My hands came away red, but it was only Faustine's lip color. The vivid red spooked me for a second.

Roland gallantly gave me a clean handkerchief. "I'd like to talk when you're recovered."

He got a vague nod. Mopping the war paint, I looked past him and saw Escott frowning severely at me. I was everyone's favorite tonight. He waited until Roland and Faustine went by to get to their dressing rooms.

"That man was with Kroun the other night," he stated. "His lieutenant?" He said lieutenant like it had an "f" in it.

"Yeah. Mitchell."

"What has he done to upset Bobbi so much?"

"I donno, but he used to run with Slick Morelli's mob. He kept saying he and Bobbi were old friends. I warned him to keep clear, but he-"

"Indeed he did, and you nearly gave me heart failure with that vanishing business."

"It was dark, everyone's drinking, they're welcome to prove it. How's Bobbi?"

He frowned a bit more, which was going some. "She is in a 'state.' Extremely distressed."

I started past him, but he caught my arm. "Jack, make her cry, and I'll murder you."

And he knew how to do it, too.

I shot down the hall to the number three dressing room and very softly knocked. The show was still going on, with Teddy doing his best to fill in. Bobbi didn't reply, so I pushed the door open.

"Bobbi? Honey, you okay?"

From the bathroom came a long exhalation of breath. She emerged, wobbly, clutching a wad of tissue in one hand like a soggy bouquet. "No." Her voice was too high. She stared at the blood on my shirt. "Are you hurt? I heard a shot, but Charles made me stay."

"It's nothing, I'm all better, everything's fine. I took care of the guy. He's gone. He won't be back."

"You know who he is?"

"His name's Mitchell, and he's with a guy named Kroun outta New York. I heard he'd been with Morelli before that and didn't want him bothering you... I'm sorry."

She sat at her dressing table, back to the mirror. "You knew about Mitch?"

Mitch. She called him Mitch. Why was that? "Only that he left when Gordy took over. Strome told me."

Bobbi didn't exactly cry like Adelle, but expressed similar symptoms, subdued, but intense, right on the edge. "Did Strome tell you why Mitch left?"

"What is it? He hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No." She turned toward the mirror and dabbed her eyes. The damage wasn't too bad. I realized she could no longer look at me straight, though I could see her fine, front and back. Why wasn't she looking at me?

That crap Mitchell said... "He told me Mitchell wouldn't play second fiddle under Gordy."

"Nothing more?"

"Listen, if you don't want to talk about it..." I wanted to hold her, but something told me not to try. I had the sudden feeling of treading on eggs.

"Oh, it's nothing horrible. He's-I'm acting stupidly about the whole thing. He just surprised me showing up so suddenly like that, and then you..." She dumped the wadded tissues in a basket and clawed more from a box on her vanity table. Blew her nose a lot. That seemed the end of it, but tears were leaking out now. She stood and made the limited rounds of the room, fiddling with stuff, trying very, very hard not to lose control. "Anyway, he's long gone, right? You made him leave, so everything's fine. You don't need to be worrying about... oh, don't LOOK at me like that!"

I backed off. I didn't know how I was looking at her. "What?"

Bobbi made a strange wailing noise and fled into the bathroom, slamming the door.

I called to her. All I got in return were the big, racking, moaning sobs of a full-blown breakdown. "Honey? What is it? Bobbi? Come on." I'd never seen her like this before, and it was scaring me. Somehow dealing with Adelle had been so simple, and this... wasn't.

Well, I'd been assured by Adelle that just holding her had been the right thing to do. This might get worse if I waited.

I vanished, sieved through, and re-formed. Bobbi was on the toilet lid with another bouquet of paper to sop up the outpour. My appearance startled her.

"Not fair!" she yelled. "No! Not fair! You leave! I don't wanna-"

I did what I did with Adelle, arms holding close and tight. Bobbi hiccupped and sobbed, stuttering, and finally broke into a steady shower and, oh, God, didn't I hate every minute of it.

After forever went by, she wound down to a slow finish, and was a dandy mess from the effort. Women never look good crying unless they're on a movie screen. That's how you can tell it's acting.

She blew her nose for the umpteenth time, but still sounded stuffy, and her voice was thick. "I'm sorry."

"Honey... whatever it is... it's okay." And I meant that. I didn't want her going off the deep end again, or I'd wind up in a booby hatch.

"It's about Mitch."

"I kinda figured that. Bobbi, whatever it is, it won't make me hate him any less."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know, but please don't cry anymore. Say the word, and I'll make him disappear, but please..."

Sniff. "Okay, Jack."

"You want him gone?"

"Not the way you're thinking. I just don't ever want to see him again. That's all I want. He j-just brought all the bad stuff back, and I don't want to go through-"

"Okay! It's done. He won't get within a mile of you, I promise."

"Oooh, now my head hurts."

"Don't move, I'll get you something."

I backed from the room, watching her as though she might vanish like me. Halfway down the hall was Faustine, still in her kimono. Roland and Escott watched from the far end, hopefully out of earshot. They had worried faces and were smoking. They both knew better than to do that backstage, but it wasn't the time to play theater cop.

"Jek?" said Faustine, halting me.

"Yeah, not now, I gotta..."

She held a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. "Heerrre. Take eet. Gif her thrree, make her drink whole glessfool."

"Uh..."

She arched both eyebrows. "Men! Zo 'fraid ov leetle tears. They are de rain ov lof. Now go beck, feex et. Don't come out until she lofs you again! Go!"

I went.

Bobbi settled down after the dosing. She apologized some more, and I told her it was all right and unnecessarily held my breath, but she didn't bust out afresh, so that was good.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" I belatedly thought that I should have sent Faustine in to do this. Women were better at it.

"This was a couple years ago," Bobbi began.

I nodded.

"Back then it was like I knew everything, yet nothing at all. You know how that is?"

"Several times a night."

"Remember how it was with me and Slick? When we first started it was great, and then it got so he decided he owned me, and I couldn't get out of it. If I did, he'd mess things up for me in every club in Chicago. In order to sing I had to keep myself available and do what I was told."

I nodded some more. I also felt rotten to have to hear all this, knowing how much it tore her up.

"M-mitch was one of the boys there, and he liked me. A lot. For a while I thought he could help me. He said he could get me clear of Slick, and we'd go to Hollywood. We were so careful and it seemed safe and he was much nicer than Slick."

That side of Mitchell I couldn't begin to imagine.

"We planned out everything. I figured what to pack into two suitcases, and it was hard, because I was leaving so much behind, but it was worth it for being with him. Starting over. No mistakes this time... then Gordy showed up at my hotel flat.

"He knew Mitch and I were going to run away, when we planned to do it, the works; it was like having your mind turned inside out and read like a book. I denied it all, but he went real patient like he does and told me not to be a sap.

Slick was beginning to suspect, and if he told Gordy to find out for sure, Gordy would have to tell him."

"Did Gordy talk to Mitchell?"

"No, not then he didn't. Only me. Gordy was nice about it, but he scared the hell out of me. He didn't threaten or anything like that, he just told the truth, very quietly. If I didn't cool things off with Mitch, I'd disappear. There was another guy there, Sanderson, and he did whatever Slick told him, even killing a woman if that's what Slick wanted."

"I remember him." It would probably be decades before the memory of how Sanderson died faded from my mind.

Knowing that suddenly made carrying it a little easier.

"So Gordy broke me, not with threats, but with kindness. He said 'You're a good kid in a bad place, an' I don't wanna see you hurt.' He made me hungry for something I didn't have, and I thought maybe he wanted the same, that that's why he'd come, because he wanted me, too, but Gordy said no. I was cute, but it wouldn't work. Then I begged him to help me get out, and he said that wouldn't work, either. The only way I'd leave was when Slick got bored with me. It would take time, but would happen sooner or later. I'd have to accept that I was Slick Morelli's girl until he decided different."

I'd known some of the story. Didn't make it easier to take, though.

"So I got real busy with my work and rehearsals and couldn't sneak off with Mitch, and Gordy looked out for me and would come up with ways to keep him busy, sending him out of town to do stuff. That's how I finally figured out Mitch was only in it to have the boss's twist and a laugh on him. If he'd really loved me, he'd have found a way around all that and..." She drew and puffed out a deep breath. "And then... then one night you showed up."

"Well, we know what happened after that."

"Glory-hallelujah. When the dust settled and Gordy took over he sent Mitch to New York. He might have left anyway, but Gordy said Mitch had been bragging to the guys that with Morelli gone he'd be 'inheriting' me. That was the word he used."

"Nice guy."

"That's why I was thrown so hard when I saw him. The look on his face was so... so damned smug, and I knew what was going through his head. He thinks he can-"

"Not going to happen, lady. You tell me what you want, and it's there on a silver platter or heading east on the next train. Unless you want to tell him yourself." It was a genuine question, not a joke. Bobbi was sometimes touchy about her battles and tended to fight them herself.

She shook her head. "No! I don't want him anywhere near me. I wouldn't know what to say and he'd go all nasty and then I'd want to belt him and he'd hit back and..."

"Okay! It's solved. He's gone."

Bobbi gave me a look of pure and powerful love and launched up to hug me. It felt good. "Thank you. For this time, anyway. I got to handle stuff like this better. Something else is bound to crop up-"

"No, it's not. Nothing's left in that barrel of woe. It's empty and dry, and we'll bust it up for kindling and roast hot dogs over the fire."

A strange light came to her face as she pulled back to look at me. "Oh, Jack, I do love you."

I almost froze up at that, but miracle of miracles, did not. No shakes, no chill, only warmth. From her and for her.

The other night I'd been terrified about getting close. Tonight... not so much. I welcomed the familiar heat of her touch, and soon felt the pressure above my corner teeth that would cause them to descend...

And decisively extricated myself before anything bad happened. I didn't have the warning symptoms of an approaching seizure, but did recognize the roiling within that proceeded a bout of gluttony in the Stockyards. No matter how tender my feelings toward her, she was... was food.

God help me.

"Jack? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. There's stuff going on in the club because of that goon, and-and I gotta go... it's business."

I might as well have slapped her. She blinked, startled, then recovered, squared herself. "Okay," she whispered. I left before she started to cry again.

Faustine was still in the hall. "Veil?"

"She's better."

That got me a scowl. "Men!" She stalked toward the number three room, knocked, and went in. "Bob-bee, poor dar-link. Me you tell all about eet." The door shut with a muffled whump, the closest she could get to a slam.

Recognizing defeat, I fled to the end, where Roland now waited alone. "Where's Charles?"

"Something came up to call him away. How did it go?"

Shrugged. "Women."

"Ah. Yes. Wonderful, aren't they? Still, I wouldn't have them any other way or they'd be like us, and that wouldn't work at all. And we certainly can't be like them."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Absolutely, sport. We'd look ridiculous in their little jimjams, now wouldn't we? And I got the story of just how Faustine helped you with that crazed drunk with the gun. Now if I'd been there instead and done what she'd done, he'd have probably shot me on purpose. That's why we can't be like them."

Sounded right to me.

"I do need to talk with you about that..."

"I'm sorry, but I can't just now. Business." Like four groggy bouncers on the men's room floor.

He swallowed back whatever annoyance was brewing. "Later, then, sport," he promised.

There was no way of going invisible with him watching, so I had to use the door in the ordinary way and walk through the main room. Poor Teddy was still winging it, filling in for Bobbi's interrupted set. Jewel Caine should have been up there instead, reclaiming her career and going on to better things, sober and free of dragging anvils like her ex-husband. By God, if Hoyle was the one behind her death...

"Hey, Jack!"

Regulars hailed me from their tables. I dredged up a smile, waved, and kept going. No one remarked about my miraculous appearance on the dance floor, but I got stares.

That's when I realized I was less than perfectly turned out. My clothes were messed around, suit scuffed and dirty from rolling on the floor, shirttails hanging, a bloody streak where I'd been grazed (now healed), tie crooked, buttons torn off. I continued on like the display was in their imagination.

The bouncers were gathered around the lobby bar, pale and holding ice-filled towels against their heads. Three had drinks, the fourth a Bromo-Seltzer, Wilton's brand of Red Cross aid. Escott was also looking after them, and had a special glare ready for me as I came in. Like any of this was my fault.

"They insist they will be all right," he said.

"But we're gonna kill Ruzzo," said Bromo-Seltzer. The others growled collective agreement.

"After you've seen a doctor," Escott added.

Less growling, more grumbling.

I got the story, and it was pretty much as I'd guessed. Ruzzo, both of them, had invaded, getting the drop on them all. Two men guarding the outside were marched in at gunpoint to join their pals, then the party was quietly moved to the men's room, where they were bashed from behind. It had been accomplished very slick and quiet since neither Wilton or the check girl had noticed anything. Hell, not even Myrna had flickered so much as a single bulb. Was everyone on sleeping pills?

"I'm not sure just when Mitchell made his entry," Escott concluded.

"And I donno if he's working with Hoyle and Ruzzo," I said. "It sure looked like it." I gave him details about the fight and the outcome, but nothing on the reason behind it.

"We'll keep in mind that an alliance has perhaps taken place between them, though God knows why or how, but it might well have been chance. Now I'm going to take these fine fellows off to make sure their brains are still in place.

There's a doctor they know who-"

"Yeah, I think I know the one. Thanks."

"And about Bobbi..." He took me to one side, voice lowering.

"She's better," I said. "She tell you about Mitchell?"

"Not much. Too upset. I was the shoulder to cry on until you were free to take over. But I got that Mitchell was an extraordinarily bad memory from her past, and it was a terrible shock to see him again. Also, she was afraid it would in some way destroy your relationship."

"No! No, nothing like that. We're fine. I listened, she talked, it's fine, all fine now."

He seemed about to say something to the contrary.

"Faustine's with her, she'll be all right," I insisted.

"She can't be candid about everything. It's good she has another woman to confide to about you, but your condition is a significant influence on matters. Keeping that a secret rather precludes a full lifting of the burden."

"Oh." Not good. The way she looked when I walked out...

"But-" he continued. "You should know that she seems to think you're worth all the trouble and bother. There's no accounting for women and their taste in men."

Yeah, maybe. But Bobbi was miserable, and it really was all my fault.

Escott took the four guys away in his Nash, and a few law-abiding citizens of Chicago still ignorant of Lady Crymsyn's unplanned renovation into a shooting gallery came in to enjoy themselves. By then I'd tucked my clothes more or less back into order, hiding rips and bloodstains by buttoning the coat. I glad-handed a few people, told them they'd have a great time-leaving out the whammy-and was about to go back to see Bobbi when another guest walked in.

Whitey Kroun took one gander at me and frowned. I returned the favor.

"What the hell happened to you?" he demanded. Nothing like an experienced eye to recognize the aftereffects of mayhem.

"That idiot lieutenant of yours," I snapped.

"Oh, yeah? Explain."

I threw a look past him to make sure Mitchell wasn't in his wake along with Hoyle and Ruzzo. No one like that, just a lot of women (and men) picking up on Kroun's magnetism and like the check girl perhaps mistaking him for a movie star. "My office. This way."

We climbed the stairs, I ushered him in. The radio was on, but low. By now I couldn't remember if I'd left it that way or not. Kroun took his hat off, brushing his hand over the streak in his hair, and sat on the couch. He pitched the hat by its brim toward the desk, and it landed square on top of the papers. "So what gives with Mitchell?"

"He came by tonight and bothered my girlfriend."

Kroun waited for more. "That's it?" he finally asked.

"It was enough. He pulled his little reunion stunt smack in the middle of a show, threw her into hysterics... I had to drag him backstage." I told the rest, sparing no punches, ending it by putting Mitchell's gun on the desk next to the hat. "If he comes back for this, I'll ram it down his throat."

"You think he's working with Hoyle?"

"I donno, but it was pretty damned coincidental of them showing up at the same time. Hoyle tried to kill me-with Mitchell urging him on-got within a breath of shooting an innocent lady, and his pals Ruzzo lambasted four of Gordy's best. If they are working together, then you should tell me why."

"You think I'd know that?"

"He's your boy. Where's he been all day?"

"Out." Kroun's eyes were hotting up.

"This isn't just me with a gripe. It's about Gordy, too, because of his men being here. If you know what Mitchell might be up to-"

"I don't know a damned thing!"

"Then you should find out. If he was doing a job for you or someone else or for himself, he's been made."

"What kind of job? Killing you? Hoyle tried to do that the other night all on his own, he doesn't need Mitchell."

"Then take me out of the picture. What else would he need Mitchell for? What else would Mitchell need Hoyle and Ruzzo for? The four of them wouldn't be hopping into the same bed just to knock me off. Something's brewing."

"Until tonight Mitchell had no reason to kill you. Now he might go with Hoyle just to help out."

"Not going to happen. They've crawled out of whatever hole they've been hiding in, and someone's gonna spot 'em and pass the word to me. You better hope Mitchell isn't there when I go in."

Kroun leaned forward. "You listen to me, kid, you don't take any action about Mitchell. He's my department. You got away with bumping Bristow because of special circumstances, but do anything to Mitchell, and nothing will save you. You will disappear the same as Bristow: dismembered and in the lake."

Well, that would do the trick of killing me for good. Death, the ultimate solver for all my problems. "Okay, I got that. But you get this-your boy was warned off from seeing my girl and came in regardless. He got his ass kicked because he deserved it. So long as he stays away from her I won't have to repeat the performance. That's all I'm concerned with. If Hoyle's a separate thing, then I'll take care of it separately. But if Mitchell's cooking up something with him-"

"You bring him to me, and I will deal with it."

The silence stretched. For a long moment I was tempted again to influence Kroun over to my side, find out for sure if he was truly ignorant about Mitchell's actions. Again, just thinking about it made me ache. I knew I didn't want to risk that stab-in-the-eye agony; I might not be able to vanish fast enough.

"Well?" he asked.

"No problem. In the meantime you might want to locate your boy and find out where he's been keeping himself."

Another silence. Kroun almost seemed to be waiting for something. Finally, he nodded. "Fair enough. You just remember we each have our own corners."

"I'll remember. How long's Mitchell been with you?"

"Couple years."

"You friends?"

"What's it to you?"

"I have friends. I look out for them."

"Like Gordy."

"Yeah."

Kroun grunted. "I need to talk with him. Face-to-face. Derner doesn't know where he is, hasn't got a number. Said you'd know."

"He safe. Resting." And healing, I hoped.

"Take me to see him, then."

I was tired of getting the kid-brother treatment. "What's with Gordy that you can't settle it with me?"

"It's about you. You want more, you put me and Gordy in the same room."

That set up a whole new batch of speculations, most of which I was sure I wouldn't care to know anything about. I could guess it had to do with me taking over for Gordy permanently. Or not. "Not" was fine with me, so long as Gordy was the one back in charge.

I reached for the phone and dialed Coldfield's club office. It rang a lot, then someone picked up the receiver. "The boss there? It's Fleming."

Coldfield agreed to allow Kroun a visit, but not until tomorrow. Apparently Dr. Clarson put his foot down after seeing the condition of his overtired patient. He'd barred all visitors, and the phone was off the hook. I asked if Gordy was better, but Coldfield had no information, only that the patient was safe and quiet. I passed the meager news to Kroun. He nodded, but wasn't pleased by the delay.

"I'll be by tomorrow, then," he said.

"Come just after opening, and I'll get you there."

"Why not earlier?"

"Because it's what the doctor ordered." That lie came easy.

Kroun picked his hat up along with Mitchell's gun and walked out. It was only after he'd gone that I realized he'd made no comment at all about the Caine murders, and the papers were still on the desk, big as life with headlines and pictures. I thought Kroun had come over in the first place to talk about them. Mitchell's behavior could have knocked that out of his head, seeing's how it was closer to home. But Kroun might have turned up to see my reaction to Mitchell's threat and Hoyle's shooting.

Damn it all, I should have tried hypnosis no matter what it did to me. Too late now.

Lady Crymsyn's second show was nearly over by the time I worked up enough spirit to leave the office. I was drawn out by the sound of Bobbi's glad voice. She was back onstage, confidence firmly restored along with her smile as she belted her closing song. She was amazing. Not one sign of what she'd gone through showed. It was as though it had never happened, and that was unsettling.

I watched from the entry, just out of sight from the patrons in the main room, not wanting to distract her. The damage was covered up, I thought, and covered very well, but still there under the surface. Escott would say to be patient and let time do the healing, but I'd hurt her and would continue to hurt her. No way out of that.

Some small commotion in the lobby got my attention for a moment. By now the front entry was closed to new customers, but someone wanted in, banging on the door. I heard Escott's muffled voice and the doorman's response. I went back down the passage in time to see Escott hurry across the lobby toward the stairs, his arm around a huddled-over female in a too-large coat.

The female was Evie Montana.