He stayed conscious a little less than nine seconds.
The plasmoids were in a small electronic safe built into a music cabinet. The stamp to the safe was in Brule's billfold.
There were three of them, about the size of mice, starfish-shaped lumps of translucent, hard, colorless jelly. They didn't move.
Trigger laid them in a row on the polished surface of a small table, and blinked at them for a moment from a streaming left eye. The right eye was swelling shut. Brule had got in one wild wallop somewhere along the line. She picked up a small jar, emptied some spicy-smelling, crumbly contents out on the table, dropped the plasmoids inside, closed the jar and left the apartment with it. Brule was just beginning to stir and groan.
Commissioner Tate hadn't retired yet. He let her in without a word. Trigger put the jar down on a table.
"Three of your nuts and bolts in there," she said.
He nodded. "I know."
"I thought you did," said Trigger. "Thanks for the quick cure. But right at the moment I don't like you very much, Holati. We can talk about that in the morning."
"All right," said the Commissioner. He hesitated. "Anything that should be taken care of before then?"
"It's been taken care of," Trigger said. "One of our employees has been moderately injured. I dialed the medics to go pick him up. They have. Good night."