"Hi, Mouthpiece," he grinned, showing even white teeth. "How'd you know where to find me?"
"Best place for worms is under a manure pile," I said. "I used parallel logic."
That took that smug, Stigma grin off his puss. "What do you want?" he asked, sullen now.
"A lead to a Psi who's gone into hiding."
You know what he told me to do. "Mary Hall," I added. "She's got Stigma Troubles."
"Not even counting you, eh?" Crescas sneered. He made the same suggestion again. I let it ride. "Go on," he dared me. "Make your pitch. I'll laugh later."
"That 'Not Guilty' verdict doesn't mean a thing, Crescas," I told him. "That was a National Bank she tried to rob. There's a Federal rap still to be settled. She has big Stigma troubles and needs counsel—and not one of those shysters who hang around the Criminal Courts building sniffing for Psi business."
"She's in no trouble till they find her," he said accurately, and I could see his hand come up to cut the image. "For my dough they've given up trying to find her and are using you for a stalking horse," he added with fiendish accuracy.
"So don't trust me," I snarled. "You can send her saw blades baked in a cake." I reached up, too.
"Hold it."