Moon

than I had hoped,” Doc said.
Powrie didn’t stay. He clapped Moon on the back with rough familiarity and walked toward the exit.
Doc dropped a coin on the table and rose. “A change in plans,” he said. “I’ll follow Powrie. You call the Foundation and have someone come out to join you. Jean-Pierre, preferably. Keep watching Eamon Moon.”
“Right.”
Doc walked after Angus Powrie with studied casualness.
Harris signaled the waiter. When the man came over, he said, “I need a talk-box for an outside call—oh, hell.”
Eamon Moon was on his feet, placing coins on his table. So was the thick-waisted, gloomy man Doc had identified as his bodyguard.
“Never mind,” Harris said, and waved the waiter away. He kept