The sign on the door says We'll Investigate Anything. I might change it. Some questions don't want asking.

He was waiting by the door when I got in that morning, a massive guy whose clothes and build shouted "Cop". But when he stood, he was so furtive, I quickly changed that to "crook". Now, I'm not so sure.

"Jack, pally, I need your help," he said. I nearly dropped my keys. To look at he was six foot three of beef; the voice and manner were those of Benny the Weasel.

"Benny?!" I asked, incredulous.

He nodded. "It's me, Jack. Before you ask, I don't know how either."

I poured us a couple from the office bottle. It was gonna be one of those cases.

Before we were tempted by refills, I capped the bottle and put it away. "Tell me what you do know."

"Lissen, Jack, pally, I—" He looked embarrassed. "You know what I do for a living, right?"

"You're a part-time fence and a full-time informant for the police," I said. "Once in a while you've even helped me out."

"For a fee; always a fee," he said. With that he pulled a wad of grimy bills from an inside pocket and slapped them on the desk. "I don't give favors and I don't ask."

"Fair enough."

"Well, this," here he gestured to indicate his body, as though it were a suit he just happened to be wearing, "is one of my customers. Was, I guess. See, what happened is..."

Apparently, the Cypriani Mob caught up with them while Benny was selling word of their next drop, inside the metal cage of the freight elevator of the Conestoga Building.

"They musta ran about a million volts through the cage. I had me one a them outta body experiences, right? Floating in midair? Well, I decided I wasn't gonna die! I went straight back down, woke up, and scrammed. Trouble is, I musta gone to the wrong body!"

I considered for a moment. It's tough to be tactful about some things, so I wasn't.

"Look, Benny, that body of yours — it's no great treasure. This new one's got no record, it's about thirty years younger, and nobody's trying to kill him."

He nodded glumly. "Yeah, I thought of all that. And it's OK, I can get used to it. Only..." He squirmed, and couldn't meet my eyes. After a bit he pulled out a battered wallet and flipped it open to a snapshot. It was a wedding picture, this cop in dress blues and the sweetest looking little blonde bride I ever saw.

"This lady don't know me from Adam. What's she ever done to get stuck with Benny the Weasel, I ask you? No, the cop I don't mind, not so much. But I ain't gonna make that little blonde a widow, even if it kills me." He squared his jaw and met my eye. "I may be a weasel, but I got my pride."

I thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Guess I'd better get to work," I said, and took the cash.

* * *

The first step was to figure out what happened to Benny's body. If it was dead, we were done before we started. I locked Benny in my office under strict orders to stay put no matter what. Then I ran down to the Conestoga Building.

Something had happened here; that was certain. There was a crowd at the entrance and beat cops at the cordon. I mooched around trying to figure a way inside until I saw someone coming out: Carl McGavin, stringer for the Chronicle and the least popular reporter down at Headquarters. As befit his status, he left flying, helped by a couple of hefty patrolmen. He got up, dusted himself off, and sauntered away. I followed.

A couple minutes later I sat down across from him at Mel's Diner. "You buying, Jack?" he asked.

"Figured we might trade," I replied. I ordered two coffees and started talking — a little. McGavin was startled to hear about the Cypriani connection. "By the way, did the Weasel survive?" I asked as if I didn't much care.

"Yeah, awake and babbling. They ran him down to Bellevue under guard. They're hoping he can clear up what happened to their missing detective."

I nodded. "Tell you what," I said. "You can use the credit more than me. Let them know about the Cyprianis, and we'll meet up later. I might have something more for you."

We shook hands and split the check.

* * *

Getting not-Benny past the gate at Bellevue was easy. He just flashed his badge and walked in, hand clasped firmly on my collar. After that it got tricky, but ten minutes later, we were alone with Benny's body, which was handcuffed to the hospital bed.

"Give me back my body!" shouted the cop from inside Benny. I confess, until that second I'd had my doubts.

"We're not sure how," I said.

Then Benny explained his plan. We were all pretty dubious, but then again, what choice was there?

Working quickly, I stripped the insulation from the cord of the floor lamp, handing one end to the cop-not-Benny and the other to Benny-the-cop. I told them to hold hands, said a quick prayer to any god that was listening, and plugged it in. There was a loud POP, the smell of burnt hair, and the lights went out.

I took one look at them and ran out yelling for the doctor.

* * *

Carl and I met back at the diner and I told him everything. It's not like he could print it, so what the hell.

"The cop made it, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah, he's fine. Full recovery, and no memory of what happened. Benny... well. He's still breathing, so there's hope."

Carl sipped his coffee. "Never pegged Benny for the hero type."

"Even the worst villain's got a line he won't cross," I said. "That was Benny's."