The demolished man (14 page)

and Dishonest Abe was inspired by a pretty stewardess to disgrace him. Powell

was not a happy man when he arrived at headquarters, and Wynken, Blynken, and

Nod did some salacious wynking, blynking and nodding.

Powell to staff: No hope. I don't know why Reich even bothered to decoy Graham

to Ganymede with that sale.

Beck to Powell: What about the game book?

Powell to Beck: Reich bought it, had it appraised, and sent it as a gift. It was

in bad condition and the only game Maria could select was `Sardine.' We'll never

get Mose to pin anything on Reich with that. I know how that machine's mind

works. Damn it! Where's that girl!

Three low-grade operatives in succession were smitten with Miss Duffy Wyg& and

retired in disgrace to don their uniforms once more. When Powell finally reached

her, she was at the "4,000" Ball. Miss Wyg& was delighted to talk.

Powell to staff: I called Ellery West down at Monarch and he supports Miss

Wyg&'s story. West did complain about gambling and Reich bought a psych-song to

stop it. It looks like he picked up that mind-block by accident. What about that

gimmick Reich used on the guards? And what about that girl?

In response to bitter criticism and loud laughter, Commissioner Crabbe gave an

exclusive press interview in which he revealed that Police Laboratories had

discovered a new investigation technique which would break the D'Courtney Case

within 24 hours. It involved photographic analysis of the Visual Purple in the

corpse's eyes which would reveal a picture of the murderer. Rhodopsin

researchers were being requisitioned by the police.

Unwilling to run the risk of having Wilson Jordon, the physiologist who had

developed the Rhodopsin Ionizer for Monarch picked up and questioned by the

police, Reich phoned Keno Quizzard and devised a ruse to get Dr. Jordon off the

planet.

"I've got an estate on Callisto," Reich said. "I'll relinquish title and let a

court throw it up for grabs. I'll make sure the cards are stacked for Jordon."

"And I tell Jordon?" Quizzard asked in his sour voice.

"We won't be that obvious, Keno. We can't leave a back-trail. Call Jordon. Make

him suspicious. Let him find out the rest for himself."

As a result of that conversation, an anonymous person with a sour voice phoned

Wilson Jordon and casually attempted to purchase Dr. Jordon's interest in the

Drake estate on Callisto for a small sum. The sour voice sounded suspicious to

Dr. Jordon, who had never heard of the Drake estate, and he called a lawyer. He

was informed that he had just become the probable legatee to half a million

credits. The astonished physiologist jetted for Callisto one hour later.

Powell to staff: We've flushed Reich's man into the open. Jordon must be our

lead on the Rhodopsin angle. He's the only Visual Physiologist to disappear

after Crabbe's announcement. Pass the word to Beck to tail him to Callisto and

handle it. What about that girl?

Meanwhile, the slick side of operation Rough & Smooth was quietly in progress.

While Maria Beaumont was occupying Reich's attention with her squawking flight,

a bright young attorney from Monarch's legal department was deftly decoyed to

Mars and held there anonymously on a valid, if antiquated, vice charge. An

astonishing duplication of that young attorney went to work for him.

Tate to Reich: Check your legal department. I can't peep what's going on, but

something's fishy. This is dangerous.

Reich brought in an Esper 1 Efficiency Expert, ostensibly for a general

check-up, and located the substitution. Then he called Keno Quizzard. The blind

croupier produced a plaintiff who suddenly appeared and sued the bright young

attorney for barratry. That ended the substitute's connection with Monarch

painlessly and legitimately.

Powell to staff: Damn it! We're being licked. Reich's slamming every door in our

face... Rough & Smooth. Find out who's doing the legwork for him, and find that

girl.

While the squadman was cavorting around Monarch Tower with his brand new

mongolian face, one of Monarch's scientists who had been badly hurt in a

laboratory explosion, apparently left the hospital a week early and reported

back for duty. He was heavily bandaged, but eager for work. It was the old

Monarch spirit.

Tate to Reich: I've finally figured it. Powell isn't dumb. He's running his

investigation on two levels. Don't pay any attention to the one that shows.

Watch out for the one underneath. I've peeped something about a hospital. Check

it.

Reich checked. It took three days and then he called Keno Quizzard again.

Monarch was promptly burgled of Cr. 50,000 in laboratory platinum and the

Restricted Room was destroyed in the process. The newly returned scientist was

unmasked as an imposter, accused of complicity in the crime, and handed over to

the police.

Powell to staff: Which means we'll never prove Reich got that Rhodopsin stuff

from his own lab. How in God's name did he un-slick our trick? Can't we do

anything on any level? Where's that girl?

While Reich was laughing at the ludicrous robot search for Marcus Graham, his

top brass was greeting the Continental Tax Examiner, an Esper 2, who had arrived

for a long delayed check on Monarch Utilities & Resources' books. One of the new

additions to the Examiner's squad was a peeper ghost-writer who prepared her

chiefs reports. She was an expert in official work... mainly police work.

Tate to Reich: I'm suspicious ot that Examiner's squad. Don't take any chances.

Reich smiled grimly and turned his public books over to the squad. Then he sent

Hassop, his Code Chief, to Spaceland on that promised vacation. Hassop

obligingly carried a small spool of exposed film with his regular photographic

equipment. That spool contained Monarch's secret books, cased in a thermite seal

which would destroy all records unless it was properly opened. The only other

copy was in Reich's invulnerable safe at home.

Powell to staff: And that just about ends everything. Have Hassop double-tailed;

Rough & Smooth. He's probably got vital evidence on him, so Reich's probably got

him beautifully protected. Damn it, we're licked. I say it. Old Man Mose would

say it. You know it. For Christ's sake! Where is that goddamn missing girl?

Like an anatomical chart of the blood system, colored red for the arteries and

blue for the veins, the underworld and overworld spread their networks. From

Guild headquarters the word passed to instructors and students, to their

families, to their friends, to their friends' friends, to casual acquaintances,

to strangers met in business. From Quizzard's Casino the word was passed from

croupier to gamblers, to confidence men, to the heavy racketeers, to the light

thieves, to hustlers, steerers, and suckers, to the shadowy fringe of the

semi-crook and near-honest.

On Friday morning, Fred Deal, Esper 3, awoke, arose, bathed, breakfasted, and

departed to his regular job. He was Chief Guard on the floor of the Mars

Exchange Bank down on Maiden Lane. Stopping to buy a new commutation ticket at

the Pneumatique, he passed the time with an Esper 3, on duty at the Information

Desk, who passed Fred the word about Barbara D'Courtney. Fred memorized the TP

picture she flashed him. It was a picture framed in credit signs.

On Friday morning, Snim Asj was awakened by his landlady, Chooka Frood, with a

loud scream for back rent.

"For chrissakes, Chooka," Snim mumbled. "You already makin' a frabby fortune

with 'at loppy yella head girl you pick up. You runnin' a golmine withat spook

stuff down-inna basement. Whaddya want from me?"

Chooka Frood pointed out to Snim that: A) The yellow-headed girl was not crazy.

She was a genuine medium. B) She (Chooka) did not run rackets. She was a

legitimate fortune teller. C) If he (Snim) did not come through with six weeks

roof and rolls, she (Chooka) would be able to tell his fortune without any

trouble at all. Snim would be out on his asphalt.

Snim arose, and already dressed, descended into the city to pick up a few

credits. It was too early to run up to Quizzard's and work the sob on the more

prosperous clients. Snim tried to sneak a ride uptown on the Pneumatique. He was

thrown out by the peeper change clerk and walked. It was a long haul to Jerry

Church's hockshop, but Snim had a gold and pearl pocket-pianino up there and he

was hoping to cadge Church into advancing another sovereign on it.

Church was absent on business and the clerk could do nothing for Snim. They

passed the time. Snim told the sob to the clerk about his bitch landlady

crowning herself every day with the new spook-shill she was using in her

palm-racket and still trying to milk him when she was rolling. The clerk would

not weep even for the price of coffee. Snim departed.

When Jerry Church returned to the bookshop for a brief time-out in his wild

quest for Barbara D'Courtney, the clerk reported Snim's visit and conversation.

What the clerk did not report, Church peeped. Nearly fainting, he tottered to

the phone and called Reich. Reich could not be located. Church took a deep

breath and called Keno Quizzard.

Meanwhile, Snim was growing a little desperate. Out of that desperation arose

his crazy decision to work the bank teller graft. Snim trudged downtown to

Maiden Lane and cased the banks in that pleasant esplanade around Bomb Inlet. He

was not too bright and made the mistake of selecting the Mars Exchange as his

battlefield. It looked dowdy and provincial. Snim had not learned that it is

only the powerful and efficient institutions that can afford to look

second-rate.

Snim entered the bank, crossed the crowded main flood to the row of desks

opposite the tellers' cages, and stole a handful of deposit slips and a pen. As

Snim left the bank, Fred Deal glanced at him once, then motioned wearily to his

staff.

"See that little louse?" He pointed to Snim who was disappearing through the

front door. "He's getting ready to pull the `Adjustment' routine."

"Want us to send him, Fred?"

"What the hell's the use? He'll only try it on someone else. Let him go ahead

with it. We'll pick him up after he's got the money and get a conviction. Stash

him for keeps. There's plenty of room in Kingston."

Unaware of this, Snim lurked outside the bank, watching the tellers' cages

closely. A solid citizen was making a withdrawal at Cage Z. The teller was

passing over big chunks of paper cash. This was the fish. Snim hastily removed

his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and tucked the pen in his ear.

As the fish came out of the bank, counting his money, Snim slipped behind him,

darted up and tapped the man's shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir," he said briskly. "I'm from Cage Z. I'm afraid our teller made

a mistake and short-counted you. Will you come back for the adjustment please?"

Snim waved his sheaf of slips, gracefully swept the money from the fish's fins

and turned to enter the bank. "Right this way, sir," he called pleasantly. "You

have another hundred coming to you."

As the surprised solid citizen followed him, Snim darted busily across the

floor, slipped into the crowd and headed for the side exit. He would be out and

away before the fish realized he'd been gutted. It was at this moment that a

rough hand grasped Snim's neck. He was swung around face to face with a Bank

Guard. In one chaotic instant, Snim contemplated fight, flight, bribery, pleas,

Kingston Hospital, the bitch Chooka Frood and her yellow-headed ghost girl, his

pocket-pianino and the man who owned it. Then he collapsed and wept.

The peeper guard flung him to another uniform and shouted: "Take him, boys. I've

just made myself a mint!"

"Is there a reward for this little guy, Fred?"

"Not for him. For what's in his head. I've got to call the Guild."

At nearly the same moment late Friday afternoon, Ben Reich and Lincoln Powell

received the identical information: "Girl answering to the description of

Barbara D'Courtney can be found in Chooka Frood's Fortune Act, 99 Bastion West

Side."

9

Bastion West Side, famous last bulwark in the Siege of New York, was dedicated

as a war memorial. Its ten torn acres were to be maintained in perpetuity as a

stinging denunciation of the insanity that produced the final war. But the final

war, as usual, proved to be the next-to-the-final, and Bastion West Side's

shattered buildings and gutted alleys were patched into a crazy slum by

squatters.

Number 99 was an eviscerated ceramics plant. During the war a succession of

blazing explosions had burst among the stock of thousands of chemical glazes,

fused them, and splashed them into a wild rainbow reproduction of a lunar

crater. Great splotches of magneta, violet, bice green, burnt umber, and chrome

yellow were burned into the stone walls. Long streams of orange, crimson, and

imperial purple had erupted through windows and doors to streak the streets and

surrounding ruins with slashing brush strokes. This became the Rainbow House of

Chooka Frood.

The top floors had been patched and subdivided into a warren of cells so