The demolished man (25 page)

Damn Gus Tate. Wait. He wasn't in Beaumont House. He was... in...

"Thirty-three Hudson Ramp," Powell said from the front door.

Reich jerked around, crouched automatically and whipped the scrambler up under

his left elbow as Quizzard's killers had taught him.

Powell side-stepped. "Don't try it," he said sharply.

"You son of a bitch," Reich shouted. He wheeled on Powell who had already

crossed him up and again stepped out of the line of fire. "You god damned

peeper! You lousy, sleazy, son of a ---"

Powell faked to the left, reversed, closed with Reich and delivered a six-inch

jab to the ulnar nerve complex. The scrambler fell to the floor. Reich clinched;

punching, clawing, butting, swearing hysterically. Powell hit him with three

lightning blows, nape, navel, and groin. The effect was that of a full spinal

block. Reich crashed to the floor, retching, blood streaming from his nose.

"Brother, you think only you know how to gut fight," Powell grunted. He went to

Barbara D'Courtney, who still knelt on the floor, and raised her.

"All right, Barbara?" he said.

"Hello, Papa. I had a bad dream."

"I know, baby. I had to give it to you. It was an experiment on that big oaf."

"Gimme a kiss."

He kissed her forehead. "You're growing up fast," he smiled. "You were just

baby-talking yesterday."

"I'm growing up because you promised to wait for me."

"It's a promise, Barbara. Can you go upstairs by yourself or do you have to be

carried... like yesterday?"

"I can go all by own self."

"All right, baby. Go up to your room."

She went to the stairs, took a firm hold on the bannister and climbed up. Just

before she reached the top, she darted a glance at Reich and stuck her tongue

out. Then she disappeared. Powell crossed to Mary Noyes, removed the gag,

checked her pulse, then made her comfortable on the lounge.

"First notch, eh?" he murmured to Reich. "Painful but she'll recover in an

hour." He went back to Reich and stared down at him, anger darkening his drawn

face. "I ought to pay you back for Mary; but what's the use? It wouldn't teach

you anything. You poor bastard... you're just no damned good."

"Kill me!" Reich groaned. "Kill me or let me up and by Christ I'll kill you!"

Powell picked up the scrambler and cocked an eye at Reich. "Try flexing your

muscles a little. Those blocks shouldn't last more than a few seconds..." He sat

down with the scrambler in his lap. "You had a tough break. I wasn't out of the

house five minutes when I realized Chooka's story was a phoney. You put her up

to it, of course."

"You're the phoney!" Reich shouted. "You and your ethics and your high talk. You

and your phoney god-dam---"

"She said the gun killed D'Courtney." Powell continued imperturbably. "It did,

but no one knows what killed D'Courtney... except you and me. I turned around

and came back. It was a long take. Almost too long. Try getting up now. You

can't be that sick."

Reich struggled up, his breath hissing horribly. Suddenly he dipped into his

pocket and brought out the cartridge of Detonation Bulbs. Powell arched back in

the chair and kicked Reich in the chest with his heel. The cartridge went

flying. Reich fell back and collapsed on a sofa.

"When will you people learn you can't surprise a peeper?" Powell said. He went

to the cartridge and picked it up. "You're quite the arsenal today, aren't you?

You're acting more like you're wanted dead or alive than like a free man. Notice

I said free. Not innocent."

"Free how long?" Reich said through his teeth. "I never talked about innocence

either. But free how long?"

"Forever. I had a perfect case against you. Every detail right. I checked that

when I peeped you with Barbara just now I had every detail except one, and that

one flaw blew my case out into deep space. You're a free man, Reich. We've

closed your file."

Reich stared. "Closed the file?"

"Yep. No solution. I'm licked. You can disarm, Reich. Go about your business. No

one's going to bother you."

"You're a liar! This is one of your peeper tricks. "You---"

"Nope. I'll lay it out for you. I know all about you... How much you bribed Gus

Tate... What you promised Jerry Church... Where you located that Sardine Game...

What you did with Wilson Jordan's Rhodopsin Caps... How you emptied those

cartridges for an alibi and then turned them lethal again with a drop of

water... So far a perfect chain of evidence. Method and Opportunity. But Motive

was the flaw. The courts demand Objective Motive and I can't produce it. That

sets you free."

"You liar!"

"Of course I could throw this breaking and entering with deadly intent at you...

but it's too small a charge. Like shooting a popgun after you misfire with a

cannon. You could probably beat it too. My only witnesses would be a peeper and

a sick girl. I---"

"You liar," Reich growled. "You hypocrite. You lying peeper. Am I supposed to

believe you? Am I supposed to listen to the rest of it? You had nothing, Powell.

Nothing! I licked you on every point. That's why you're booby-trapping me.

That's why you---" Reich broke off abruptly and beat his forehead. "And this is

probably the biggest booby-trap of all. And I fell into it. What a damned fool I

am. What a---"

"Shut up," Powell snapped. "When you rave like that I can't peep you. Now what's

all this about booby-traps? Think it through."

Reich uttered a ragged laugh. "As if you don't know... My stateroom on the

liner... My gaffed safe... My Jumper..."

For almost a minute, Powell focussed on Reich, peeping, absorbing, digesting.

Then his face began to pale and his respiration quicken. "My God!" he exclaimed.

"My God!" He leaped to his feet and began pacing distractedly. "That's it...

That explains it... And Old Man Mose was right. Passion motive, and we thought

he was kittenish... And Barbara's Siamese Twin Image... And D'Courtney's

guilt... No wonder Reich couldn't kill us at Chooka's... But--- the murder isn't

important any more. It goes deeper. Far deeper. And it's dangerous... More than

I ever dreamed." He stopped, turned and looked at Reich with blazing eyes.

"If I could kill you," he cried, "I'd twist your head off with my hands. I'd

tear you apart and hang you on a Galacti Gallows, and the Universe would bless

me. Do you know how dangerous you are? Does a plague know its peril? Is death

conscious?"

Reich goggled at Powell in bewilderment. The Prefect shook his head impatiently.

"Why ask you?" he muttered. "You don't know what I'm talking about. You'll never

know." He went to a sideboard, selected two brandy ampules and popped them into

Reich's mouth. Reich attempted to spit them out. Powell held his jaws shut.

"Swallow them," he said crisply. "I want you to pull yourself together and

listen to me. Do you want Butylene? Thyric Acid? Can you compose yourself

without drugs?"

Reich choked on the brandy and sputtered angrily. Powell shook him silent.

"Get this straight," Powell said. "I'm going to show you half the pattern. Try

to understand it. The case against you is closed. It's closed because of those

booby-traps. If I'd known about them I'd never have started the case. I'd have

broken my conditioning and killed you. Try to understand this, Reich..."

Reich stopped sputtering.

"I couldn't find a motive for your murder. That's the flaw. When you offered

merger to D'Courtney, he accepted. He sent WWHG in answer. That's acceptance.

You had no reason to murder him. You had every objective reason to keep him

alive."

Reich went white. His head began to wobble crazily. "No. No. WWHG. Offer

refused. Refusal. Refusal!"

"Acceptance."

"No. The bastard refused. He---"

"He accepted. When I learned that D'Courtney accepted your offer, I was

finished. I knew I couldn't bring a case to court. But I haven't been trying to

booby-trap you. I did not gaff your stateroom lock. I did not plant those

Detonation Bulbs. I'm not the man who's trying to murder you. That man is trying

to kill you because he knows you're safe from me. He knows you're safe from

Demolition. He's always known what I've just discovered... that you're the

deadly enemy of our entire future."

Reich tried to speak. He struggled up out of the sofa, gesticulating feebly.

Finally he said: "Who is it? Who? Who?"

"He's your ancient enemy, Reich... A man you'll never escape. You'll never be

able to run from him... hide from him... and I pray to God you'll never be able

to save yourself from him."

"Who is it, Powell? WHO IS IT?"

"The Man With No Face."

Reich emitted a guttural cry of pain. Then he turned and staggered out of the

house.

15

Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.

Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.

Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.

Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.

"Shut up!" Reich cried.

Eight, sir;

  
Seven, sir;

    
Six, sir;

      
Five, Sir;

"For God's sake! Shut up!"

      
Four, Sir;

    
Three, sir;

  
Two, sir;

One!

"You've got to think. Why don't you think? What's happened to you? Why don't you

think?"

Tension, apprehension and---

"He was lying. You know he was lying. You were right the first time. A giant

booby-trap. WWHG. Refusal. Refusal. But why did he lie? How is that going to

help him?"

---dissension have begun.

"The Man with No Face. Breen could have told him. Gus Tate could have told him.

Think!"

Tension---

"There is no Man With No Face. It's just a dream. A nightmare!"

Apprehension---

"But the booby-traps? What about the booby-traps? He had me cold in his house.

Why didn't he pull the switch? Telling me I'm free. What's he up to? Think!"

Dissension---

A hand touched his shoulder.

"Mr. Reich?"

"What?"

"Mr. Reich!"

"What? Who's that?"

Reich's eyes focussed. He became aware that it was raining heavily. He was lying

on his side, knees drawn up, arms folded, his cheek buried in mud. He was

drenched, shivering with cold. He was in the esplanade of Bomb Inlet. Around him

were sighing, sodden trees. A figure was bending over him.

"Who are you?"

"Galen Chervil, Mr. Reich."

"What?"

"Galen Chervil, sir. From Maria Beaumont's party. Can I do you that favor, Mr.

Reich?"

"Don't peep me!" Reich cried.

"I'm not, Mr. Reich. We don't usually---" Young Chervil caught himself. "I

didn't know you knew I was a peeper. You'd better get up, sir."

He took Reich's arm and pulled. Reich groaned and yanked his arm free. Young

Chervil took him under the shoulders and raised him, staring at Reich's

frightful appearance.

"Were you mugged, Mr. Reich?"

"What? No. No..."

"Accident, sir?"

"No. No, I... Oh, for God's sake," Reich burst out, "get the hell away from me!"

"Certainly, sir. I thought you needed help and I owe you a favor, but---"

"Wait," Reich interrupted. "Come back." He rasped the bole of a tree and leaned

against it, panting hoarsely. Finally he thrust himself erect and glared at

Chervil with bloodshot eyes. "You mean that about the favor?"

"Of course, Mr. Reich."

"No questions asked. No tales told?"

"Certainly not, Mr. Reich."

"My problem's murder, Chervil. I want to find out who's trying to kill me. Will

you do me that favor? Will you peep someone for me?"

"I should imagine the police would be able to---"

"The police?" Reich laughed hysterically, then clutched himself in agony as the

broken rib caught

"I want you to peep a cop for me. Chervil. A big cop. The Commissioner of cops.

D'you understand?" He let go of the tree and lurched to Chervil. "I want to

visit my friend the Commissioner and ask him a few questions. I want you to be

there to tell me the truth. Will you come to Crabbe's office and peep him for

me? Will you just do it and forget about it? Will you?"

"Yes, Mr. Reich...I will."

"What? An honest peeper! How about that? Come on. Let's jet."

Reich stumbled out of the esplanade with a horrible gait. Chervil followed,

overwhelmed by the fury in the man that drove him through injury, through fever,

through agony to police headquarters. There, Reich hulled and roared past clerks

and guards until the mud-streaked blood-smeared figure burst into Commissioner

Crabbe's elaborate ebony and silver office.

"My God, Reich!" Crabbe was aghast. "It is you, isn't it? Ben Reich?"

"Sit down, Chervil," Reich said. He turned to Crabbe. "It's me. Get a full

perspective. I'm half a corpse, Crabbe. The red stuff is blood. The rest is

slime. I've had a great day... a glorious day... and I want to know where the

hell the police have been? Where's your God Almighty Prefect Powell? Where's

your---"

"Half a corpse? What are you telling me, Ben?"