The speaker in my ear hummed.
I grunted an acknowledgement and a blurred voice said, "Smith, listen.
When you cross the South Radial, pick up the Midwest Feed-off. Take it
easy and watch for Number Nine Station. Pull off there. Got it?"
I recognized the voice. It was Lefty, Haug's Number One boy. I didn't
answer.
"What was the call?" Stenn asked.
"I don't know," I said. "Nothing."
The lights of the South Radial Intermix were in sight ahead now.
I slowed to a hundred and thought about it. My personal motives told
me to keep going, my job as a paid Escort was to get my man where he
wanted to go. That was tough enough, without detours. I eased back up
to one-fifty, took the Intermix with gyros screaming, and curved out
onto the thruway.
The speaker hummed. "What are you trying to pull, wise guy?" He sounded
mad. "That was the South Radial you just passed up--"
"Yeah," I said. "That's right. Smitty takes 'em there and he brings 'em
back. Don't call us, we'll call you."
There was a long hum from the speaker. "Oh, a wiseacre," it said
finally. "Listen, rookie, you got a lot to learn. This guy is
bankrolled. I seen the wad when he paid Haug off. So all right, we cut
you in. Now, get this...."
He gave me detailed instructions. When he was finished, I said, "Don't
wait up for me."
I took the speaker out of my ear and dropped it into the disposal slot.
We drove along quietly for quite a while.
I was beginning to recognize my surroundings. This section of the
turnpike had been opened the year before I left home. Except for the
lack of traffic and the dark windows along the way it hadn't changed.
I was wondering just what Lefty's next move would be when a pair of
powerful beams came on from the left, then pulled onto the highway,
speeding up to pace me. I rocketed past before he had made full speed.
I heard a loud spang, and glass chips scattered on my shoulder. I
twisted and looked. A starred hole showed in the bubble, above the rear
seat.
* * * * *
"Duck!" I yelled. Stenn leaned over, put his head down.
The beams were gaining on me. I twisted the rear viewer, hit the I/R
switch. A three-ton combat car, stripped, but still mounting twin
infinite repeaters. Against that, old 16 was a kiddie car. I held my
speed and tried to generate an idea. What I came up with wasn't good,
but it was all I had.
A half a mile ahead there should be a level-split, one of those awkward
ones that caused more than one pile-up in the first few months the
turnpike was open. Maybe my playmates didn't know about it.
They were about to overtake me now. I slowed just a little, and started
fading to the right. They followed me, crowding my rear wheel. I heard
the spang again, twice, but nothing hit me. I was on the paved shoulder
now, and could barely see the faded yellow cross-hatching that warned
of the abutment that divided the pavement ahead.
I held the hack in the yellow until the last instant, then veered right
and cleared the concrete barrier by a foot, hit the down-curve at a
hundred and eighty in a howl of gyros and brakes--and the thunderous
impact of the combat car.
Then I was off the pavement, fighting the wheel, slamming through
underbrush, then miraculously back on the hard surface and coasting to
a stop in the clear.
I took a deep breath and looked back. The burning remains of the car
were scattered for a quarter of a mile along the turnpike. That would
have been me if I had gauged it wrong.
I looked at the canopy of the hack. Three holes, not a foot apart,
right where a passenger's head would be if he were sitting upright.
Stenn was unconcernedly brushing glass dust from his jacket.
"Very neat, Mr. Smith," he said. "Now shall we resume our journey?"
"Maybe it's time you leveled with me, Stenn," I said.
He raised his eyebrows at me slightly.
"When Joe Naples' boy Friday pointed the gun at your head you didn't
bat an eyelash," I said.
"I believe those were your instructions," Stenn said mildly.
"Pretty good for a simple businessman. I don't see you showing any
signs of the shakes now, either, after what some might call a harrowing
experience."
"I have every confidence in your handling--"
"Nuts, Stenn. Those three holes are pretty well grouped, wouldn't you
say? The man that put them there was hitting where he was aiming. And
he was aiming for you."
"Why me?" Stenn looked almost amused.
"I thought it was a little shakedown crew, out to teach me a lesson," I
said. "Until I saw where the shots were going."
Stenn looked at me thoughtfully. He reached up and took a micro-speaker
from his ear.
"The twin to the one you rashly disposed of," he said. "Mr. Haug was
kind enough to supply it--for a fee. I must tell you that I had a gun
in my hand as we approached the South Radial Intermix. Had you accepted
the invitation to turn off, I would have halted the car, shot you and
gone on alone. Happily, you chose to resist the temptation, for reasons
of your own...." He looked at me inquiringly.
"Maybe I'm sap enough to take the job seriously," I said.
"That may possibly be true," Stenn said.
"What's your real errand here, Stenn? Frankly, I don't have time to get
involved."
"Really? One wonders if you have irons in the fire, Smith. But never
mind. I shan't pry. Are we going on?"