_It's undoubtedly difficult to live with someone who is
Different. He must, because he is Different, live by other
ways. But what makes it so difficult is that, for some
reason he thinks you are Different!_
_Illustrated by Schoenherr_
* * * * *
By the time I got to the office, I was jittery as a new bride. The day
started out all wrong. I woke up weak and washed out. I was pathetic
when I worked out with the weights--they felt as heavy as the
Pyramids. And when I walked from the subway to the building where Mike
Renner and I have our offices, an obvious telepath tailed me all the
way.
I was ready for a scrap. St. Francis himself would have irritated the
hell out of me, and I'd have gone speechless with rage at the mere
sight of sweet Alice Ben Bolt. The guy sitting with Mike in our law
library didn't have a chance.
"What's this?" I growled, seeing Mike seated silent and staring at our
caller across the big table. There wasn't a book or sheet of foolscap
resting on the walnut. Work hadn't started. They were lying in wait
for me. Well, I was lying in wait for the first guy who opened his
mouth.
"The Grievance Committee!" Mike said in a tone of stifled fury. "This
is Horace Dunn."
"_Carpe Diem_," I snarled at Horace, a hammered-down heavyweight.
"What's Renner done now?"
"Me?" Renner demanded, letting his fat jowls quivver. He's one of
those burly types who looks like he should be playing pro ball and
instead thrives on showing clients how to keep two sets of books while
staying out of jail.
"Not Renner," Horace said. "You, Maragon. The Bar Association gets
upset when reputable attorneys successfully defend one of these Stigma
cases."
"Forgive me my hobbies," I sneered, sitting down beside my partner.
"But I try to win them all. You know I didn't seek that
business--Judge Passarelli appointed me Public Defender when that Psi,
Crescas, bleated that he was destitute."
Mike Renner apparently decided one of us had to be reasonable.
"Coincidence, Dunn," he said. "Pure coincidence. You can't hold it
against--"
"No coincidence," I snapped. It wasn't my day to agree with anybody.
Renner's fat little eyes opened wide.
"Judge Passarelli _knew_ I'd be in his courtroom," I said. "His Honor
wanted to get my views on a point I'd made in that pleading the
previous week."
"Passarelli _again!_" Horace breathed. "Well, well. What do you know?
And two weeks ago he found a Stigma case named Mary Hall 'Not Guilty'
of bunco game against the 99th National Bank. You know the case?"
Renner was too upset for speech. He shook his head, looking over at
me. I didn't give him the satisfaction. Mike hasn't any patience with
my interest in keeping abreast of Psi developments anyway.
"This Mary Hall is a hallucinator," Horace said. He leaned forward and
gave it to us in not much more than a whisper. "This witch used her HC
to pass five dollar bills off as hundreds, getting change. But they
caught her at it." He laughed harshly. "And tried her for it," he
added. "Get the picture on that 'Not Guilty' verdict?"
"No," Renner admitted. I slouched down, scowling.
"She used HC on Judge Passarelli, too. Foozled his vision, whatever
you want to call it. When the 'cutor handed him the evidence, the five
dollar bill she had tried to pass for a hundred, all sealed up in
plastic, Passarelli _saw_ a _hundred_, thanks to her Psi powers."
"Get out of here," I told Horace, getting to my feet.
"Pete! For heaven's sake!" Mike protested. You didn't talk like that
to the Grievance Committee. Did you ever see a guy wring his hands?
Renner was pathetic.
"Can't you quit pussy-footing around, Renner?" I growled. "This comic
isn't from the Grievance Committee!"
Horace Dunn paled on that one. "How do you know that?" he said. He
sounded a lot more dangerous.
"Too polite," I sneered. "And it ill becomes you. What's going on?"
"So I level," Horace conceded. "So I'm _not_ from the Grievance
Committee, and I'm not all hot that Maragon defended Keys Crescas."
"Much better," I said, sitting down again.
"This guy Passarelli is coming up for re-election shortly," our caller
said. A light began to dawn. "We're making sure he doesn't make
it--and that _our_ man does."
My laugh was more a bark. "He can't find Mary Hall," I told Renner.
Horace's lower jaw shot out at me. "I don't like guys who know what
I'm thinking!" he snapped.
I had to laugh in his face. "Who needs TP? You want to tar Passarelli
with the brush of Psi--and this hallucinator would be Exhibit 'A'."