* * * * *
Elmer had played tackle for Ol' Miss--he sure stopped me in my tracks.
"I reckon we ain't through with you yet, Yankee," he grinned. He hurt
me with his hands, big as country hams. My stiffened fingers jabbed
his T-shirt where it covered his solar plexus, and he dropped back,
gasping.
"You could learn a little about fighting, too, Psi," I growled. "And
you're through with me if that bottle blonde won't answer my
questions."
"Hey!" Keys protested. "Come on, relax. Everybody!" he snapped, as
Elmer got his breath back and came in for another tackle. I signaled
for a fair catch, and he eased up.
I peered over my shoulder at the girl at the piano. "Well?" I asked
her. "Where _were_ your parents on the 19th of April in '75?"
Her eyes sought out Keys'. He nodded, dropping his gaze to the floor.
"About fifty miles from Logan, Iowa," she said.
"And you don't have the Stigma?" I scoffed.
"Not everybody inside the Logan Ring was affected," she reminded me.
"Which is my tough luck. But I _am_ being crucified because Mother
and Dad _were_ in the Ring the day the N-bomb went off, whether I have
the Stigma or not."
I came back to stand in front of her. "I'm an attorney," I said. "I
have an idea what can happen to you if the Courts get hold of you.
Right now they can't find you--which must mean you've been hiding."
She confirmed that with a nod, biting her red, red lips. "They _are_
after you, and a Federal rap is just the start," I said. "You have
only one chance, Mary, and I'm glad you claimed it. The only way you
can keep them from putting you over a barrel is to prove you don't
have the Stigma. I think I know a way to do it. Are you ready to let
me help you?"
"Not _that_ fast," she said, looking worried. "Oh, I trust Keys'
judgment about you. Yes, I _do_," she said earnestly, turning to
Crescas. "Yes, I _know_ he got you off, Keys. But it doesn't sound
right. Why should he take a chance helping a Psi--even if I really
_don't_ have the Stigma? What's his angle?"
"Fair enough," Keys said. "How about it, Maragon?"
"I knew it was a bum rap they were trying to pin on Mary as soon as I
heard about it," I explained. "This business about Mary having HC.
There just isn't any such Psi power as hallucination, and every one of
you knows it--it's an old wives' tale. I wouldn't touch this little
lady with a ten-foot pole if I really thought she had the Stigma. I
have a living to make around this town--and you can't handle Stigma
business and get any decent trade, too."
I looked back at Mary. "How _did_ you work your swindle at the bank?"
I asked quietly.
She sighed. "Sleight of hand," she said. "A damned fool stunt. I
figured to put the money back in a day or so. If somebody else hadn't
been working the same racket, they'd never have caught me. But they
had set a trap--"
"I _thought_ it was some light-finger stuff," I grinned. "Well, it
will take me a while to set up a real test of your Psi Powers. Where
can I reach you--or are you spending the night here?"
"Certainly not!" she said, casting an annoyed glance at Elmer. She
looked at her watch. "Would it be much longer than an hour? I might
still be here, if Elmer--"
"Jes' fine," T-shirt said. "Unless yo' mine watching Keys and me
practice." He grinned at me. "Keys is he'ping me build up mah TK," he
explained.
"That'll make you popular," I sneered, as I wrote down Elmer's phone
number. They let me out. It had been a pretty room, and in a way I
hated to leave it. Still, by the time a cruising 'copter had taken me
halfway back to my office up-town, I could relax the shield over my
thoughts--and that was worth getting out of that Stigma hideaway.
* * * * *
It was a little after nine when I walked into the lobby and rang for
the elevator. A man lounging against the wall over near the building
directory raised a wrist-phone to his mouth and spoke quietly into it
as I waited for the car to come. He didn't seem to be interested in
me--but then, he wouldn't want to show it if he were. Fool around with
the Stigma, would I?
The building was mostly dark--in our circle we make too much dough to
be interested in overtime. I keyed myself into our waiting room,
turned on the ceiling, and went into my private office. There was
enough light leaking in from our foyer, so I added none.
I found Lindstrom at home--after all, he should have been by nine
o'clock. "Maragon!" he said. "Kill your focus. I have guests!"
I reached up to twist the 'scope so that my image would be a blur on
his screen. Nice beginning. I was as welcome as a thriving case of
leprosy.
"I want you to make a test for me, Professor," I said. "Tonight."
He shook his head. "I told you I had guests. We're entertaining. No
thanks, Maragon."
"A Normal is being crucified," I said quietly. "They've got her pegged
as a Psi. I've got to get her off the hook."
"How could this happen?" he demanded.
"She hangs with a bunch of Stigma cases, for one thing," I said.
"Nobody forced her to associate with a gang of Psis," he said. "Serves
her right."
"Nobody forced you to, either, Prof," I snarled. "But you have a
steady stream of Stigma cases going through your laboratory."
"That's different!" he protested.
"Nuts. Now name a time when I can see you there."
"I don't want any part of it. If you're along, it will just mean
trouble, Maragon. You got too much publicity on defending that TK
locksmith. I've got a professional standing to maintain."
"You'd sure look silly if all the Psis in town blackballed you," I
snarled at him. "Let me pass the word around--and you darned well know
I've got the contacts to do it--and you've tested your last Stigma
case. Then let's see what kind of a professional standing you've got."
He knew some pretty dirty words. "What time?" I pressed him, knowing
the profanity was a confession of defeat.
"Not before eleven," he said glumly. "I won't forget this, Maragon."
"What the hell," I said. "I'm on every S-list in town already. You
hardly count beside the other enemies I'm making." I cut the image.
As if at a signal, there was a tapping on the door to the corridor. I
got out of my swivel, walked into the waiting room and opened up. The
man who stood there was faintly familiar--but it was the gun in his
fist that got most of my attention.
"Maragon?" he asked softly.
I spread my feet a little. "I knew I was making enemies pretty fast,"
I said to him. "But I didn't know how strongly. Listen," I snapped,
"I'll bet one thing never occurred to you."
He was taken back. You're not supposed to snarl at a guy who pokes a
gun at you. In theory it gives him the edge of any conversation.
"Huh?" he said.
"The only thing that lousy pop-gun of yours is good for is shooting
people. I don't think you came here to shoot me. Now what can you do?"
"Clown," he growled. "Where's Renner?"
"In bed, if he has any sense," I decided. "Make up your mind. Whom do
you want?"
"For Pete's sake," he said. "Grammar at a time like this!" He looked
down at his gun, decided I was right, and stuck it in a shoulder
holster. Then his wrist came up in front of his mouth and I recognized
him. It was the man who had lounged near the building directory when I
had come in. "Come ahead," he said into the mike.
* * * * *
I turned my back on him and stomped into my office. Let them follow
me.
But only one man came in, a minute or so later. "Does it have to be so
dark?" he asked politely.
"Rheostat's by your elbow," I said. He reached for it and turned on
the ceiling, closing the door that cut us off from the waiting room.
"Good evening, Counselor," he said, taking the seat across my desk
from me. He looked different without his judicial robes, not quite as
much my senior as I had thought. He wasn't any taller than I was,
perhaps five feet nine, and thirty pounds lighter. Between us we had
about an average forehead--his went up to the top of his head--my
hairline starts about where my eyebrows leave off. Robes or no robes,
there was something judicial about him, as though he'd been born with
a gavel in his hand.
"Good evening, Your Honor," I said to Judge Passarelli. "You have a
pretty active pipeline into Stigma circles, don't you?"
It didn't bother him. "As long as judgeships are elective offices,
Maragon," he said. "Judges will play politics. Fill me in on this Mary
Hall thing."
"Without violating professional ethics?" I asked.
"You'll try cases again, in front of judges," he snapped not very
judicial. "Don't get me angry with you, Maragon."
I countered: "The shoe is on the other foot--I'm darned sore at you."
He tried to find his receding hairline with his thin eyebrows. "Don't
look so amazed--do you think I haven't figured out my defending that
TK Crescas was no accident? You set me up for it."
"Set you up for a resoundingly successful defense," he observed.
"And a resoundingly bad press!" I said. "I have a living to make in
this town--"
"Psis are still citizens," he said. "I'm tired of seeing them thrown
to the wolves by the jackals who practice law from a phone booth. Psis
deserve a decent defense. Without you, Crescas would be in prison."
[Illustration]
"And without _you_," I growled at him, "I might still have a law
practice."
"So you're helping them find Mary Hall--to embarrass me?"
"I've already found her," I said. "Feel embarrassed?"
"Not yet," he conceded. "What are you planning to do?"
"We've accepted a fee to turn her over to a client," I revealed. "I
guess that's not unethical to tell you."
"And you'll do that?"
"After one more step."
"And that is?"
"Prove that she hasn't got the Stigma."
"_Hasn't_ got it!" He hopped out of his chair and pressed his knuckles
on my desk.
"You'd better do a little more research, if you're going to let your
black heart bleed over these Stigma cases, Judge," I grinned at him.
"All this talk about Mary Hall using HC on your vision. That will
never embarrass you. There isn't such a thing as HC--hallucination is
an old wives' tale. It was sleight of hand, in the bank and in your
courtroom. Don't stand still for that noise about HC."
"I'll be switched," he said. "You're serious?"
"Sure."
He frowned at me. "She's still in trouble," he reminded me. "The
Federal Grand Jury--"
"Restitution ought to cure that," I said. "Especially if we threaten a
lawsuit for slander--I think it's libelous to claim a Normal has the
Stigma. Mutual release all around."
"You'll represent her?" he asked.
"Would you consider it ethical? I don't see how my assignment to turn
Mary Hall over to your political opponents will stop me from
representing her in a lawsuit, do you?"
He shook his head, straightening up. "I don't see how," he agreed. "I
hope you do defend her, Maragon. The Courts have had to be pretty
tough on these pathetic people. If they had reputable representatives,
I for one would be a lot more ready to suspend sentences and find
other ways to help them out of the jams their weird powers get them
into."
"I'll think about it," I said. "In the meantime--stay away from me."
"We're both poison right now," he agreed. "And thanks."
* * * * *
Mary Hall was still at T-shirted Elmer's when I dialed his phone, and
she agreed to meet me on the street in front of the Moldy Fig. My
'copter had barely settled to the pavement when she came running from
the doorway to the stairs and hopped into the bubble with me.
"Columbia University," I told the hacker. "Rhine Building."
Professor Lindstrom was waiting for us in his laboratory, in carpet
slippers and without his tie. "Laboratory" is a perfectly silly term.
The "apparatus" in any Psi lab is no more complicated than a folding
screen, some playing cards, perhaps a deck of Rhine ESP cards and a
slide rule. This place went so far as to sport a laboratory bench and
a number of lab stools, on which Lindstrom, Mary Hall and I perched.
My egghead Psi expert was barely able to restrain himself--he had some
bitter things to tell me.
I beat him to it. "Take that injured glower off your puss," I snapped.
"Your business is testing people for their Psi powers. Why shouldn't I
call on you for help? What are friends for?"
"For a friend I might," Lindstrom said. "You don't rate that well with
me any more."
"I'll try to bear up under it," I told him. "In the meantime, this is
Mary Hall, a reputed Psi. Her power is HC."
He was interested in spite of himself. "Hallucination?" he said. "We
don't see much of that, Miss Hall. And you claim you can demonstrate
this power under controlled conditions?" These eggheads all talk
alike.
Mary shook her head. "No, I certainly do not. I'm as Normal as you
are, Professor." He sagged slightly in disappointment.
"Well," Lindstrom said. "This is going to be difficult to prove, Miss
Hall. Merely by withholding your HC ability, you can act Normal--but
what would that prove?"
She turned to me. "I thought you said you had a way to get me off the
hook," she protested. "How are we--?"
"Quiet," I told her. "I didn't come up here for a lecture in logic.
Especially from a dumb blonde." She started to bristle, but thought
better of it.
"It goes like this, Prof," I said. "This innocent looking piece of
fluff was caught slipping a five-dollar bill to a teller at a bank
down town, and asking for change for a hundred dollar bill. She says
it was nothing more than sleight of hand. You are an experienced
observer. I want you to watch her work her little trick. If she can
fool us, and not use Psi, the legal position is that she didn't need
Psi to fool the teller." I turned to her. "And the logical principle,
Miss Aristotle," I told her, "is equally simple: Occam's Razor. Prefer
the simpler explanation. Can you show us how you palmed the hundred
and slipped the teller a five?"
"You'll be watching for it," Mary protested, letting those ripe lips
pout.
"I suppose the teller wasn't? It's his business to watch the bills
when he's making change." I took out my wallet and handed her a one
and a five. "Hand me the one and make me think it's the five," I said.
Lindstrom leaned his elbows on the black composition top of the lab
bench, watching her narrowly. Mary got down off her stool and came
over closer to me, smoothing the two bills in her fingers. The five
was on top.
"I'd like change for a five," she said, handing it to me. She worked
it three times while we watched.
"Utterly smooth," Lindstrom said. "I didn't see her make the switch."
"Me, too," I agreed. I could see the tension drain from Mary's face.
She was prettier when she wasn't worried. She was pretty all the time,
when you got right down to it. No wonder she could fool a teller. He
probably hadn't taken his eyes off that dazzling smile.
"Is that all?" Lindstrom asked.
"Would you certify that you saw her make these switches, and that Psi
was not involved?" I asked him.
"Of course. I don't want to, but, if you call me as a witness, I'll
testify to what I saw," he said glumly.
"It may not be necessary," I said. "I really ought to call you, just
to teach you some manners, Prof. But then, we all have a right to be a
little yellow."
Mary would have preferred to remain in silence as we rode a cab back
to the Moldy Fig, and huddled over in her corner of the bubble. There
wasn't enough light, that high over the city, to read her expression.
"Here's the strategy," I said, about midtown. "If we can get the Bank
to agree to restitution, and to sign an admission that you did not use
HC or any other Psi powers to work your theft, I think you'll be off
the hook. I doubt the Federal Jury will listen to an information."
"I hope you're right."
"This is my business," I growled. "Do you want me to represent you?"
She didn't answer that until the 'copter had grounded in front of the
Fig. "All right," she said. "I don't know what you're so mad at all
the time, but it doesn't seem to be me. I'd like you to represent me."
I watched her scoot across the sidewalk and run up the stairs to
Elmer's place. For some screwy reason I hoped she had another place to
hole up for the night. I was getting as bad as Renner--looking
lecherously at the raffish display of shapely leg as the blond
bombshell beat it.
* * * * *
I directed my hacker to my apartment, and grabbed the phone in the
bubble. The Mobile Operator got me Vito Passarelli at his home. He
sounded as if he had already retired.
"This is you know who," I said. "It's late, I know, but we'd better
talk before morning. My apartment is the safest spot I can think of.
I'm in the Directory."
"Now?"
"Now."
I beat His Honor to my apartment by long enough to hang up my jacket,
turn the ceiling on to a dim but friendly glow and get out a bottle of
Scotch. Judges don't drink bourbon.
I let Passarelli in when the buzzer sounded. "I'm reasonably sure
there are no microphones in this place," I said. "This Mary Hall thing
is getting hot--we'd better start taking precautions."
"Always," he said, running a hand over his balding head. His eyes saw
the bottle and asked me a question. I threw some of the Pinch Bottle
over ice and handed it to him, taking mine neat.
"Here's to crime," he said, sipping the liquor. "What happened?"
I poked a finger at my favorite easy-chair, which Passarelli took. I
stood in front of him, still holding my drink. "I got myself in a
jam."
"You're talking to the wrong man," he said coldly. "Get yourself a
lawyer--a _good_ Lawyer."
"You're in it with me, Passarelli."
"Never met you," he said, getting up. "Thanks for the drink." He
started for the door.
"That witch has the Stigma after all," I said to his back. That
stopped him. He came back and poked his angry face into mine.
"You had her tested?"
"Professor Lindstrom, at Columbia," I told him. "She is slick as a
whistle. Lindstrom fell for her yarn that it was sleight of hand--but
it was HC. I'd have sworn it didn't exist."
"Well," he said. "Well, well. All right, Maragon. What's the jam
you're in?"
"You suggested I should represent her, and I'm going to. But with the
Stigma? That's more than I bargained for. You know no reputable
attorney can afford to represent a Psi. Not if he wants any Normal
business. Too much feeling."
"Going to duck out on her?"
"Damned if I'll welch!" I said, more hotly than I had meant to. "You
sure don't seem very shaken up by the news."
"It's not any news to me," Passarelli said tightly. "You forget that
I've had first-hand experience with that little lady. She gave me the
business right in my courtroom. I'm no credulous egghead like
Lindstrom. I know the difference between sleight of hand and an
hallucination. She made me see just what she wanted me to see."
"Now you know why I think you're in the same jam, Judge," I said.
"You'll look great running for office, with your opposition telling
the public how a Psi foozled your vision. They'll stomp on the loud
pedal about how you let her get away with it and wangle a 'Not Guilty'
verdict when she was guilty as sin."
"Yes," he agreed. "It's a hot potato, all right."
"There's just one out," I insisted. "That girl would have made
restitution long ago if the Bank would have permitted it. And I've
been asking myself how come--why should the Bank get sniffy and not
want its money back?" That was the right question. He went back to the
easy-chair and sat down. His eyes came up to meet mine, and then he
held out his glass. I splashed some more Pinch in it.
"Politics, politics," he mourned. "The social workers are after me on
this thing. They _want_ that girl to be in a jam. They've asked me to
work on the Bank, asked that I make sure restitution can't be made.
They want the threat of a Federal indictment to hang over her head."
"Why?"
"So she'll agree to my committing her to their care. You know what
they try to do--it's the doctrine of sterilization. Remove young Psis
from the Psi society--cut them loose from their natural contacts,
force them to quit using their powers. It's the same technique they
use on narcotic violators, if they aren't too deeply committed to
drugs."
"And you are really resisting that?"
"Wouldn't you? Of course I had to tell the Bank to refuse restitution.
But do you think Psi is a sickness, like narcotic addiction? Nonsense.
Telepathy is no more sickness than the ability to discriminate colors,
or hear the tones of a scale. This is equivalent to the color-blind
and tone-deaf asking that the rest of us stop perceiving color or
hearing the pitch of sound. Ridiculous."
"What is the cure?"
"We could argue all night," he said wearily. Then my buzzer sounded.
"Expecting anybody else?" he said, alarmed in an instant.
"I can't think of anybody I'd like to find out that you were here," I
said. "Get out of sight." He carried his drink into my bedroom.
* * * * *
Mike Renner was at the door. For a fat-faced bookkeeper with a law
degree, he looked pretty grim and formidable.
"You rotten double-crosser," he greeted me. I was the darling of
practically everybody in New York that night.
"It happens every time. Now what do you want, Renner?"
"To break your neck," he said. "You have found that Psi, Mary Hall,
and you haven't turned her over to Dunn. That's a dirty double--"
"With good reason," I cut in on him. "Do we both have to be idiots?
I've just finished having the girl tested. She hasn't got the Stigma,
Mike. Dunn will look like a fool trying to pin anything on the
Judge."
"That's not our business. Our fee depends on giving her to Dunn!" He
shook a fist in my face when he said that. He just doesn't look the
part.
"And the reputation of our firm can very well depend on my
successfully representing her, and proving that she hasn't got the
Stigma."
"You don't honestly mean you're going to represent that Psi!"
"I just _told_ you she hasn't got the Stigma!"
"You are a rotten lair," Renner said, getting dangerously red in the
face. "What kind of games are you playing with Passarelli? What has
_he_ got to do with the reputation of our firm? Don't try to lie," he
said sharply. "I know he's here. He's been tailed all night."
That was enough for Passarelli. He came out of the bedroom and walked
up to Renner. "Forgive me for saying this, Renner," he said. "But I
just hope you have a case in my court. I'll find some way to pin one
of your slippery tax frauds to you!"
Renner grew pale. He's conditioned to toady to judges. He didn't have
the guts to answer Passarelli, and took it out on me, instead. "Our
partnership is dissolved, as of right now," he seethed. He dragged
some money out of his pocket and threw it on the rug. "There's your
share of the rent. I'm throwing your stuff out in the hall in the
morning. The auditors will be there at nine o'clock for an accounting.
You won't need that address any longer--only reputable people come to
our building." He stormed out.
Passarelli and I faced each other in silence. "Jerk!" I raged at him
at last. "You couldn't check to see if you were being followed!"
"I regret that," he said. "But you invited me."
"Don't remind me," I snarled. "What now?"
"I don't know about you," Passarelli said. "But I'm going to start
looking out for myself. You're too tricky, Maragon."
"And I suppose you think it's time I ditched Mary Hall, eh?"
"What for?" he said mildly. "You're just one more Criminal Court
shyster now--Renner gave you the heave-ho. You might as well defend
her, even if I can't work with you."
I could feel my belly tighten with rage. "I thought you'd welcome a
reputable attorney who would represent Psis," I reminded him.
"Yes, I suppose I would. Very much."
"All of a sudden I'm not reputable?"
"Reputable?" he sneered. "You've been on every side of this thing.
Would you like to explain why you told Renner one thing and me
another?"
"Same reason you've been going through some contortions
yourself--trying to save my profession and occupation."
"Too tricky for me," Passarelli said.
I measured him with my eyes. "That's not the reason you're walking out
of here. What's bugging you?"
"Reading my mind?" he said coldly. It wasn't the first time I'd been
accused of it. "But you're right. You lied to me."
"To you? Not so."
"Oh, yes. How do you know that Mary Hall used HC on you in Lindstrom's
laboratory? Nothing but Psi could detect that. You had a TK there with
you. Admit it."
"Never," I said. "How did you spot it in your courtroom? If I needed a
TK, so did you. What about that?"
"That was different," he argued. "I had the--"
"Nuts," I told him. "Just because I have made as much of a study of
Psi as you have, don't blackball me. You going to act the same way if
I decide to specialize in Stigma cases?"
"Are you going to?"
"What else is left? I'll never get Normal trade after Renner finishes
with me. I come back to it: A reputable attorney representing Psis."
Passarelli paused with his hand on the door. "It would have some
interest, I guess," he conceded, "if I thought for a moment you could
guarantee the behavior of your clients. But no Normal can, Maragon.
That's the curse of the Logan Stigma. Normals are panicked by it. Look
at the Bar Association and all the trouble that's gone to just to make
sure no one with the Stigma is ever admitted to the Bar. Look at those
pathetic social workers--trying to control what they can't even
perceive. The color-blind man trying to make sure no one else sees
red. No, only Psis will ever be able to make Psis behave. They will
have to police themselves, and society is unwilling to give them any
standing to do it. This I believe is called a dilemma."
"It's a mess, that's for sure," I said gloomily as he left.
Well, what do you do when the props have been pulled out from under
your world? I like to believe that the reasonable man sits down and
thinks. That's what I did, anyway. I was a guy with very little left
to lose. It was time I bet the limit--shot my wad. There was one
possibility....
I looked at my watch. It was well after one in the morning. Still, I
tried Elmer's place again. He came sleepily to the phone.
"Mary there?"
"Of course not."
"Keys?"
"What if he is?"
"Put him on."
There was a delay, but Keys' romantic good looks replaced Elmer's
left-tackle belligerence. "What now?" he asked.
"Do you know where Mary is?" I started.
"Maybe."
"She tell you I'm her attorney?"
"Yes."
"I just found out that she's in twice the trouble I thought before.
The kid's a pawn in a fight for power between political oppositions.
They'll crucify her gladly, without respect to the merits of the case.
Too much is riding on it for justice to wind up triumphant."
"That's what I thought," he said. "She stays under cover."
"Think it over," I suggested. "I'm going to bed, but I'm leaving my
door unlocked--at my apartment. Dig her up, if you start making any
sense, and both of you beat it over here. Before dawn. Do you hear
me?"
[Illustration]
"Oh, I hear you," he said sourly. "I just don't know whether to trust
you."
"We all have the same trouble," I said, cutting the image.
* * * * *
They showed up about three o'clock. I hadn't been able to go back to
sleep--feeling almost sure Keys would bring her there--and had spent
the time with the weights. I was back to strength. The surprise was
that Elmer came with them. Well, perhaps it was a help.
Nobody wanted a drink. Mary looked around the apartment a little--it
is a nice place, restful and homey, if you can ever achieve that in an
apartment fifty floors up.
"A Psi decorated this place," she said. Well, she was right, and I
admitted it to her with a nod. "What couldn't wait until morning,
Maragon?" she asked me.
"First, Mary, I want you to know that while you fooled Lindstrom, you
didn't fool me. You have the Stigma. Wait," I said, raising my hand as
she started to protest. "Lies won't do any longer. The chips are down.
You wouldn't even be here if the Council of the Lodge hadn't decided
it was time to protect you."