"I wouldn't say that."
"Look, Brenner, I don't know you from Adam's Off Ox. From somewhere,
you've got the idea that I am a hellblossom runner and you want to get
into the act. Well, in the first place I am not a runner, and in the
second place you have about as much chance of getting into a closed
racket with that open-faced act of yours as you have of filling a
warehouse with heroin by asking the local cops where to buy it."
* * * * *
Brenner smiled. "I can see you're cagey," he said. "I don't blame you.
In fact, I'd not have come out here asking like an open-faced fool if I
hadn't been completely out of stock. I'm a bit desperate." He went into
an inside pocket and came out with an envelope. "This is a credential
or two," he said. "When you return this way, we can maybe do business.
The usual way, you know. No questions asked--nor answered. And no
witnesses. Okay?"
"I'll be back--maybe--mister--er, Brenner?"
"You get the idea."
"I'll--"
Farradyne's voice trailed away as he caught sight of the object that
had held the interest of the jeep driver. It was Norma Hannon, who came
around the fins of the Lancaster with the sun behind her.
Her errand had been shopping. The overworn cocktail dress was gone
and in its place was a white silky number that did a lot of fetching
things to her figure. She had also taken the complete course at some
primp-mill. She was another woman; not even Farradyne, who had seen her
in her worn clothing for days, could have been convinced that this sort
of beautiful perfection was not Norma's usual appearance.
Farradyne was silent. But as Brenner caught sight of her coming around
the sunlit tail of the Lancaster, and with enough sun shining through
her to make the pulses jump, he made a throaty discord.
"Hello," she said brightly, as though she and Farradyne were close
acquaintances, but in a tone that indicated that she was paid-passenger
and he the driver of the spacer. "I've some packages being delivered in
a bit. We'll wait, of course?"
Farradyne nodded dumbly.
Norma nodded coolly to Brenner and went up the ramp, displaying a yard
of well-filled nylon stocking at every step.
The roar of the jeep's engine snapped Farradyne's attention back to
Brenner--or where he had been standing. The jeep was taking Brenner
away in a cloud of spaceport dust.
Farradyne shook his head. That was not the man he wanted. Call it close
but no cigar. Farradyne did not want a man to buy love lotus, he wanted
a seller, a character from the upper echelon.
* * * * *
With a sigh, Farradyne went into the Lancaster. Norma rose from the
divan along the edge of the salon and whirled like a mannequin, her
silken skirt floating. She stopped and let the silk wrap itself around
her thighs. "Like it?" she asked.
"It's very neat," he said flatly. "But where did you get the
wherewithal?"
"I figured you owed me something so I took it out of the locker in the
control room. You left the key dangling in the lock?"
"What's the grand idea?" he asked.
"You're a cold-blooded bird, Farradyne. You don't give a hoot that you
and your cowboy spacing killed my brother and that you and your kind
made it possible for some wanton to dope me. I'm told that half-decent
gangsters send flowers to a rival's funeral, but you wouldn't even part
with a love lotus. So if you won't give me one, I'm going to force it
out of you."
"But--"
"You get the idea," she said, smoothing down a non-existent wrinkle
over one round hip. "But I'm honest. You've some change coming." She
put her hand down in the space between her breasts and brought forth a
small roll of bills which she handed to Farradyne. Dumbly, he took them.
They were warm and scented with woman and cologne, and would have
been hard on Farradyne's blood-pressure if it had not been for the
anticipatory glitter in Norma Hannon's eyes.
There was a small commotion at the spacelock. Farradyne looked to see
three men coming in with fancy-wrapped boxes.
He groaned, and went aloft to the control room. Norma had run the gamut.