Farradyne sat before his control panel with his head in his hands.
There had to be some way out of this. The alternative was to go on
hauling Norma back and forth, being the target of her needling and her
vicious desire and getting nothing done because of it. The mess had
started off badly enough, but now it had deteriorated.
Norma's needling and goading had been hard enough to bear. He was
willing to bet his spare money that the boxes she was now receiving
contained whatever could be purchased of the most seductive clothing
she could find. And included in her basic idea was, most likely, a
sharp appreciation of what Farradyne would consider exciting. Acres
of exposed skin or rank nudity would pall on him. So she would come
out with little items that might cover her from toe to chin in such a
way as to make him wonder about what was underneath; probably simple
stuff with a lot of fine fit and a lot of semi-transparent quality that
compelled the eye. If she coupled this program with a soft voice, as
she was most likely to do now that she had shucked the sleazy costume,
Norma Hannon would be almost irresistible. Before this happened,
Farradyne had to park her somewhere that would be binding.
Had she parents? Friends?
He hit the control panel with his fist. He hated to think of it, but
if push came to shove he might be able to drop her in one of the
sanatoriums that had been set up for love-lotus addicts. They did
little good for the victims but did keep the addicts out of other
people's hair.
It seemed that it should be parents, first.
Farradyne's forefinger hit the radio button viciously.
"Tower? Connect me to the city telephone."
"Aye-firm, Lancaster. Wait five."
A few seconds later Farradyne was asking for the Bennington Detective
Agency, an outfit that was system wide. He got a receptionist first and
then a quiet-voiced man named Lawson.
Farradyne came to the point. "I want any information you can collect
about the family of a man named Frank Hannon who was killed in the
wreck of the Semiramide in The Bog, on Venus four years ago."
"You're same Charles Farradyne?"
"Maybe--but is it important?"
"It might be, but it will be held confidential. I'm asking because I
prefer to know the motives of clients. I'd like reassurance that our
investigation will be made for a legal reason."
"I'll put it this way: I know Frank Hannon was killed in the wreck. I
have reason to believe that he had a sister that disappeared shortly
afterwards. If this is true, I want to know it--but I haven't time to
find out through the usual channels. Fact of the matter is that I want
no more information than I could get myself if I had time to go pawing
through issues of newspapers of four years ago. No more."
"I will look through our list of missing persons and see if such is the
case, Mr. Farradyne. I suggest that you either call back in a couple of
hours, or better, that you call in person here at my office. There will
be no charge for the initial search, but if this evolves into something
concrete--well, we can discuss the matter when you call. Is that all
right?"
"It's okay and I'll be in your office at four o'clock."
* * * * *
Farradyne hung up and considered. If Norma Hannon had a couple of
grieving parents, he could hand her over to them and that would be the
end of that. He lit a cigarette and smoked for a moment, then got up
from the control console and started for the spacelock.
He met Norma in the salon. She had changed into a heavy satin housecoat
that molded her arms to the wrists, clung to her waist and breasts
and throat, and outlined her hips and thighs. Painted toenails were
provocatively visible below the hem as she sat there with her legs
crossed, tossing her foot up and down.
"Thought we were about to take off again," she asked. Her voice was
soft and personal and friendly. She was plying the affectionate line as
smoothly as an experienced woman could.
Farradyne shook his head. Having a plan of action made him feel better.
"Got a call from the tower," he said. "More business. I'll be back in a
couple of hours."
Norma held up her hand for his cigarette and he gave it to her. She
puffed deeply and offered it back. Farradyne refused it. The memory
of her needling and her desire for violence had not had time to fade.
Another twenty hours of this calmness and he would begin to look upon
the sharing of a cigarette as a pleasant gesture of companionship.
Norma shrugged at his wave of the hand in refusal. "I'll be here
when you get back," she said comfortably, wriggling down against the
cushions and giving him the benefit of an inviting smile.
Farradyne left the salon swearing under his breath. If this parking of
her did not work, Farradyne was licked.
* * * * *
He walked. He did not like walking, but he preferred walking to
remaining in the Lancaster with Norma for the next couple of hours. He
tried to think, but he could not come to any conclusion because he had
all his hope tied on the Bennington outfit and what they might turn up.
He was shown into the office of Peter Lawson, who was a bright-eyed
elderly man with a body surprisingly lithe for his years.
"Now, before we go any further," said Lawson pleasantly, "I'd like to
hear your reasons for becoming interested in this case."
Farradyne nodded. "As I told you, Frank Hannon was killed in an
accident on a spacecraft I owned. That was four years ago. Recently I
met Norma Hannon in a gin-mill on Ganymede and she fastened onto me
like a leech as a person to hate. You know the results of love-lotus
addiction?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, it occurred to me that one way of getting rid of Miss Hannon
would be to turn her over to some relative or friend who would be
deeply interested in her welfare. Does this add up?"
"Quite logical. Miss Hannon is where you can find her?"
Farradyne nodded with a sour look on his face. "She's sitting in my
salon waiting for me to come back."
"Why not just turn her over to the police?" asked Lawson with a careful
look at Farradyne.
"Look," said Farradyne testily, "I don't enjoy Miss Hannon's company,
but I can't see jailing her. She isn't truly vicious, she's just
another unfortunate victim of the love-lotus trap. Maybe I feel a bit
concerned over her brother. Anyway, take it from here."
"Very well. I shall. The facts are these:
"Frank Hannon was a lawyer with a limited but apparently lucrative
practise. Norma acted as a sort of junior partner. The case-history
says that Frank Hannon had been on his way to Venus to place some case
before one of the higher courts, the nature of which was not a matter
for public discussion. I don't know what it was myself.
"Then Frank was killed, and Norma dropped her study of law. Her
brother's death seemed to be quite a blow to her. Before, she had dated
at random, with nothing serious in mind. But afterwards she seemed to
develop a strong determination to marry, perhaps as a substitute for
the gap left by the death of her brother. A man named Antony Walton
became Number One boy friend after a few months and they were together
constantly and seemed devoted. She disappeared after a dinner-date with
Walton, and Walton is now serving a term on Titan Colony for possession
of love-lotus blossoms."
Farradyne shook his head. "The louse," he said feelingly.
"Everybody agrees."
"I don't know as much as I might about lotus addiction," said
Farradyne. "It all seems so sudden to me. One moment we have a
well-bred young woman with ideals and ambition and feelings and the
next moment--"
"It is a rather quick thing," said Lawson. "The love lotus is vicious
and swift. I've studied early cases. They all seem to have the same
pattern. And oddly enough, love lotus is not an addictive drug in every
case. It is not only an aphrodisiac; it also heightens the physical
senses so that a good drink tastes better and a good play becomes
superb. The touch of a man's hand becomes a magnificent thrill. And
here is the point where addiction begins, Mr. Farradyne. If the woman's
senses and emotions are treated only to the mild appreciations of food
and drink and music and a gentle caress, her addiction may take years
and years to arrive at the point where she cannot feel these stimuli
without a sniff of hellflower. But if she should be so unlucky as to
have her emotions raised to a real passion during the period of dosage,
it is like overloading the engine. You burn her out."
* * * * *