Farradyne took the Lancaster up and set the course to Terra. As soon
as he could spare time to think of anything but handling the ship, he
began to wonder about Norma and Mike Cahill. She had not been visible
when they arrived, but no doubt by now she had made her presence known.
It bothered him a bit because he was as certain as a man can be that
Cahill was a hellflower operator, and he did not want the man to get
cold feet because Farradyne was connected with an addict, if even for a
short hop.
So as soon as he could leave the board, Farradyne went down into the
salon.
They had met. Norma, for the first time in her trip with Farradyne, was
presiding over the dining table. She was wearing a slinky, sea-green
hostess gown that scarcely existed above the waist and was slit on both
sides to just below the knees. Her white, bare legs twinkled as she
walked and almost forced the eye to follow them. She was giving Cahill
all the benefit of her physical beauty, and Cahill was enjoying it.
Farradyne had a hunch that Norma was about to start slipping him the
old jealousy-routine. He wondered about his reaction. He was extremely
wary of Norma, but he did feel a sort of responsibility for her. She
might make him jealous, but it would not be the jealousy of passion or
desire, but the jealous concern that stems from a desire to protect.
Norma's lissome figure vanished toward the galley, and Cahill wagged a
forefinger at Farradyne.
"That dame's a blank," he said in a low voice.
"I know. She's not my woman, Cahill."
"Maybe not, but it sure looks like it from a distance. What are you
doing with her?"
"Delivering her to her parents in Denver."
"That all?"
Farradyne nodded. "She latched onto me on Ganymede; she's the dame that
made the loud announcement of my being a hellflower runner."
"Maybe she'll be right sooner or later. But you get rid of her, see?"
Farradyne nodded vigorously. "That I'll do. She's been hell on high
heels to have around the joint."
"Looks like she might be fun."
"She hates my guts."
Cahill nodded. "Probably. They usually end up in a case of anger and
violence. Tough."
Norma came back with a tray and set food on the table. They ate in
silence, with Norma still giving Cahill the full power of her charm.
Cahill seemed to enjoy her advances, although he accepted them with a
calloused, self-assured smile. Once dinner was finished, Norma jumped
up and began to clear the table. This act annoyed Farradyne because he
could not account for it, and the only thing that seemed to fit the
case was the possibility that Norma was acting as she did to soften his
wariness of her; but she was carrying the thing too far.
* * * * *
As she left again, Farradyne turned to Cahill and asked, "How can a man
tell a love lotus from a gardenia?"
"That takes experience. You'll learn."
"The thing that stops me," said Farradyne, "is that the Sandmen have
been trying to stamp out the things for about forty years and they
can't even tell where they come from."
"They'll never find out," said Cahill. "Maybe you won't either."
"But I--"
"Better you shouldn't. Just enjoy living off the edges. It's safer that
way."
"Where are we going after we leave Denver?"
"I'm not too sure we're going anywhere."
"But--"
"I'm none too sure of you, Farradyne. You've some holes to fill in."
Cahill lit a cigarette and leaned back, letting the smoke trickle
through his nostrils. "I don't mind talking to you this way because it
would be your word against mine if you happen to be a Sandman. Some of
your tale rings true. The rest sticks, hard."
"For instance?"
"Well, let's suppose you are a Sandman. Humans are a hard-boiled lot,
but somehow I can't see killing thirty-three people just to establish
a bad reputation. So that tends to clear your book. As to the chance
of your laying low for four years until the mess blew over, I might
buy that except for the place. A guy who can ultimately turn up with
enough oil to grease his way into a reinstated license and a Lancaster
Eighty-One isn't likely to spend four interim years living in a
fungus-field."
"Maybe I hit it rich?"