"I wouldn't say that."
"Look, Brenner, I don't know you from Adam's off ox. From somewhere,
you have the idea that I am a runner and you want to get into the
act. 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, "so that when you return this way, we can maybe do
business. The usual way, you know. No questions, or witnesses. Okay?"
"I'll be back--maybe, Mr.--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
primpmill. She was another woman. Not even Farradyne, who had seen her
for days, could have been convinced that this 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 ship, 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 reasonably
close acquaintances, but in a tone that indicated that she was paid
passenger and he the driver of the spacer. "I've some parcels being
delivered in a bit. We'll wait, of course?"
Farradyne agreed dumbly.
Norma nodded coolly to Brenner and said, "I'm going on in," as though
she did not want to interfere with any business that might be going
on between the two men. She went up the ramp displaying a quantity of
well-filled nylon at every step.
The roar of the jeep's engine snapped Farradyne's attention back to
Brenner--or where Brenner had been standing. The jeep was taking
Brenner away in a cloud of spaceport dust.
Farradyne shrugged. That was not the man he really wanted. Call it
close but no cigar. Farradyne did not want a man to buy love lotus, he
wanted a seller of the things, a shipper, a character from the upper
echelon. There might be an avenue through Brenner, but he doubted it.
With a sigh, Farradyne went into the Lancaster. Norma rose from the
divan along the end of the salon and whirled like a mannequin, her
silken skirt floating. She stopped and let the skirt wrap itself around
her thighs. "Like it?" she asked.
"It's very neat," he replied 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 conveniently in the lock."
Clevis had left Farradyne quite a bit of operating money but far from
enough to go cutting a silken swath across the average fashion mart.
"What's the grand idea?" he asked.
"You're a cold-blooded bird. 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 lecher to dope me out of my feelings. I'm told
that half-decent gangsters send flowers to a rival's funeral, but you
wouldn't part with even a love lotus you aren't paid for. 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 a nonexistent 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 him. 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 without a trace of a doubt.
4
Farradyne sat before his control panel with his head in his hands and
tried to think this affair out to a logical conclusion. There had to be
some way out of it all. The only alternative was to go on hauling Norma
back and forth, being the brunt of her needling and her viciousness
and getting nothing done because of it. The mess had started off bad
enough, but had now deteriorated until at the present moment the future
looked completely hopeless.
Norma's needling and goading had been hard enough to bear. Her
in-between offers of affection had been less difficult because she had
not made an attractive picture in the first place and she had not let
him forget her attitude in the second. But he realized that she was a
smart enough woman; if anything, having her emotional balance dulled
had put her in a rather interesting class of intellects. She was able
to analyze a situation without being involved emotionally herself in
the analysis. She was smart enough and unencumbered enough to realize
that playing soft-pedal on the hate theme might eventually get her what
she needed.
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 that 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. He knew it
and he bet she knew it, too. So she would come out with some 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 line and fine fit and a 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 well nigh irresistible. And if she even once got the idea that
Farradyne felt protective about her or angry at the man who doped her,
she would see to it that she stopped raving at him. It would demolish
the barrier completely. Before this happened, he 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 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 serve to keep them out of other people's hair--and he had to get
rid of her.
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 he was asking for the Bennington Detective Agency,
an outfit that was system-wide and which advertised enough to make him
remember the name. 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 Charles Farradyne. The same Farradyne?"
"Maybe, but is that important?"
"It might be but it will be held confidential. I'm asking because we
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
afterwards. If this is true, I want to know, but I haven't time to find
out through the usual channels. Fact of the matter is, 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. Is this reasonable
enough?"
"It sounds that way. I'll look through our list of missing persons. 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 more concrete--well,
we can discuss the matter when you call. 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 and then got up
from the control console, snapped all the switches off and started for
the spacelock.
He met Norma in the salon. She had changed from her white, silky,
wide-skirted thing 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. Bare feet and 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 had obviously dropped the
vindictive tones and was plying the affectionate line as smoothly as
she 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. She looked
for all the world like a woman who would be waiting patiently for her
man to return to her.
Farradyne left the salon swearing under his breath. If this parking of
her did not work, Farradyne was licked and he knew it.
Farradyne walked. He didn't like walking but he preferred it 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. Unfortunately, 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 so she can bait me some more."
"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 really 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 there."
"Very well. I shall. The facts are these: Frank Hannon was a lawyer
with a limited but apparently lucrative practice. Norma acted as a
sort of junior partner whose ability with briefs and research made her
valuable to her brother. 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 is not a matter for public discussion even
at this late date. I don't know what it was myself.
"Then Frank was killed, and afterwards Norma dropped her study of law.
Her brother's death seemed quite a blow to her. Before, she dated at
random, nothing very serious. Afterwards she seemed to develop a strong
determination to marry and have children, perhaps as a substitute for
the gap left by the death of her brother. A man named Anthony Walton
became number one boy friend after a few months and they were together
constantly and seemed devoted to one another. 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.
"Everybody agrees."
"I don't know as much as I might about lotus addiction," continued
Farradyne. "It all seems so quick. One moment we have a well-bred young
woman with ideals and ambition and feeling and the next--?"
"It's a rather quick thing," said Lawson. "The love lotus or hellflower
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 her 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
appreciation of food and drink and music and a gentle caress, the
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 real passion
during the period of dosage, it is like overloading the engine. You
burn her out."
"I see. And there is no cure?"
"Some doctors believe that a long period of peace and quiet under
conditions where the mildest of stimuli are available may bring
the addict back. I am of the opinion that such a place does not
exist. They fasten onto hate as an emotion that cuts through their
burned-out emotions and if you should place them among completely
bland surroundings they would find it possible to hate those that
incarcerated them. It becomes almost paranoiac--anything you do is
wrong."
"So I have discovered. But what do I do with Miss Hannon?"
"At the time of Miss Hannon's disappearance, her family offered five
thousand dollars for her return."
"I'd be happy to deliver her FOB her own front porch," said Farradyne.
"Can I hand her over to you and let you take it from there?"
"She would put up quite a ruckus," said Lawson. "I doubt that Miss
Hannon will go home willingly. It is my opinion that her response to
Walton's lovemaking was extremely high, so that the result was a quick
blunting of her normal capabilities. After this, anger and shame would
cause her--a proud woman of education and breeding--to hide where
she could not be known, where she could possibly get the hellflower
she needed. This would not be in the home of her parents. So she
will not go home willingly, and the alternative is an appeal to the
authorities. I doubt that such a course would be acceptable to either
of us."
"You're right but--"