Alan froze just an instant. Then the months of Hawkes' training came
into play. He wiggled his back tentatively to see whether the knife was
penetrating his clothing. Good; it wasn't.
In one quick motion he whirled and spun away, dancing off to the left
and clubbing down sharply on his opponent's knife-hand. A grunted
exclamation of pain rewarded him. He stepped back two steps; as his
attacker advanced, Alan drove a fist into his stomach and leaped lithely
away again. This time his hand emerged holding the neutrino gun.
"Stand where you are or I'll burn you," he said quietly. The
shadow-shrouded attacker made no move. Cautiously Alan kicked the fallen
knife out of his reach without lowering his gun.
"Okay," Alan said. "Come on over here in the light where I can see who
you are. I want to remember you."
But to his astonishment he felt strong arms slipping around his and
pinioning him; a quick twist and his neutrino gun dropped from his
numbed hands. The arms locked behind his back in an unbreakable full
nelson.
Alan writhed, but it was no use. The hidden accomplice held him tightly.
And now the other man came forward and efficiently went through his
pockets. Alan felt more angry than afraid, but he wished Hawkes or
someone else would come along before this thing went too far.
Suddenly Alan felt the pressure behind his neck easing up. His captor
was releasing him. He poised, debating whether or not to whirl and
attack, when a familiar voice said, "Rule Number One: never leave your
back unguarded for more than half a second when you're being held up.
You see what happens."
Alan was too stunned to reply for several moments. In a whisper he said
finally, "Max?"
"Of course. And lucky for you I'm who I am, too. John, step out here in
the light where he can see you. Alan, meet John Byng. Free Status, Class
B."
The man who had originally attacked him came forward now, into the light
of the street-glow. He was shorter than Alan, with a lean, almost
fleshless face and a scraggly reddish-brown beard. He looked cadaverous.
His eyeballs were stained a peculiar yellowish tinge.
Alan recognized him--a Class B man he had seen several times at various
parlors. It was not a face one forgot easily.
Byng handed over the thick stack of bills he had taken from Alan. As he
pocketed them, Alan said in some annoyance, "A very funny prank, Max.
But suppose I had burned your friend's belly, or he had stabbed me?"
Hawkes chuckled. "One of the risks of the game, I guess. But I know you
too well to think that you'd burn down an unarmed man, and John didn't
intend to stab you. Besides, I was right here."
"And what was the point of this little demonstration?"
"Part of your education, m'boy. I was hoping you'd be held up by one of
the local gangs, but they didn't oblige, so I had to do it myself. With
John's help, of course. Next time remember that there may be an
accomplice hiding in the shadows, and that you're not safe just because
you've caught one man."
Alan grinned. "Good point. And I guess this is the best way to learn
it."
The three of them went upstairs. Byng excused himself and vanished into
the extra room almost immediately; Hawkes whispered to Alan, "Johnny's a
dreamduster--a narcosephrine addict. In the early stages; you can spot
it by the yellowing of the eyeballs. Later on it'll cripple him, but he
doesn't worry about later on."
Alan studied the small, lean man when he returned. Byng was smiling--a
strange unworldly smile. He held a small plastic capsule in his right
hand.
"Here's another facet of your education," he said. He looked at Hawkes.
"Is it okay?"
Hawkes nodded.
Byng said, "Take a squint at this capsule, boy. It's
dreamdust--narcosephrine. That's my kick."
He tossed the capsule nonchalantly to Alan, who caught it and held it at
arm's distance as if it were a live viper. It contained a yellow powder.
"You twist the cap and sniff a little," Hawkes said. "But don't try it
unless you hate yourself real bad. Johnny can testify to that."