"She has a different number."
"Can I help it if she traded with somebody?"
"She didn't. She bought it here. I saw the receipt."
"Then she traded with one of my other customers!" snapped the old man.
"Two of your customers have the same name--Adelia Schultz? Not likely.
Let's see your duplicate receipt book."
O'Reilley's wrinkled face set itself into a stubborn mask. "Doubt if
it's still around."
Norris frowned. "Look, pop, I've had a rough day. I _could_ start
naming some things around here that need fixing--sanitary violations
and such. Not to mention that sign--'dumb blondes.' They outlawed that
one when they executed that shyster doctor for shooting K-108s full
of growth hormones, trying to raise himself a harem to sell. Besides,
you're required to keep sales records until they've been micro-filmed.
There hasn't been a microfilming since July."
The wrinkled face twitched with frustrated anger. O'Reilley shuffled
to the counter while Norris followed. He got a fat binder from under
the register and started toward a wooden stairway.
"Where you going?" Norris called.
"Get my old glasses," the manager grumbled. "Can't see through these
new things."
"Leave the book here and _I'll_ check it," Norris offered.
But O'Reilley was already limping quickly up the stairs. He seemed not
to hear. He shut the door behind him, and Norris heard the lock click.
The bio-agent waited. Again the thought of a black market troubled him.
Unauthorized neutroids could mean lots of trouble.
* * * * *
Five minutes passed before the old man came down the stairs. He said
nothing as he placed the book on the counter. Norris noticed that his
hands were trembling as he shuffled through the pages.
"Let _me_ look," said the bio-agent.
O'Reilley stepped reluctantly aside. Norris had memorized the owner's
receipt number, and he found the duplicate quickly. He stared at it
silently. "Mrs. Adele Schultz ... chimpanzee-K-99-LJZ-351." It was
the number of the animal he wanted, but it wasn't the number on Mrs.
Schultz's neutroid nor on her original copy of the receipt.
He held the book up to his eye and aimed across the page at the light.
O'Reilley's breathing became audible. Norris put the book down, folded
two thicknesses of handkerchief over the blade of his pocketknife, and
ran it down the seam between the pages. He took the sheet he wanted,
folded it, and stowed it in his vest pocket. O'Reilley was stuttering
angrily.