Two things. The pillbox opened to my touch as I climbed back into the money van. I put a time-release capsule under the tongue of each of the sleeping guards. They would dissolve in four hours and release the antidote to the sleepgas. I didn’t want anyone dying on me. They would wake up and then, if they had not yet been discovered, they would raise the alarm. I needed only an hour’s time to make my getaway, so we had plenty of leeway. Slipping the guards the capsules had been the first thing that I had to do.
I was not too charmed by the second thing.
I took out the metal image of a rat cut from the finest stainless steel. Clutched it a moment, cursing, then threw it to the floor. Chaise had warned me what would happen if it wasn’t found at the scene of the crime.
I climbed wearily to the ground, climbed even more wearily up into the cab of Igor’s now-yellow truck. He was just sealing the back. “Drive on.” I husked when he joined me. “To the payway and Fetorrscoria. If I should fall asleep you are ordered, under penalty of death, not to wake me.”
I dozed on and off until we reached the payway, then yawned myself back to life and fumbled out the catalytic activator. The mouth of the tunnel through the hills appeared ahead. As soon as we entered it I pressed the switch on the activator.
The long, strong burst of radio energy, at exactly the 46.8meter wavelength, would trip the catalytic molecules in the yellow paint that now made the truck so visible. This would reduce their adhesion factor to zero; the paint would then blow away in a cloud of fine dust. Returning the vehicle to its normal filthy and stained pink. The empty armored van would be found. Satellite pictures of that bit of road would eventually reveal a yellow truck driving away from the scene of the crime. If they managed to track it as far as the tollway it would appear to have vanished in the tunnel. The perfect crime. Hugging this thought to myself I eventually settled down and slept the better for all of this.
And woke just long enough when we pulled into the Fetorrscoria warehouse to put my face in the sink and give it a drink of water. Myself as well. Then to stumble to my cot. I had a slight smile on my lips as sleep overwhelmed me. It really had been a perfect crime.
“The crime of the century, that’s what they are calling it!”
I opened gritty eyes to see the loathsome form of Chaise standing over me, hands filled with printouts from the news channel. He threw them onto my chest. I plucked at them feebly.
The top one was a photo of a meaty official hand holding the metal stainless steel rat. All of the headlines were hysterical.
RAT CRIMINAL STRIKES IN WEALTHY HEARTLAND MILLIONS MISSING!! PANIC IN MONEY MARKETS INSURANCE RATES TO RISE
I bet they would! There would be cold shivers throughout the boardrooms. Not my problem. I scanned through the rest of the news, found an obscure item at the very end.
UNION STRIKE LOCKOUT AT STEEL PLANT
It looked like Gar Goyle was doing his union organizing bit now, when he wasn’t putting on his freak act. Which made me think of Believer, who was still hidden in the act in his role of Megalith Man. Which in turn made me look at my watch. I had to phone him again at noon. I dropped the printouts and, with some effort, managed to climb to my feet. All of this activity had not disturbed Igor, who was still snoring on his bed.
“You look terrible,” Chaise said.
“I feel worse.”
“If you are seen in the street in those filthy sports clothes you will be under suspicion at once.”
“So what do I do?”
“Put this on.” He handed me an anonymous dark-green work suit. “Go out and get some workmen’s clothes. Heavy boots. Then get back here and wait. I will have another assignment for you soon. Give me the card.”
“What?” My head was still fuzzy; no more pep pills for a while.
“The cashcard that you used to buy the van. I don’t want it traced to any purchases here.” He passed over a bundle of bills. “Use cash from now on.”
“Where do I go? I don’t know anything about this city.”
“There is a mechomart not far from here.”
“You’ll drive me there?”
A look of quick distaste came and went. “Not very likely. Turn right outside the door. And don’t take too long.”
“Yeah, yeah. But isn’t the door locked?”
“Of course. From the outside. Igor will let you back in.”
I tore off my tired sports clothes, at the same time palming my telephone, which I slipped into the prole outfit I had been given. Then washed up, as well as I could, with cold water in the chipped and filthy sink. Dried off my face and gave it a quick feed of chicken soup, emptying the can. I would have to buy more. The work suit was well worn but clean. Chaise was gone when I came out, nor was there any sign of his car in the street outside. There was a bit more traffic now than there had been at night. All of it passing through, since there seemed to be little to stop for in this run-down neighborhood. The traffic light at the next corner was red, with a few pedestrians waiting for it to change. When I joined them a young man turned and put a card into my hand. Advertising? A panhandler? I glanced at it.
DON’T TALK! it read. Followed by PTO.
I did, and the message on the other side was quite specific.
GIVE ME YOUR TELEPHONE.
A street robbery? For the first time I looked closely at the man who had given me the card. Well dressed. Tanned brown skin. Dark beard and mustache. Deep blue eyes that I had seen before.
I shaped the word Bolivar with my mouth. He nodded and held out his hand. I gave him the phone and watched with great interest as he slapped an adhesive pad onto it. The traffic light changed, the cars began to move: he pressed the phone against the rear fender of the nearest one. We watched as it trundled out of sight. I turned to speak and faced the DON’T TALK card again. Then following his beckoning hand into a nearby alleyway. He pulled out a detector and scanned me. Removed a wired five-credit coin from my pocket, then cut a button off my jacket and placed them carefully into a radiation-proof bag. He did not speak until he had sealed it.
“Hi, Dad,” he finally said. “I wasn’t sure it was you at first-nice new face you have there. But I recognized you from the back when you walked out. It is really great to see you.”
“And you as well!”
“When you called last time I zapped back a detector signal and found out that your phone was bugged. That’s why you got the recorded message.”
“Chaise! I thought he might have seen me using it.”
“He undoubtedly did. The tracer spotted you moving all over-then ending up here. I have been watching the warehouse all morning. That was a classic heist.”
“Thank you, it was. But completely without profit I want you to know. I am but an employee and Chaise gets all the profit. Any word on your mother?” I tried not to sound as disturbed as I was.
“None. But not for want of trying. With James here now I can double the effort.”
“James! You were supposed to stop him.”
“He is unstoppable. But he has a new identity. He came as a bank examiner with the Banco Cuerpo Especial.”
“Which is a front for the Special Corps! In here.” We had reached the mechomart; thirst and hunger struck lightning into my midriff. “Food first!” I said as I led the way to Eat-fast Pay-less. He did not join me in a bearburger with fried grasshoppers, which appeared to be the least-loathsome item on the dispenser’s menu. But he added another blue beer to the order. He sipped and spoke.
“James brought me new ID and this new personality as his assistant. So I have retired from the freak-show business. It was fun while it lasted. But wasn’t too great for dating girls. Of course, as a married man I have abandoned that practice. We have done a lot digging in the records here, with some great help from the Special Corps, and we’re getting a better fix on your employer.”
“Chaise. Is he really the richest man in the galaxy?’’ I chewed hard, then picked a grasshopper leg from between my front teeth.
>
“Far from it. It took a little time to track down his trail. He doesn’t own most of the banks he is supposed to.”
“Smart. I’ll bet that they were just there to con me into taking the job with the circus.” I punched for two more beers. I had to slow down the grasshoppers that were now leaping about in my stomach.
“The circus was a plant as well. I hired private investigators on three different planets who accessed the databases directly. The data they found was all planted and easy enough to see on the spot.”
“But not on a search from another planet. But why did Chaise go to all this trouble?”
He slurped his beer and frowned. “He wanted you on this planet. Just why we are not sure yet. A first guess would be that he needed some crimes committed and wanted a pro like you to do them for him. And he also worked very hard to see that you joined Bolshoi’s Big Top. We think he wants you there as a spy for him. As you know, a good number of the acts are fronts for various interstellar organizations. Perhaps he needed you there to keep an eye on them.”
My brain was churning and seething-as was my stomach. Rusty’s Robot Bar was nearby. I pointed to it. “Let’s move the party over there. Get something to drink that will kill the bear and drown the grasshoppers.”
“Welcome, welcome,” the rusty voice said as I pushed open the swinging door. “Welcome, that is, if you are over eighteen.”
“I’m over eighteen,” I said. “But at times I have the brains of a five-year-old. It is really depressing how easily I fell for Kaia’s con. I am afraid that I must agree with you. The entire thing, the money, the supposed bank robberies, were nothing but a ploy to get me to this dismal planet, then blackmail me into doing his dirty work for him.”
Bolivar looked as depressed as I did as he nodded agreement. We went arid sat at the bar.
“Rusty says Hi gents-and what will it be?
“Got every drink from Ale to Zygodactyl pee.”
Rusty really was rusty, an ancient iron robot studded with rivet heads. I looked at the racked bottles.
“A digestive I said. Something to settle the turn…”
“Minced Rotifer Bitter,” it grated, shooting out an extensible arm. The dark liquid smoked when it hit the glass. I sipped and belched a dragon’s belch. It helped. But I was still depressed.
“I am but a stainless steel slave to this criminal puppet master.”
“Slightly over the top-but basically true. But there is one fact about your puppet master that is most interesting. Although he has some interstellar holdings his core business is here on Fetorr. The private bank, the Widows and Orphans Is’ Interstellar Bank. We know a good deal about that. I think he made me manager there to keep a close eye on me. Then framed me for the robbery.”
“So do I-since I helped him clean it out afterwards. The apparently stolen loot was there under the floor of the vault all the time.”
“What is more interesting than the bank is the fact that he also controls a very large brokerage office.”
I understood the words but not the meaning. The Rotifer Bitter was getting to me. I wiped it off my tongue and threw it on the floor.
“Do again,” I said, enunciating very clearly.
“This appears to be circular trade with a vengeance. First he robs his own bank. When the insurance company pays him off he has essentially doubled his money. Next he cleans out another bank and blames you for it. Then he blackmails you into working for him in order to steal the armored car credits. Which he next launders through his bank to make more investments and more credits.”
“Give him credit for that,” I said and laughed with a strange cackle.
Bolivar lifted an eyebrow and looked worried. “Let’s sit down for a bit. Before that bar stool throws you.”
“Let’s.” I stumbled over and dropped heavily into the booth. “Sorry. I’ve been on pep pills for a couple of days while I was arranging the heist. I don’t think they mix well with the detestable drinks in this place. I had better get back now. How do I get in touch with you?”
He took out a notepad of attractive green paper and wrote a number on it.
“Call at any time. James or I will answer. And be careful to check for bugs first.”
I memorized the number and ate the paper. It tasted of peppermint and it helped. Then the unavoidable subject could not be avoided anymore.
“And you keep looking. The most important thing that you have to do is to find out where your mother is being held.”
His face fell. “I know. We only have negative information so far. His bank and brokerage office are both clean. No hidden rooms-other than the one under the vault in the bank that you just mentioned. Could she possibly be there?”
“A long chance. I’ll drop by with some testing equipment.”
“Do that.”
“We also discovered that Chaise has a bachelor pad here in the city. I broke in, did the burglar act. Pinched his television. And had a good chance to search the place before the alarm tripped. We have been watching his movements closely and have no other premises or places that are suspicious. What about Sunkist-by-the-Sea?”
“A possibility. He has an office and garage there, but no sealed rooms that I saw.”
“Let me have the address. I can make a more detailed search.” ’
“Right.”
I scribbled directions on his green pad, handed it back. Depressed. There was nothing else to say. I took all the eavesdropping bugs out of the shielded bag and put them in my pocket. And waved a silent good-by.
Chapter 17
I picked up some nondescript clothes at the mechomartalong with some clean sheets and blankets. Since I was doomed to spend more time in Igor’s dank den, I would like to spend it in relative comfort. My stomach was feeling a little better, but I was bone-tired still. I picked up some more chicken soup for my face, some cans of beer for myself. By the time I reached the warehouse my feet were dragging. Since I had not been trusted with a key I hammered on the door until Igor reluctantly answered it.
“Igor sleep,” he grumbled.
“How can you tell? Igor brain-dead.”
It was the fatigue and the worry speaking. Normally I would have known better and not gone out of my way by looking for trouble. Or I would not have made fun of somebody because of a physical handicap. I just wasn’t thinking. He snarled something incomprehensible.
And when I passed by him he hit me in the side of the head with his fist.
It wasn’t the kind of blow designed to kill or maim. Probably just the reflex physical response of someone who was frustratingly limited by verbal skills. Still-it knocked me to the floor, sent my purchases flying.
But it also triggered all the pent-up rage generated by the impossible situation that I was in. Trained reflexes took over. He was above me-a kick to the knee brought him down to my level. As he went by my elbow hit his solar plexus knocking the wind out of him. He was out of the fight and I should have left it there: the strength of my anger almost ended the matter in tragedy.
Without conscious volition my left arm was around his neck while I clutched the wrist with my right hand. The killer headlock. Steady pressure crushes the windpipe and stops the flow of blood in the carotid artery. First unconsciousness, then death. Or if you wanted to finish the affair quickly, sudden levered pressure could break the spine and death would then be instantaneous.
The red haze that obscured my vision faded. Just inches away was his face, eyes bulging, tongue protruding. Seconds away from the end.
It took a great effort of will for me to break the grip. I dropped him and stood up, breathing hoarsely, His eyes were still closed, but at least he was gasping in air. I waited until his eyes opened, then tapped my toe against his ribs to get his attention. With my thumb and forefinger I framed the tiniest space, held them before him.
“That is how close you were to death. If you ever touch me again it will be all the way.”
I stumbled as I picked up my scattered purch
ases and walked away. Tired as I had been before, this burst of adrenaline-fired activity had pushed me closer to exhaustion: the upper pills were still taking their toll. I dropped everything onto the bed and fought not to drop myself as well. I did not fancy being asleep when Igor recovered-and the thought of revenge began to trickle through his sluggish synapses. I fed my face, then looked around.
For the first time I explored the depths of the warehouse. There was clutter and filth-and far to the rear there was a door half-shielded by empty metal drums. I rolled them aside to reveal an armored motorcycle as well. Used in the other bank heist, no doubt. I pushed this away too and pulled the door open to reveal a small office, ill-lit by a barred and cobwebbed window. It all looked most attractive. Fighting the depths of fatigue I pushed the scarred desk against the wall, then went to get my cot. Igor was not in sight and I did not miss him. Dragging the cot across the floor diminished my small reserves of energy. Pushing it into the office seemed to take hours. The door opened inwards. There was no lock. Nothing I could wedge under the handle. I leaned against it and looked around. The desk. It was heavy enough to slow someone down if he tried to get in. Give me enough time to wake up. Pushing it across the room depleted my reserves completely. It slammed into place and I slammed down onto the cot, my bundles under me. I crashed.
The light was fading from the window when I woke up. My mouth was bone dry and my lips smacked with thirst. The beer was packed in chillo cans: I cracked the lid on one of them. It bubbled with released refrigerants and water began to condense on the outside. I slugged it down and felt infinitely better. I opened a second can and drank only a little bit of it when fatigue got the better of me again. Sleep called.
The hammering didn’t wake me up. I worked it into an elaborate dream and I slept on. Only when I heard the grating sound of the desk being pushed along the floor did I snap awake.
“Stop that!” I shouted and instantly regretted it as the steel band clamped hard around my head. Eased as the grating stopped.
“Boss want you.”
“Tell him I’m coming…” In a hoarse whisper.
The Stainless Steel Rat Joins the Circus ssr-11 Page 16
