Look Out For Space (Seven For Space)

by William F. Nolan

  The barkeep was nine feet tall, a Dogstar male with furry orange ears that could have used a shampoo and trim. And his dewlaps were greasy. He leaned toward me, eyes sweating greed. "How much are you willing to pay?"

  "Fifty creds."

  "Let's see the skim."

  I showed him.

  "I could roll ya for that, and then tell ya to go buzz a rock," he growled.

  "Try it," I said tightly. "But first you should know that I'm packing a .38 nitro-charge and I'd as soon ventilate your hairy skull as spit in the dark."

  I was running a bluff; the only .38 I still owned was back in Bubble City.

  "Okay, boyo," the barkeep muttered, scooping up his fifty. "The mouse came in here to meet a redhead."

  "With erect nips?"

  He nodded, slavering a little. "She's a ripe one, boyo! Enough to curl your scuppers."

  One thing was clear: Sylvester had found my mystery woman.

  "Where did she take him?"

  He raised his eyes toward the ceiling. "She keeps a room. Upstairs."

  "You mean she lives in this dump?"

  He bristled, his wet black nose twitching. "We run a respectable dendive, boyo, an' I don't like cheapies insultin' the place!"

  "Sorry," I said, adding a ten to his fifty, which cooled him fast. "I just didn't expect to find her here." I finished my drink. "She up there now?"

  "Maybe."

  "The mouse, too?"

  "Could be."

  "Which room?"

  "Last one. End of the hall."

  "Thanks," I said.

  And headed upstairs.

  * * *

  This time, I told myself, I'd grab the redhead if I found her. I didn't want her pulling another vanishing act. And if Sylvester wasn't with her, I'd find out where she'd stashed him. My guess was he'd been suckered. By now, maybe he was dead.

  The hall was deserted as I held a collision course for the door at the end. It wasn't locked, so I didn't have to kick it open. But the tacky room, with its worn plastofurniture and threadbare nearcarpet, was empty.

  Suddenly the redhead was standing in front of me. Or she would have been standing in front of me if my head hadn't been reversed. As it was, she was actually behind me, in the hallway.

  "Looking for me, peeper?"

  I turned, glaring at her. She looked exactly the same as the last couple of times I'd glommed her, in Bubble City and at Wrenhurst's Moon pad. As beautiful as ever. And as calm.

  "What have you done with the mouse?" I snapped.

  She gave me a liquid smile. "You can forget your furry little cop-friend," she told me. "He came mousing around here and got just what he deserved."

  "You iced him, eh?"

  "Let's just say that he's in Mouse Heaven." And her smile became a snicker.

  I couldn't take any more lip from her; she'd goaded me enough. Rage bubbled up in me.

  I lunged for her. And came up with a handful of empty air.

  She was gone. Again. But this time I'd learned something about her I hadn't known before: she wasn't flesh and blood.

  My hands had gone right through her.

  * * *

  "And you expect me to believe that she just wasn't there at all?"

  I was back in O'Malley's office on Mars and he was yelling at me as usual, his beefcake of a face as red as a spanked bottom.

  "She was there, but not in the flesh. It was some kind of … apparition."

  "A talking ghost, eh?" he snorted, chomping on his cigar.

  "I dunno, O'Malley. I just came here to tell you the facts. I'm convinced she works for Wrenhurst. His pretending she was a stranger was an act he put on for me. I'm also convinced that she lured Pennington to that dive so Wrenhurst could have him killed — the same way he had me shanghaied aboard that Hellship!"

  O'Malley glared. "Where's your proof, Sam? You admit you didn't get a chance to check his faxfiles before he caught you in his den."

  "The man's a master criminal! Do you deny it?"

  "No, I don't deny it. We've been onto Wrenhurst for a long time now. He's mean and he's slippery. But he's careful. If master criminals were easy to catch, they wouldn't be master criminals." He paced around his desk and tossed the mangled cigar into a burnbin. "I need something more than the cockeyed convictions of a second-rate private snoop with his head on backwards to make a Moonking's arrest stick in a Martian court of law!"

  "What does the fact that my head is on backwards have to do with my credibility as a witness?"

  "Absolutely nothing, Space, because you have no credibility as a witness!

  A long moment between us as we exchanged hard looks.

  "Okay," I said in a cold tone. "Okay. I should have known it was a total waste of time to come to you and expect justice. Just forget everything I said. I don't need you. I'll take care of Wrenhurst my way."

  And I stormed out.

  The law only takes you so far; sometimes you have to go beyond it.

  And this was one of those times.

  Twenty-Four

  I intended putting Pendorf Wrenhurst out of business, even if it meant bending the legal code into an Earthpretzel. Sometimes, in the game I'm in, you have to use extraordinary measures to deal with extraordinary people.

  Harry Hogg was extraordinary.

  I didn't have to leave Mars to see him. Hogg's agency office was just a quick beltrun from mine in Bubble City, in the heart of the theatrical district.

  I'd heard about Hogg from some of my unsavory contacts and had filed his name away in my mind. For the right time.

  Which was now.

  * * *

  His office waitroom was blazing with wall posters advertising some of the cheese circuit acts Harry had agented: Angell's Amazing Acrobatic Ants … The Dancing Centipods from Neilsen's Nebula … The Happy Crocks from Upper Capella. Acts like that.

  The roboclerk asked me to take a number slip, saying that Mr. Hogg would call me when my number came up. You can't argue with a robo, so I took the slip which popped out of her left ear. "You are Number 3."

  Which meant there were two others ahead of me in the waitingroom: a nude blonde with a nice pair of thrusters, and a potty old guy with a cased fooby across his lap. Fooby players were a dime a dozen on Mars.

  I sat down next to the nude blonde.

  "Hi, there," I said.

  "We're very lucky," she told me in a bright, husky voice. "Some acts have to wait for hours to see Mr. Hogg. We'll be able to audition in jig time. This is one of his slower days."

  "That's real nice," I said.

  "I think you're going to have a good chance with Mr. Hogg," she said, staring hard at me.

  "How come?"

  "With your head on backwards, you're bound to attract an audience," she said. "What's your act?"

  "I imitate extinct animals," I said.

  "That's unique!" She beamed at me. "I'll bet you are simply wonderful at it."

  I shrugged modestly. "Just average." My head was facing the wall, and I had to twist my neck violently to converse with the blonde."What's your act?"

  "Singing nipples," she said brightly, and swung her naked thrusters toward me.

  "Huh?"

  "I've trained my nipples to sing," she explained. "I do mostly popstuff with them, but I can handle opera if I have to. But there's just not much call for space opera, is there?"

  "No, there isn't," I agreed, wondering what her nipples sounded like.

  The potty old guy looked over at us. "Fooby players are a dime a dozen," he said with immense sadness. "I should have never taken up playing the fooby. But you can blame my mother for that. She forced it on me as a wee child. I had no choice."

  "That's tough," I said.

  "I really hate playing the thing," he told us. "But what's a man to do when he's spent his whole adult life playing a fooby?"

  "I wouldn't know," I said.

  "You're just lucky your head is on backwards," the potty guy told me. "Right away, you got something going fo
r you. Freak acts are always popular."

  I didn't have to answer that one because the inner door opened and Harry Hogg was there, yelling: "Gimme number one!"

  "That's me," sighed the potty guy in a weary, beaten tone. He got up with his fooby and shambled into the office.

  The door closed.

  "That poor clod," said the blonde. "I'm just grateful that I was able to develop a popular talent."

  "Yeah," I nodded. "Nipples are always popular."

  "As long as I keep them in tiptop condition, I'll always have a job."

  I was about to ask how you exercise a nipple when the door opened again and the potty guy came out, looking zottled.

  "No luck, eh?" I asked.

  "No jobs," he moaned, and ankled out. "Dime a dozen," he mumbled, voice fading down the hall.

  "What a clod," said the blonde.

  "Gimme number two!" yelled Hogg, and the nude blonde jumped up, waving her number slip. "That's me!"

  "Right, sister. Get your jaybird ass inside the office."

  The door closed behind them and I was alone again.

  The blonde stayed in there long enough for me to take a light snooze. Which I needed. Sleep, of late, was a luxury for me and I had to grab it where I could get it.

  Harry's harsh voice brought me out: "Gimme number three!"

  I got up and walked past the outgoing blonde.

  "How did you do?" I asked her.

  "Terrific," she grinned. "Mr. Hogg thinks he can get me a booking in the Orion star cluster for next weekend! I'll follow a dancing snake act."

  "Good going!" I said, tweaking one of her nipples.

  She went out glowing, and I went in to face Harry Hogg.

  He was barrel-shaped, bald, and sweating, with shagged brows and huge square teeth. He waved toward a chair.

  "Sit," he told me.

  "I'd rather stand," I said. "When I sit, my head is facing the wrong direction."

  "So stand," he growled, settling in behind his desk. "The blonde tells me you do extinct animals. Well, you're lucky you came to Harry Hogg because Harry Hogg can make a star outa ya. Ever hear of the Mug-witch Cookoos?"

  "Nope," I said.

  "They were zilch before I took 'em over. How about the Black Hole Harmony Boys? Ever hear of them?"

  "Can't say I have."

  "Sounds like you don't know much about showbiz!"

  "I don't … because I'm not in it."

  He looked confused. "But you do extinct animals, and your head is on backwards!"

  "The two are not related," I told him. "I don't do an act. I'm here for a buy."

  Hogg's eyes narrowed. He jumped up to lock the door. Then he checked the viewvents. Finally he circled me and clicked his big teeth together. He brought his head close to mine and spoke in a low voice.

  "Who put you onto me?"

  "Nobody I'd care to mention."

  "I need a name."

  "And I need to protect my contacts."

  Silence for a full minute. Harry was a nervous man.

  "What makes you think I'm a seller?"

  "Look, Hogg, let's drop the routine. You've got High-L for sale and I want to buy some. Let's start there."

  Hogg sat down again and leaned back. His eyes were slits.

  "How do I know you're legit? You could be the law."

  "My name's Space. Private op. Here's my ID."

  I flipped open my worn nearleather wallet and he checked my stat, which satisfied him.

  He relaxed. "So you're a peep hooked on L?"

  "That's about the size of it."

  "How come your head's on backwards?"

  "It's too complicated to explain," I said. "All that counts right now is that you have some L and I want to make a buy. Do we deal?"

  He nodded. "How much do you need?"

  I told him how much.

  And we made the deal.

  When I left Harry Hogg's office I had the stuff I needed: enough High-L to buy some very special talent.

  Within the hour I was aboard a warper for Bailey.

  Twenty-Five

  Halfcat's yellow eyes glared at me. "Why are you here?"

  "I want to hire you," I said.

  "To shag some rocks?"

  "No. This is a lot bigger," I told him. "I'll lay it out short and simple: I want you to blow up Pendorf Wrenhurst's joint on the Moon … with him in it."

  Halfcat twitched his ears. His upper lip skinned back, revealing his yellow fangs. He was nobody's sweetheart.

  "You want him snuffed, eh?"

  "That's what I want."

  "Why come to me?"

  "Because the law won't touch him. Wrenhurst is a known worm slaver, and I'm convinced he's behind a lot of recent kidnappings. He also murdered my client, Brother Thaddius, to divert me from the case. Then he killed a copmouse pal of mine who had learned too much. And that was after he had me sent to a death planet in the Black Gulfs."

  "How come you're still alive? Nobody comes back from the Gulfs."

  "The details of my escape are beside the point. I need to know if you'll take on the Wrenhurst job. Yes or no?"

  We were in Halfcat's cave on Bailey, and I'd had a long fugg ride that day which meant I was in a testy mood. I wasn't up to verbal fencing. If Halfcat wouldn't go after Wrenhurst, I'd find somebody who would. But I knew I couldn't cut it alone; the operation needed an outside push.

  Halfcat scratched his belly. "If I say yes, what do I get out of it?"

  "High-L. I made a prime buy before I left Mars."

  "How prime is prime?"

  I showed him a pac of L. He tested it with the tip of his long pink tongue, and his ears twitched.

  "You get this pac now, and the rest after you put Wrenhurst out of business."

  Halfcat nodded. "I'll do the cooljob on him. But first, we buddy. We snort L together."

  "I told you before, I never take the hard stuff."

  "And I'm telling you that if you want Wrenhurst cooled, you snort with me. That's flat."

  His blazing yellow eyes told me he meant exactly what he was saying.

  So I agreed to snort.

  We hunkered down on the floor of the cave and he tipped some of the colorless powder into my hand.

  "You first," he said.

  I inhaled the drug, and heard Halfcat begin to laugh.

  I'd been suckered.

  His laugher increased to a demon's howl and the superpotent drug assaulted my mind.

  I spun away from the cave … the planet … the galaxy. My skin rippled and expanded … began to glow … changed from white to lambent gold … to shimmering silver …

  I had three heads and four arms and six legs …

  I could see into the heart of an atom … feel the pulsebeat of eternity in my rioting blood …

  I was a rocket, searing out to the stars in a wash of raw jetflame …

  I was an immensity of suns, turning like great fireclocks in the black of space …

  I was the mouth of God … swallowing suns and moons and planets … gorging myself on galaxies …

  I was devouring the universe!

  I was nothing … within nothing … inside of nothing.

  I focused my eyes.

  The redhead was there, smiling at me. "Hello, Sam," she said.

  I sat up dizzily and discovered that my wrists and ankles were bound with closerope.

  "I've been flummoxed," I said. "Tricked! Played for a sucker!"

  "That's true," said the redhead.

  I gave her a hard stare. "Halfcat works for you."

  "We work together," she said. "He brought you here."

  "Where's here?"

  "My castle. Home sweet home. On Pluto."

  I looked around. Walls of heavy stone. Tall windows cut from raw rock. A high, vaulted ceiling lit by tapers.

  "You killed Brother Thad, didn't you?"

  "Perhaps," she smiled.

  "And you killed Sylvester Pennington, and you're the one behind the worm kidnappings!" />
  "What if I admitted that all this is true? What good would it do you? Your somewhat tarnished and doubtless unprofitable career as a private detective is about to cease."

  "I always like to have my questions answered," I told her. "Such as, where's Halfcat?"

  "Working," she told me. "Picking up a few stray rocks."

  I looked at her for a long moment of silence. Then I said flatly, "You're not what you seem. You're not real flesh and blood."

  "Not in this form," she admitted. "This present body is an astral projection which I use to good purpose. I create the illusion of a redhaired Earthwoman with erect nipples, and send her to do my bidding. So you are quite correct about the unreality of what you see."

  "Drop the projection. I want to see what you're really like."

  She smiled. "Very well. You have the right to know who's going to end your life."

  And the redhead vanished.

  In her place, stooped and crooked of bone, was an old, ravaged hag in a foul-smelling robe of rags and patches. Her rheumy eyes were buried in loose hanging gray flesh and her insucked, toothless mouth gaped at me in a horrible grin.

  "Lordy!" I breathed.

  "I'm Old Peg," she cackled, her thin bones shaking with amused delight. "A free lance witch, one of the last of my breed."

  Confusion swept over me. "I don't get it," I said. "Nothing makes sense. Why would a witch-for-hire do all this? Unless …"

  "Unless what, Mr. Space?"

  "Unless you're working for someone else. Someone with a motive for kidnapping, theft and murder."

  She cackled again. "Hi diggidy dee … it's time to deal with thee." She was singing as she moved to a dark corner of the stone chamber to pluck up a long-handled ax. The sharp blade gleamed as she swung it toward me. "Hi diggidy dun … it's time for blood to run!"

  I scrabbled crab-like away from her, until my stomach was against hard stone.

  She advanced on me with the ax. "Now you won't have to worry about your head being on backwards," she rasped. "I'll remove it with this!"

  I struggled to loosen the closeropes on my wrists and legs. No use. She had me.

  "Goodbye, Sammy!" And Old Peg raised the ax.

  I braced myself for a death blow.

  But it never came.

  A .20-40 cutbeam slicer belched fire from the nearest window and Old Peg howled in pain, dropping the heavy ax and clawing at her bony chest.