“And you feel certain that it was the girl who took your wallet?” he asked Albrecht.
“I had it when we went into my room—I took a bill from it to deposit in the rent slot before I entered—and I didn’t have it after she’d left.”
“What did you say her name was?” Wrestler took a paper from the upper left hand drawer of his desk.
“Dolores Pollnow.”
Wrestler went quickly down a list of names on the paper in his hand. “We don’t have anyone by that name employed here; I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“Just a minute!” Albrecht’s voice was angry. He had half risen from his chair. Now he checked himself and resumed his seat. “Do you realize how important this is to me? I intended to stay for only the three days between flights. But unless I get that passport back I’m stuck here—for good.”
“I realize that.” Wrestler’s expression could not have shown less interest. “There has been such an illicit traffic in visas, and subsequent opportunity for criminals to escape punishment by fleeing to other worlds, that it became necessary to make the traveler solely responsible for the safekeeping of his passport. But of course that is something outside my province. Now if there is nothing more I can do for you…”
Wrestler’s speech was cut off abruptly as Albrecht reached across the desk and dug the fingers of both hands into the neck front of his blouse. Albrecht set himself and jerked the ineffectually struggling official across the glass top of the desk.
His face was white with anger as he twisted Wrestler around and shoved him backward into a chair at the side of the desk. “Perhaps this will help you be a little less casual about it,” Albrecht gritted. He loosened his grip on Wrestler’s blouse front.
“This is an outrage,” Wrestler blurted. “The law…”
Albrecht cut off his protestations with another twist of the cloth in his hands. “I don’t give a damn about the law. What worse trouble can I get into than I’m in right now? Come up with something that will help me get that passport back, or the next time I shut your wind off you won’t breathe again.” He held his grip until Wrestler’s eyes began to roll slowly back. Albrecht released him and waited.
Wrestler breathed deeply, the wind making a harsh noise in his windpipe as he sucked it in. “I’ll do what I can,” he said as soon as he was able to speak. “Tell me what you want.”
Albrecht sat down on the desk above him. “I’ll admit that the girl probably didn’t give her right name,” he said, “but she did have ‘Dolores’ stamped on her cap front. Do you have any girls working for you with that first name?”
“I’ll see,” Wrestler answered. He pulled himself to his feet and walked hesitantly around the desk. He made an effort to straighten his rumpled clothing as he went.
Albrecht remained where he was sitting. “Don’t try to press any buttons,” he said, his voice flat and expressionless. “Anyone you call would get here too late to save you.”
“I had no such intention.” Wrestler was making an effort to regain his lost dignity. He picked the typed list from the floor where it had fallen. “I have a Dolores Gabriel, and a Dolores Lutscher,” he said, going down the list. “What did the girl who took your passport look like?”
“A tall brunet, with her hair cut short. She smiled a lot, and had very nice teeth. And dimples. Exceptionally beautiful.” He paused. “That’s about all, I guess.”
“The description could fit about every tenth girl on Earth,” Wrestler said sardonically.
“What do the two Doloreses you have look like?”
“I have their pictures here somewhere,” Wrestler said. He dug in the drawer at his left again and brought up a large envelope and took out a handful of pictures. He glanced back at the list, murmured “24 and 85”, and picked two pictures from the pile and handed them to Albrecht.
Dolores Gabriel was a redhead. Dolores Lutscher was a short-haired brunet. But there all similarity to the girl in Albrecht’s room ended “Give me the rest of those pictures,” he said.
He went carefully through the pile Wrestler handed him. The girl he sought was not there.
While Albrecht looked at the pictures, Wrestler walked to a cabinet on the wall at his back and took out a bottle of bourbon and a small water glass. He poured the glass half full and drank it, his face twisting into the look of agonized distress of a heavy drinker. He made no offer of any to Albrecht. “Find anything?” he asked as he put the bottle and glass back into the cabinet and returned to his desk.
Albrecht shook his head and slumped back where he sat. “I’m sorry about roughing you up,” he said after a moment. “That temper is a very nasty fault of mine.”
Wrestler dismissed the incident with a brushing motion of his hand. His earlier disinterest had returned. “If there’s nothing else I can do for you…”
Albrecht rose. “I won’t distress you with my troubles any longer,” he said dryly.
“I’ll try to bear your misfortune with equanimity,” Wrestler answered in the same tone of voice. The bourbon had given him renewed courage.
Albrecht bowed with spurious courtesy and let himself out.
* * * *
On the way back to his room, Ken Albrecht found himself walking behind a tall man with broad shoulders. He observed the man, and two pedestrians who walked toward him, without conscious attention. In the same way, he noted also that just ahead a gray-haired man poked with a stick at a pile of refuse in an alley entrance. And when it happened, Albrecht was too stunned to move until it was over.
The tall stranger ahead of him twisted suddenly sideward and clutched the old man about the shoulders. With his right arm he circled the scrawny, whiskered neck and forced the man’s head back.
The oldster yelled once and kicked out frantically, spinning his attacker half around. As they faced him Albrecht saw the gray haired one’s mouth open wide in the extremity of his pain, but no sound came from his straining lips. The tall man jerked back his right arm with sudden ruthless force, and Albrecht heard a dull snap.
He watched in shocked fascination as the old man’s body went limp and slid slowly down the front of his slayer.
The tall man’s face had held its same expression during the entire brief encounter. There was no hate or anger there; nothing except a determined efficiency. Now he looked down for a minute at is victim before he walked on.
Albrecht came out of his stupor and looked about quickly for someone representing the law of the city. The only other persons sight were the two men he had seen approaching earlier. They had watched the killing with little more than cursory interest, and soon they moved on down the street.
Logic cautioned Albrecht to mind his own business—he couldn’t risk any more trouble on this strange world than he already had—but his indignation pushed him forward. He drew the flat gun from his armpit and strode after the killer. Pushing the nose of his gun against the broad back ahead of him he gritted, “Keep walking!”
The other hesitated for only an instant before obeying. He turned his head and looked at Albrecht over his shoulder. “Do I know you, sir?”
“You don’t,” Albrecht answered curtly.
“May I ask where you are taking me?”
“To the nearest policeman,” Albrecht replied.
The tall man hesitated again, then shrugged and went on.
They found a green-clad policeman around the next corner. “This man has just committed a murder,” Albrecht told him.
The green-clad raised his eyebrows slightly. He regarded the tall man and seemed to observe something about his dress. “A commissionaire?” he asked.
The man nodded. He drew a paper from his breast pocket and handed it to the officer. “My warrant. You will find a commitment attached to it, signed by Peerre Delfac, the dead man’s second son.”
The officer handed back the paper. “I will have the body collected. You may go.” He turned to Ken Albrecht. “I judge by your accent, sir, that you are a stranger to
our world?”
“That’s right.”
“Allow me to assure you that this man’s actions, which you have just witnessed, were perfectly legal,” the officer said. While his words were polite, his attitude was one of impatient tolerance. And in his eyes was a look only partially concealed, a look of dislike for a foreigner.
“Is it legal to kill a defenseless old man?” Albrecht asked sarcastically.
The policeman shrugged with cynical indifference and moved on.
The tall man had not left as the policeman walked away. Now he said to Albrecht, “Our police are not sympathetic with what they regard as interference by outsiders, but I do not wish to appear as a monster to you. Will you grant me the pleasure of buying you a voyae?” He spoke with an odd formality that Albrecht recognized as his normal manner.
“Why should I drink with you?”
“For no reason,” the tall man answered, without resentment, “except, perhaps, to have your curiosity satisfied.”
For some reason Albrecht found himself almost liking the man. And by now he realized that he had somehow made a fool of himself. The other was probably evidencing great tolerance in treating him so civilly; further, this man might be able to help him with his own problem. “All right,” he agreed shortly, not quite able to match the other’s courtesy.
“My name is Barry Effress,” the tall man introduced himself, and bowed briefly as Albrecht gave his own name.
* * * *
They walked until they came to a drinking place and entered. Against one wall they found an empty table and sat down. Albrecht said he’d have a brandy and Effress punched the brandy button in the automatic dispenser twice. “What is your home world?”
“Mogden IV. It’s in the Orion’s Belt sector,” Albrecht added as Effress’ face showed no sign of recognition. “It was colonized by Earth about two thousand years ago.”
“My geography is not too good,” Effress apologized in his formal manner. “May I be allowed to explain now what happened out there?”
“I wish you would.”
“On Earth, it is the duty of a son to kill his parents after they reach the age of sixty,” Effress explained. “Most of the sons do not desire to perform the disagreeable task themselves. I am what is known as a commissionaire, we perform such unpleasant duties for others. I was committed by a man named Delfac—the old one’s second son—to kill him.”
“But what is the purpose of such senseless slaughter?”
“Purpose?” Effress repeated. “I suppose it is population control. But it is not murder—as you seem to regard it. For there is recarn.”
“Recarn?”
“The old person will live again in the son’s next born.”
“Is that belief universal with you?”
“It is the world religion.” Effress was thoughtful for a moment. “Recently a semireligious group headed by a man named Richard Vingers had been denying the truth of that belief. They have been successful in convincing a large number of people that the killing of old persons is a cruel and ungodly practice. Whether they are right I cannot say, but most regard them as irresponsible fanatics. Last week, the government declared Vingers an enemy of the state, he will be put to death if he is found.”
“I find I agree whole-heartedly with Vingers,” Albrecht commented. “Such killing is bloodthirsty and barbarous.”
“I might regard many of your customs in the same light, if I knew more about them,” Effress replied without heat.
“That’s true, of course,” Albrecht agreed. He hesitated. “May I ask you a personal question—perhaps at the risk of offending you?”
“I will not be offended.”
“Is your profession looked upon as…decent…by the others of Earth?”
Effress drew a thin cigar cube from a breast pocket and appeared thoroughly preoccupied with rolling it between his palms, and lighting it. Nothing in the steel-like courtesy of his manner seemed changed as he spoke, yet his tone was gentle and dead as he said, “My profession is regarded with envy by those without the courage to pursue it.”
Albrecht realized instantly that he had mad another mistake. “I’m sorry. I meant no offense.”
Effress smiled wearily and relaxed in his chair. “I have never explained this to anyone before,” he said. “Simply because I never found anyone who would listen, and understand. I think you might. Anyway, here it is—for whatever you make of it.
“Every man,” Effress went on, “has within him that which he is. The coward buries it, that he might not have to face its obligations. Or he expresses it only by surrender to the invigorating lunacy of herd action. The brave man follows this thing—though he may know he will die sooner for it. My work is dangerous: Few commissionaires ever reach the age where their sons must send them to recarn. Yet I do not claim to be brave; rather I have the desire—the inner need—to do those things which most other men would be afraid to do. I might state it otherwise by saying that I desire to live as if I were to die the next moment. That alone will satisfy me. By living my life so there is always danger I find alcoves now and then that give me flashes of the stimulation I must have. And I must admit I have the vanity to be pleased with the admiration I know I receive from those about me.” He paused and laughed in semi-embarrassment. “Am I a fool?”
“You certainly are not,” Albrecht stated emphatically. “While I may not agree with the way you follow your star, can only admire your courage in doing it.”
The drinking place had become more crowded as they sat talking. Albrecht was surprised to notice that women mingled freely with the men. On Mogden, women would never think of entering such a place.
He was a bit disconcerted when two woman came up to their table and stood waiting silently.
He glanced across at Effress. The tall man was watching him, smiling at his obvious uncertainty.
Albrecht looked back at the two women. One was small and blonde, with meager beauty. The other was built in heroic proportions, with a skin fair and untinted, and hair combed in black waves to the back of her head. Her breasts were only partly concealed by a stiff cloth cowl that hung over them. “Are you gentlemen expecting?”
Here, as on Mogden, Albrecht reflected musingly, young maidens hunted in pairs. “Thanks for asking,” he said to the dark girl. “Perhaps later.”
She lifted her shoulders in the universal Earth gesture, and the two girls walked away, swaying their hips as they went.
“Would you not enjoy being in jostling harness with the bounteous one?” Effress asked, only the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth betraying the amusement he felt.
“I hadn’t considered it,” Albrecht answered uncomfortably. He sought to change the topic of conversation. “Would you care for another drink?” Without waiting for an answer he punched the brandy button twice.
Effress was enjoying Albrecht’s loss of poise. “On Earth many believe that chastity is a dangerous abstinence. It makes a man vulnerable to certain illnesses.” His smile returned. “Fortunately our women do their best to keep us in good health.”
“How would your wife regard any philandering?” Albrecht asked, trying to shift his discomfort to Effress.
“My wife? If she objected, she would be wise to keep silent. A husband has the right of life or death over his wife.”
Albrecht shook his head, but did not argue. “I need the help of a man like yourself,” he said without preliminaries. “Are you available to work for me?”
After only a brief hesitation, Effress nodded.
Albrecht told him all that had happened since he landed on Earth.
“What do you wish me to do?” Effress asked.
“My best chance to get my passport back, as I see it, is to find the girl. Do you think you can do that?”
“I could try.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Ken Albrecht wrote his address on a slip of paper and received in return a card from Effress with his name, telephone number, and address printed on it. “
Ring me as soon as you find anything. I don’t have much time.”
Effress nodded and they rose to leave.
* * * *
Early in the evening Albrecht received a telephone call. “I’m at the spaceport,” Effress said. “Using the description you gave me, I questioned some of the other hostesses, and two of them remember your girl. But it seems she just came on the job this morning, and they haven’t seen her since. I tried to speak with Wrestler, but couldn’t get into his office. Do you have any other suggestions?”
“Only that you continue to make inquiries. You probably know how to handle the job better than any way I could suggest.”
“I’ll do what I can.” Effress hung up.
Albrecht had a meal sent tip to his room, ate, and lay down to rest. He fell asleep within a few minutes.
He awoke some time after midnight. At first he wasn’t certain what it was that had disturbed him. Just that one part of his mind, perhaps the portion that activated his intuition, was sounding an urgent warning of danger.
He sat up straight in bed. The light in the room went on. “It is now twenty-three minutes after twelve,” the bedpost said. “You left a call for eight o’clock. Do you wish to cancel that call?”
Albrecht ignored the automaton. A small noise drew his attention to the doorknob. It was slowly moving, as though someone had turned it to see if it was locked, and was now cautiously letting it return to its resting position.
“Do you wish to cancel, your call?” the bedpost asked as Albrecht stepped quietly out of bed.
“Let it stand,” Albrecht murmured impatiently. He stood in the middle of the room, thinking. Was this just a simple attempt at burglary? Or was there more to it?
He ran his fingers through his tousled hair and tried to think what he should do, First, he decided, he’d better be ready if they should succeed in getting in. He took the flat pistol from its place on the table and held it in his hand. Another thought came to him and he turned off the room’s light and walked quietly to the window at the side of his bed and looked out. Across the street a man, faceless in the dark, stood with his head turned toward Albrecht’s window.
The 19th Golden Age of Science Fiction Page 27
