“Gris,” I said to my image in the mirror as I undressed to take a well-earned sleep, “there is nothing that can stop you now. All problems are just buzzing flies and with cunning and money, you can swat them. Even Heller and Krak.”
I lay down for my well-earned rest and dreamed dreams that were bloody and very sweet.
PART THIRTY-EIGHT
Chapter 4
I slept until all hours, making up for the high excitement of recent days. I dressed in a new red sports suit. Musef was on duty. Karagoz had a black eye and even though it was midafternoon, I got a breakfast in which the coffee was hot, the melon cold and the eggs were quite all right.
A marked change had occurred all around me. It was wonderful.
Lacking, now, immediate plans, I thought I had better gather data. It’s a good excuse one can give oneself when he feels too smug and self-satisfied to do any real work for the moment. Also, one likes to savor the suffering of those who are about to writhe in agony.
It was the first time I had had both viewers together. But working two screens, I could get a much more precise idea of reactions and actions, for Krak would be looking at Heller from time to time and vice versa.
I got Krak’s going first. I didn’t need the second viewer to see what she looked like today. She was washing a window! Her reflection in the glass was quite clear against the dingy morning of a smoggy New York day. She had on space coveralls and her hair was tucked under one of Heller’s baseball caps!
Something was moving to her right in the reflection. The cat. It was sitting on the desk washing its face.
Well, if getting busy to go home to Voltar meant washing office windows, I certainly was safe. If I could just keep them slowed down long enough, keep them from doing anything effective, word would come one of these days that the Heller reports made no difference now and they could both be safely killed. So wash away, Krak. You’re doing just fine.
There was something else behind her, somebody standing there motionlessly and staring at her back.
It was Izzy!
Krak, too, became aware of it. She gave the window one last wipe and turned around. Izzy backed up. He sank down on the edge of a couch and started crying!
The Countess Krak said, “Why, Izzy. What on Earth is wrong?”
Izzy sobbed a while. Then he said in a muffled voice, “You’re too beautiful to have to live in an office.”
Beautiful? In space coveralls too big and a baseball cap too big? What was Izzy up to now? Some con, I wagered. I waited with interest to see what it was.
Krak said, “But this is a beautiful office, Izzy.”
“No, no,” he said, “not beautiful enough for you. You deserve a gorgeous apartment.”
She seemed to think about it. Then she said, “Well, I have a credit card. Maybe I could rent one with that.”
My hair went straight up!
Then Izzy said something that really warmed my heart. I really realized what a sterling true-blue character he was after all. “No, no, no! I am responsible for Mr. Jet. If any apartments are to be gotten, I will get them. Please promise me you won’t do that. You wouldn’t find anything beautiful enough for you.”
I couldn’t quite figure it out. Was he angling for a commission or what?
On Heller’s viewer, I had just been seeing elevators and halls. But here was a view of the office. He had just walked in. He took a look at Izzy. “What’s wrong?”
Izzy was crying again on both viewers. He was pointing helplessly at Krak.
Heller said to her, “Dear, would you please step into the ‘thinking room’ and clean it up. Close the door so I can get to the bottom of this before he jumps off something again and beats me to it.”
When Krak had closed the door, Heller said, “What’s wrong, Izzy?”
Izzy was mopping at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “The bartender thinks she must be a movie star or is about to be. The model agency down the hall has been pestering me to get her to run for Miss America so they can have a contract to use her in the Coca-Cola ads. Bang-Bang says she is the most beautiful woman on the planet. And because I am a failure, I am forcing her to live here without any home at all.”
“Well,” said Heller, “buy a condo or something.”
Izzy went into a fresh spasm of wailing. Then he said, “That’s the trouble. We’re barely making expenses on arbitrage. IRS is boring in and we can’t pay them. And when I came in a little while ago and saw her again, I realized I was condemning her to squalor and poverty. It drove the ruin home so hard I couldn’t stand it!”
Heller said, “Well, all right. I’ll go out and make some money.”
Izzy amazed me. Here he had led it all up to some perfect con. But he leaped up in alarm, waving his arms. “No, no, no! Don’t try to persuade somebody to shoot at you again so you can collect the fee. That’s too dangerous!”
Heller laughed. He said, “I’ll think of something else.”
“You’re taking over my job and I deserve it. But please, please promise me you won’t do anything foolish!”
“I can only promise to try not to,” said Heller.
Krak came out of the other room, putting a pillow in its case. Izzy instantly leaped for the door and fled.
“What was that all about?” said Krak.
“He thinks you’re too beautiful,” said Heller. “But so do I. Especially with the very best brand of New York soot on the end of your nose.”
She threw the pillow at him. He caught it and, on the pretext of giving it back, kissed her. Both my viewers went FLASH!
But Heller did not hold her long. He let go of her and wandered over to the bar. She stood staring after him. He picked up a newspaper somebody must have been reading and started going through it.
“Money,” he was muttering to himself. “Money, money, money. This planet doesn’t run on an axis. It runs on money!” He passed the comic page too fast to let me see what was happening to Bugs Bunny these days.
He stopped suddenly at an ad. It said:
$ATLANTIC CITY$
$WINTER CASINO $PECTACULAR$
5 Casino$ 5
EXTRAVAGANZA!
New Year’s Bills Getting You Down?
RECOVER WITH ROULETTE
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
He looked up. He said to Krak, “You’re working too hard. We’re going to Atlantic City.”
She stopped putting cleaning things away and looked at him with a shocked expression on her face. “WHAT? And leave your own work undone on this planet?”
“No, no,” he said. “Not Atalanta, Manco. Atlantic City, New Jersey. And wash your face. This has got to be a clean hit.”
“Where is this place?” said Krak, coming over to him.
He showed her the ad. He hadn’t read it all. Toward the bottom it said:
FREE FLOOR SHOW
The Clowns
The Apes
Dingle-Poop Rock Band
Mamie Boomp, Continental Singer
“Oh,” said Krak, “I know her. And I want to see her, too, to get her opinion on spring styles.”
A voice sounded behind them. “Anybody home?” It was Bang-Bang. He was carrying a sack. “I’m sorry, Joy, but those birds in that fancy shop never heard of nothing called ‘hot jolt.’ So I got the Bavarian Mocha Mint and the champagne. But I think that Scotch would go better in it. Not even the cat will touch champagne: it gets in his nose.”
“Where’d you park the cab?” said Heller. “We’re going to Atlantic City.” He held up the ad.
Bang-Bang looked at it. His finger came down to the bottom of the page. He was pointing out the final line to Heller. It said:
Scalpello Casino Corp. of New Jersey
Bang-Bang said, “That’s the Atlantic City Mafia. Small time, maybe, but vicious. If you’re going to knock the place over, I ought to go with you as a backup gun. But that (bleeped) parole officer is narrow-minded: He won’t let me set foot out of New York. So you be awful careful, Jet—you hear me speaking?”
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Heller said, “The lady and I will be all right.”
Bang-Bang’s eyes shot wide. “The lady! You takin’ Joy down there? Jesus—beggin’ your pardon, miss—but she’s too beautiful to let them punks even glance at her! They don’t deserve it!”
“She’ll be all right,” said Heller.
“Oh, Jet,” said Bang-Bang, “that’s a (bleeped)—begging your pardon, miss—dangerous place. Those (bleepards)—begging your pardon, miss—don’t care who the hell they shoot.” He apparently saw Jet wasn’t impressed. He gave up. Then he rallied. “Well, at least I won’t let her be driven two hundred and fifty miles in that (bleeped)—begging your pardon, miss—cab. It doesn’t ride near good enough. I’ll phone the 34th Street East Heliport for reservations and run you across town. They got a new fast chopper run to Atlantic City that’s safe and comfortable. And I’ll sweep out the cab.”
He grabbed a phone.
Heller was rummaging around, picking up this and that.
The Countess Krak raced into the secretary’s boudoir and shut the door; going to get dressed, I guessed, and pack a bag.
I was really smiling. The Atlantic City Mafia. I had heard all about them. They specialized in hijacking and beating up high winners.
My euphoria increased. There wasn’t any way I could lose. If Heller lost money, it would be just that much less that they would have to meet their bills. If he won, the Atlantic City Mafia would attack him and maybe he and Krak would both wind up in the hospital.
What a beautiful day! It might be cold winter for a lot of people. It seemed like the balmiest possible weather to me. It was a downright rosy world!
PART THIRTY-EIGHT
Chapter 5
Despite the wintry day, I went out and took a turn around the yard. I felt too full of springs to sit too long.
Torgut was on duty. He was wearing a new sheepskin coat and boots and cap. He was carrying a club. He looked much better fed. He bowed ceremoniously. That was good.
I caught a glimpse of some of the staff. Their faces were white with fright. How very satisfactory!
The BMW was gone and there was no trace of the little boys. How nice and quiet!
I went back in and cleaned and oiled some of my guns to while away the time. And, as I worked, a message came through the slot. It said:
Be advised I am shifting the transmitters to Atlantic City area.
Raht
That made me blink. I myself had forgotten that Heller and Krak were going to go beyond the two-hundred-mile activator-receiver range. How had he found out?
Raht, to make up for the lack of his partner Terb, must have that office bugged. He might even have bugs of his own on Heller and Krak. I felt very heartened. I had even scared Raht into doing his job for a change. My, things certainly were looking up!
Heller and Krak didn’t stand a chance! I could order them shot at any time. All I needed was the word from Lombar that Heller’s communication terminal on Voltar had been nullified. Now all I had to do was make sure they were enough slowed down so that they accomplished nothing that would upset Lombar’s plans! And I certainly had the money to do that!
Tolerantly, as one looks at cripples who are sure to lose any race, I turned my attention back to the screens.
“But why do they have those silly blades on top?” Krak wanted to know.
They were riding in a multipassenger helicopter.
“To keep the pilot’s head cool,” said Heller.
“Oh, Jettero, you’re fooling me.”
“Why, I wouldn’t do that. They have very hotheaded pilots.”
“Well, they certainly don’t have proper antigravity airbuses. The least you could do to straighten them out is teach them how to make hot jolt.”
“I’ll put it right at the top of my list,” said Heller. “Look, there’s Atlantic City.”
They both looked out the window at a cold and dismal winter scene. The gray Atlantic was pushing sullen swells up against the beach. The five amusement piers suffered occasional windblown spumes of chilly spray. The high-rise buildings and hotels stood battered along the mostly shuttered Boardwalk.
Heller said, “Now, listen. Don’t call me by the name Wister. Call me Johnny. We’ll pretend you’re just some dizzy dame that I picked up.”
The Countess bristled. “Well, I like that! Why shouldn’t I call you ‘Wister’?”
“It’s sort of too well known.”
“Aha. I knew you’d gotten famous here.”
“Too condemned famous,” said Heller. “But we won’t go into that now. You just be a dizzy dame.”
“I smell chicanery,” said Krak.
“You do. We’re broke.”
Krak shook her head. “I can buy whatever we need. I have a credit card.”
“You can’t buy what we have to have for IRS taxes. So please just be a dizzy dame.”
She said, “Am I in such a spin I don’t even know who the enemy is?”
“The Atlantic City Mafia runs the gambling here. They wouldn’t share your enthusiasm for me. They specialize in rip-offs and we are going to rip them off.”
“Not something criminal,” said Krak.
“No. All legal. We just happen to have what we will call a ‘technical advantage.’ Now, I may call on you to place some bets and I may call on you to take care of the money won in case something happens. So, is your collar radio working?”
She touched something inside her coat and said, “Testing.”
The sound seemed to come out of his collar.
He touched his own collar and said, “Testing.”
The sound seemed to come out of her collar.
They were using Spurk button radios! Well, it wouldn’t do them any good.
They were standing up to get out of the plane and I could see what they were wearing, a necessary datum for me if they separated.
I blinked. She was garbed in a white fur hat, white boots, purse and gloves. Her trousers, probably part of a suit, were wide-bottomed and metallic blue. But it was the fur jacket she had on that set it off. Gray chinchilla! Even though it was only waist length, it must have cost a fortune! Others might think it a spectacular outfit. I found it only striking: at my pocketbook!
He had on a gray flannel lounge suit and wore a gray hat with a wide brim. He was getting into a trench coat of black leather.
Amongst the rest of that crowd, that pair stood out like beacons! All the better! The Atlantic City Mafia would have no trouble at all tailing them to recover any loot.
They were landing now and the festive crowd of high-rollers climbed into a ready bus.
Atlantic City thought it would become very prosperous when, way back in 1976 Earth time, New Jersey got the right to have gambling casinos. And, although some new hotels were built in this decrepit old carnival town, its great expectations did not quite match up to the public relations ballyhoo. A drug runner had told me all about it when I was on Earth before. The Mafia mob had gradually taken over the key casinos and, due to their objections to winners, hopes of rivaling Las Vegas had grown dim.
They must be pretty desperate to be running an extravaganza in the middle of a New Jersey winter. Those icy winds off the Atlantic Ocean practically blew people off the Boardwalk. There’s nothing sadder-looking than a carnival town off-season.
Heller and Krak were no sooner out of the bus than Krak spotted the name “Mamie Boomp.” It was in very small letters at the bottom of the biggest marquee on the biggest building which held the biggest casino.
They fought the wind and got inside. They checked their hats and coats in a cloakroom and walked up to a mezzanine that overlooked the casino floor. There were some tables and chairs along the rail. Heller chose one and was about to seat the Countess when she said, “No, no. You go on and do whatever you are going to do. I’m going to try for backstage and see if I can find Mamie.”
Heller sat down and looked at the crowd below.
I was quite surprised. There were quite a
lot of people in the place, especially for early afternoon.
It was a pretty vast casino. Just below him were three roulette tables. They were running and, while not jammed, were not deserted either.
Heller turned and looked at the mezzanine around him. To his right and left were big square pillars, making the place he sat a sort of alcove at the rail. Behind him was a very wide, carpeted space. To his right, a corridor went from it deeper into the hotel. Directly behind him, another corridor stretched away, seemingly to bedrooms.
He had been carrying a case. He put it on the table and opened it. The first thing he took out seemed to be an adding machine. At least, it looked like one. He took off the bottom and there inside it lay his very ornate, silver-chased and engraved Llama .45 automatic! I blinked. Then I realized that, encased in the bottom of what was apparently an adding machine, the gun had not registered as a gun on the detectors at the New York heliport. He checked it and then put it in what appeared to be a back belt holster. He removed several clips from the adding machine and put them in his pocket.
That done, he pulled a package of black plastic garbage bags from his grip and put it on the table. Again I blinked. Did he think he was going to win so much money that he needed that many huge sacks that size to carry it? If he did, he’d have the whole Atlantic City Mafia to fight off en masse!
He set out a pad one could write on that made multiple copies. It had clamps on the bottom and he fixed it on his knee.
He opened then another case. A sign: Nikon. Where had I seen that before? Ah, Lynchburg. He had bought two scrap cameras and transferred the labels and this was one of them.
THE TIME-SIGHT!
He was unstrapping it and checking its battery. With its Nikon label, the Voltarian time-sight looked for all the world like an ancient 8mm motion-picture camera.
He turned to the rail, pointed it down at the first roulette wheel below and got to work.
There was a huge clock on the far wall of the casino, very futuristic, but it had a second hand. Heller would look into the eyepiece of the time-sight and then twiddle a knob, then glance at the clock and write something on the kneepad.
It required a trained eye to read that image in the time-sight and it took me several minutes before I could make out more than flashing dots. Then I could see numbers.