6
ELEMENTARY, MY DEAR KIVELSON
Before we left the lighted elevator car, we took a quick nose count.Besides the Kivelsons, there were five _Javelin_ men--Ramon Llewellyn,Abdullah Monnahan, Abe Clifford, Cesario Vieira, and a whitebeardnamed Piet Dumont. Al Devis had been with us when we crashed the doorout of the meeting room, but he'd fallen by the way. We had a coupleof flashlights, so, after sending the car down to Bottom Level, wepicked our way up the zigzag iron stairs to the catwalk, under theseventy-foot ceiling, and sat down in the dark.
Joe Kivelson was fretting about what would happen to the rest of hismen.
"Fine captain I am, running out and leaving them!"
"If they couldn't keep up, that's their tough luck," Oscar Fujisawatold him. "You brought out all you could. If you'd waited any longer,none of us would have gotten out."
"They won't bother with them," I added. "You and Tom and Oscar, here,are the ones they want."
Joe was still letting himself be argued into thinking he had done theright thing when we saw the lights of a lorry coming from uptown atceiling level. A moment later, it backed to the catwalk, and Bish Warestuck his head out from the pilot's seat.
"Where do you gentlemen wish to go?" he asked.
"To the _Javelin_," Joe said instantly.
"Huh-uh," Oscar disagreed. "That's the first place they'll look.That'll be all right for Ramon and the others, but if they catch youand Tom, they'll shoot you and call it self-defense, or take you inand beat both of you to a jelly. This'll blow over in fifteen ortwenty hours, but I'm not going anywhere near my ship, now."
"Drop us off on Second Level Down, about Eighth Street and a couple ofblocks from the docks," the mate, Llewellyn, said. "We'll borrow someweapons from Patel the Pawnbroker and then circulate around and seewhat's going on. But you and Joe and Oscar had better go undergroundfor a while."
"The _Times_," I said. "We have a whole pillar-building to ourselves;we could hide half the population."
That was decided upon. We all piled into the lorry, and Bish took itto an inconspicuous place on the Second Level and let down. RamonLlewellyn and the others got out. Then we went up to Main City Level.We passed within a few blocks of Hunters' Hall. There was a lot ofnoise, but no shooting.
Joe Kivelson didn't have anything to say, on the trip, but he keptlooking at the pilot's seat in perplexity and apprehension. I thinkhe expected Bish to try to ram the lorry through every building wepassed by or over.
We found Dad in the editorial department on the top floor, feedingvoice-tape to Julio while the latter made master sheets forteleprinting. I gave him a quick rundown on what had happened that hehadn't gotten from my radio. Dad cluck-clucked in disapproval, eitherat my getting into a fight, assaulting an officer, or, literally,throwing money away.
Bish Ware seemed a little troubled. "I think," he said, "that I shallmake a circuit of my diocese, and see what can be learned from mydevoted flock. Should I turn up anything significant, I will call itin."
With that, he went tottering over to the elevator, stumbling on theway and making an unepiscopal remark. I watched him, and then turnedto Dad.
"Did he have anything to drink after I left?" I asked.
"Nothing but about five cups of coffee."
I mentally marked that: _Add oddities, Bish Ware._ He'd been at leastfour hours without liquor, and he was walking as unsteadily as whenI'd first seen him at the spaceport. I didn't know any kind of liquorthat would persist like that.
Julio had at least an hour's tape to transcribe, so Dad and Joe andTom and Oscar and I went to the living room on the floor below. Joewas still being bewildered about Bish Ware.
"How'd he manage to come for us?" he wanted to know.
"Why, he was here with me all evening," Dad said. "He came from thespaceport with Walt and Tom, and had dinner with us. He called a fewpeople from here, and found out about the fake riot and police raidRavick had cooked up. You'd be surprised at how much information hecan pick up around town."
Joe looked at his son, alarmed.
"Hey! You let him see--" he began.
"The wax on Bottom Level, in the Fourth Ward?" I asked. "He won't blababout that. He doesn't blab things where they oughtn't be blabbed."
"That's right," Dad backed me up. He was beginning to think of Bish asone of the _Times_ staff, now. "We got a lot of tips from him, butnothing we give him gets out." He got his pipe lit again. "What aboutthat wax, Joe?" he asked. "Were you serious when you made that motionabout a price of seventy-five centisols?"
"I sure was!" Joe declared. "That's the real price, and always hasbeen, and that's what we get or Kapstaad doesn't get any more wax."
"If Murell can top it, maybe Kapstaad won't get any more wax, period,"I said. "Who's he with--Interstellar Import-Export?"
Anybody would have thought a barbwire worm had crawled onto JoeKivelson's chair seat under him.
"Where'd you hear that?" he demanded, which is the Galaxy's silliestquestion to ask any newsman. "Tom, if you've been talking--"
"He hasn't," I said. "He didn't need to. It sticks out a parsec in alldirections." I mentioned some of the things I'd noticed whileinterviewing Murell, and his behavior after leaving the ship. "Evenbefore I'd talked to him, I wondered why Tom was so anxious to getaboard with me. He didn't know we'd arranged to put Murell up here; hewas going to take him to see that wax, and then take him to the_Javelin_. You were going to produce him at the meeting and have himbid against Belsher, only that tread-snail fouled your lines for you.So then you thought you had to stall off a new contract till he gotout of the hospital."
The two Kivelsons and Oscar Fujisawa were looking at one another; Joeand Tom in consternation, and Oscar in derision of both of them. I wasfeeling pretty good. Brother, I thought, Sherlock Holmes never didbetter, himself.
That, all of a sudden, reminded me of Dr. John Watson, whom Bishperceived to have been in Afghanistan. That was one thing Sherlock H.Boyd hadn't deduced any answers for. Well, give me a little more time.And more data.
"You got it all figured out, haven't you?" Joe was askingsarcastically. The sarcasm was as hollow as an empty oil drum.
"The _Times_," Dad was saying, trying not to sound too proud, "has avery sharp reportorial staff, Joe."
"It isn't Interstellar," Oscar told me, grinning. "It's ArgentineExotic Organics. You know, everybody thought Joe, here, was gettingpretty high-toned, sending his daughter to school on Terra. Schoolwasn't the only thing she went for. We got a letter from her, the lasttime the Cape Canaveral was in, saying that she'd contacted ArgentineOrganics and that a man was coming out on the _Peenemuende_, posing asa travel-book author. Well, he's here, now."
"You'd better keep an eye on him," I advised. "If Steve Ravick getsto him, he won't be much use to you."
"You think Ravick would really harm Murell?" Dad asked.
He thought so, too. He was just trying to comfort himself bypretending he didn't.
"What do you think, Ralph?" Oscar asked him. "If we get competitivewax buying, again, seventy-five a pound will be the starting price.I'm not spending the money till I get it, but I wouldn't be surprisedto see wax go to a sol a pound on the loading floor here. And you knowwhat that would mean."
"Thirty for Steve Ravick," Dad said. That puzzled Oscar, till Iexplained that "thirty" is newsese for "the end." "I guess Walt'sright. Ravick would do anything to prevent that." He thought for amoment. "Joe, you were using the wrong strategy. You should have letRavick get that thirty-five centisol price established for theCo-operative, and then had Murell offer seventy-five or something likethat."
"You crazy?" Joe demanded. "Why, then the Co-op would have been stuckwith it."
"That's right. And as soon as Murell's price was announced, everybodywould drop out of the Co-operative and reclaim their wax, even thecaptains who owe Ravick money. He'd have nobody left but a handful ofthugs and barflies."
"But that would smash the Co-operative," Joe Kivelson objected."Listen, Ralph; I'
ve been in the Co-operative all my life, sincebefore Steve Ravick was heard of on this planet. I've worked hard forthe Co-operative, and--"
You didn't work hard enough, I thought. You let Steve Ravick take itaway from you. Dad told Joe pretty much the same thing:
"You don't have a Co-operative, Joe. Steve Ravick has a racket. Theonly thing you can do with this organization is smash it, and thenrebuild it with Ravick and his gang left out."
Joe puzzled over that silently. He'd been thinking that it was thesame Co-operative his father and Simon MacGregor and the other oldhunters had organized, and that getting rid of Ravick was simply amatter of voting him out. He was beginning to see, now, thatparliamentary procedure wasn't any weapon against Ravick's force andfraud and intimidation.
"I think Walt has something," Oscar Fujisawa said. "As long asMurell's in the hospital at the spaceport, he's safe, but as soon ashe gets out of Odin Dock & Shipyard territory, he's going to be a claypigeon."
Tom hadn't been saying anything. Now he cleared his throat.
"On the _Peenemuende_, I was talking about taking Mr. Murell for a tripin the _Javelin_," he said. "That was while we were still pretendinghe'd come here to write a book. Maybe that would be a good idea,anyhow."
"It's a cinch we can't let him get killed on us," his father said. "Idoubt if Exotic Organics would send anybody else out, if he was."
"Here," Dad said. "We'll run the story we have on him in the morningedition, and then correct it and apologize to the public formisleading them and explain in the evening edition. And before hegoes, we can have him make an audiovisual for the 'cast, tellingeverybody who he is and announcing the price he's offering. We'll putthat on the air. Get enough publicity, and Steve Ravick won't dare doanything to him."
Publicity, I thought, is the only weapon Dad knows how to use. Hethinks it's invincible. Me, I wouldn't bet on what Steve Ravickwouldn't dare do if you gave me a hundred to one. Ravick had been inpower too long, and he was drunker on it than Bish Ware ever got onBaldur honey-rum. As an intoxicant, rum is practically a soft drinkbeside power.
"Well, do you think Ravick's gotten onto Murell yet?" Oscar said. "Wekept that a pretty close secret. Joe and I knew about him, and so didthe Mahatma and Nip Spazoni and Corkscrew Finnegan, and that was all."
"I didn't even tell Tom, here, till the _Peenemuende_ got into radiorange," Joe Kivelson said. "Then I only told him and Ramon andAbdullah and Abe and Hans Cronje."
"And Al Devis," Tom added. "He came into the conning tower while youwere telling the rest of us."
The communication screen began buzzing, and I went and put it on. Itwas Bish Ware, calling from a pay booth somewhere.
"I have some early returns," he said. "The cops cleared everybody outof Hunters' Hall except the Ravick gang. Then Ravick reconvened themeeting, with nobody but his gang. They were very careful to make surethey had enough for a legal quorum under the bylaws, and then theyvoted to accept the new price of thirty-five centisols a pound."
"That's what I was afraid of," Joe Kivelson said. "Did they arrest anyof my crew?"
"Not that I know of," Bish said. "They made a few arrests, but turnedeverybody loose later. They're still looking for you and your son. Asfar as I know, they aren't interested in anybody else." He glancedhastily over his shoulder, as though to make sure the door of thebooth was secure. "I'm with some people, now. I'll call you backlater."
"Well, that's that, Joe," Oscar said, after Bish blanked the screen."The Ravick Co-op's stuck with the price cut. The only thing left todo is get everybody out of it we can, and organize a new one."
"I guess that's so," Joe agreed. "I wonder, though if Ravick hasreally got wise to Murell."
"Walt figured it out since the ship got in," Oscar said. "Belsher'sbeen on the ship with Murell for six months. Well, call it three;everything speeds up about double in hyperspace. But in three monthshe ought to see as much as Walt saw in a couple of hours."
"Well, maybe Belsher doesn't know what's suspicious, the way Waltdoes," Tom said.
"I'm sure he doesn't," I said. "But he and Murell are both in the waxbusiness. I'll bet he noticed dozens of things I never even saw."
"Then we'd better take awfully good care of Mr. Murell," Tom said."Get him aboard as fast as we can, and get out of here with him. Walt,you're coming along, aren't you?"
That was what we'd agreed, while Glenn Murell was still the famoustravel-book author. I wanted to get out of it, now. There wouldn't beanything happening aboard the _Javelin_, and a lot happening here inPort Sandor. Dad had the same idea, only he was one hundred per centfor my going with Murell. I think he wanted me out of Port Sandor,where I wouldn't get in the way of any small high-velocity particlesof lead that might be whizzing around.