“How much?” said Flick.
“That Model 99,” said Chalber with a superior sneer, “sits on the books at thirty thousand credits. I am sure . . .”
Flick still had Madison’s identoplate. He stuck it in front of Chalber’s face and said, “Will that do?”
Chalber looked at it. Then he went into staring shock. “Pay Status UNLIMITED?”
“Him,” said Flick, jabbing a finger at Madison. “Apparatus-Palace City-Royal. Now get that beauty down here! Service it! And don’t delay!”
Chalber nodded numbly. Flick threw his hands wide toward the car and cried, “Baby, come to your Daddy Flick!”
PART SEVENTY-FOUR
Chapter 4
After Flick had oohed and ahed over the lowered Model 99, showing Madison all its beauties, and while mechanics got dust off of it and fuel rods into it, Flick raced over to an office communication booth and got very busy.
Madison, already a car buff, began to warm to the vehicle. It certainly was FLASHY! Even the angels at the four corners had a sort of wild grin on their faces as though they were going to show the world. He thought for a moment of his poor Excalibur, probably on the river bottom still in New York, far away, and then dismissed it. This was a car that performed like a jetliner, with no wings. It wasn’t chrome-plated. It was gold-plated! Every button was a precious stone. The seats were like sitting on a cloud. He forgot the Excalibur. This was a PR car to end all PR cars!
Chalber had a lot of papers to stamp and had to show him how but he was very respectful. Flick came away from the communication booth long enough to make sure it was all in order.
“You hold on to this Apparatus junk heap,” said Flick to Chalber. “I’ll tell you what to do with it. And you stand ready to give me two or three mass-passenger air-coaches if I send for them. I’ve always wanted some.”
He went off leaving a numbed Chalber.
Suddenly Flick rushed out of the communication booth. He was flinging his arms around. He said, “I’ve got it! Oh, man, my dreams are really coming true. Would you believe it, I’ve got it!”
Flick was dashing around, checking the Model 99, and Madison couldn’t get his attention.
Flick stacked all the contents of the vendor’s cart into the hidden cabinets and pushed Madison in like another piece of baggage.
Madison felt a little piqued. After all, it was he who now owned the car. Who was boss here anyway?
“Listen, Flick,” said Madison mildly as they took off, “I’m glad you got us a nice car but I have other things to think about and do. I am a working PR, you know. I should be about my business getting some connections.”
“Feel her!” cried Flick. “Ain’t she beautiful? Not a sound from the outside, not even a whirr from the drives. Oh, man, does she handle just like I knew she would.”
The car did ride smoothly, actually like a feather. He was startled to look out the window and see the ground rushing by, quite close, at a speed which must be approaching sound. They had left Commercial City but the verdant countryside was such a blur, Madison could not tell if they were farms or parks or what.
“Flick,” he said, “I’m sure it’s a joy to drive this thing and she is a beauty, I admit. But I see it is now afternoon and I should not be wasting the day.”
“Never you mind,” said Flick. “Don’t you fret. I can tell you’re new here. An Earthman, isn’t it? I didn’t know we had such a planet but I don’t know them all. So you just let me handle this so you don’t get lost.”
They were over buildings now and were slowing down. The area seemed to consist of a lot of parks and clubs whose signs were even visible in daylight. For a hopeful moment, he thought Flick might be taking him to Homeview, for he could see a gigantic dome ahead with that lettering upon it.
“We’re almost there,” said Flick. “This is Joy City. That’s our destination over there, just beyond that big sign, “Dirt Club.” Ain’t it remarkable?”
“Well, that IS a remarkable advertising sign,” said Madison. “A girl in a military hat lying on cannon parabolas. But really, Flick, I think I should go over to Homeview. . . .”
“Not the Dirt Club. That’s for Army officers and we ain’t Army. No, no. That big bright slab of a building.”
Madison tried to see what they were heading for. All he saw was a rectangle of metal that must be eighty stories high and which covered an area of what might be six New York City blocks.
“That’s her!” said Flick, hovering to let some traffic clear. “The five top stories of that building was the townhouse of General Loop.”
“All that?”
“Yeah, he was awful rich. He died a couple years ago and it’s too big for anybody to want to live in. The swank residences are all over at Pausch Hills and nobody with that much money wants to live in Joy City: there’s nothing but clubs and hotels and amusement parks and the entertainment industry around here. So it’s been closed. It must be absolutely crammed with antiques and valuables. Way back before he retired, the owner, General Loop, was in charge of all electronic security for the whole Confederacy. Ever since I heard nobody was living in it now, I’ve tried and tried to sneak into it, but it’s guarded by the fanciest electronic gimmicks anybody ever heard of! An awful challenge: I’ve laid awake nights trying to figure out how to break in and rob the joint. But back there, I solved it. I’ll tell them we’re interested in buying it. And they’ll show me every security device! Then we’ll come back and rob it. Smart, eh?”
Madison blinked. However, before he could protest, Flick received a clearance on a flashing screen on his dash and dived abruptly for the roof. The flat metal expanse was the size of several football fields. He headed for a solitary figure at one end, tiny as a doll in all that vastness. It was waving at them to come in. Flick landed.
An old man in a watchman’s uniform was at their door. He was carrying a small box in his hand. “So you’re the fellow that wants to buy this place,” he said to Flick.
“Yes, sir,” said Flick emphatically. “Another dream that’s going to come true.”
“Why hasn’t anybody bought it?” said Madison, not at all happy about what he was getting into. He might be able to use some offices, but this was not even getting a building: it was a planned robbery. He was being steered way off his mark, and the meaningful look of Teenie hovered in memory.
“Oh, they’re crazy, of course,” the old man said, “but they think the place is haunted.”
That was all Madison needed to get along: the robbery of a haunted townhouse. What a headline THAT would make! He tried to think of something that would dampen Flick’s enthusiasm.
But the old man was talking, “You can’t get into this place without help,” he said, climbing in.
“I know,” said Flick.
“So I thought I’d better come up in person with the box. They’re all waiting for you down below, so if you’ll just move this airbus ahead to that small white dot you see there, we’ll go in.”
Flick, quivering with expectancy, moved the car as stated and the old man pushed at the side of the box.
SWOOP!
Hidden doors whose edges had not been evident activated and they were still sitting in the airbus but it was now sitting in the center of a palatial living room!
Madison glanced up. The door was gone.
Three nicely dressed men were sitting around a desk.
Flick leaped out of the car, looking all around. There were paintings on the walls, vases on stands. He rubbed his hands.
Flick rushed over to the desk. He didn’t shake hands. “Let me see the rest of this layout!”
One of the men, gray-headed, said, “We have to be sure this is a serious offer. We came over from the bank just in case somebody really wanted to buy it.”
“We got to see the whole place,” said Flick.
The three businessmen and the watchman seemed a little cool but then Flick, like a stage magician, flashed Madison’s identoplate.
“Pa
y status UNLIMITED?” gawped the gray-haired man.
Flick gave Madison a broad wink when the bankers weren’t looking.
Madison swallowed. This was NOT good PR! The identoplate was now being used as an entrance to case a joint and rob it! He had visions of himself being carted off to jail.
The bankers made haste to show them some of the rest of the townhouse. To see all of it would have taken more than a day. Five floors of this size would have taken far more walking than they had the legs for.
There were apartments beyond count, some quite elegant. Some were like the palatial cabins of ships at sea, some were like those of spacecraft. Some looked like hunting lodges.
There were several bars as big as a tavern, chairs and tables and decor approximating styles of different planets.
There were kitchens that were complex mazes of electronic cooking gear which sent viands upwards which would then appear magically on tables in dining salons without having seemed to travel.
There were rooms which contained such a multitude of screens that one got the impression he could look at any band or transmission on any planet anywhere.
They came to an auditorium that would seat at least two hundred people and whose stage revolved or simply flapped back when another decorated stage rose.
Madison got the distinct impression they were not seeing everything there was to see in these rooms. Something odd about it all, something strange. Spooky. Part of it was that there seemed to be windows but they were all black.
The old watchman didn’t seem to be much interested. Flick ran along and the watchman would hit buttons in his box and the doors of rooms would open. Flick would look in, see paintings and hangings of great value and rush on.
“You realize,” the watchman said at last, “that if I was not working this box right, we not only could not pass down these halls, for I’ve opened all the invisible barriers, but traps would open in the floor as well. There’s this box for watchmen and such but some of the master suites can’t be opened at all until they’re voice-tuned to the new owner.”
Flick whispered to Madison excitedly. “There’s a half a million credits in loot in this place. It would be the haul of the century.” Then he went racing on to glance into more rooms.
“Of course,” the gray-haired banker told Madison, “the apartment has regular street entrances and elevators: several of them in fact. But you can only come up to the first floor of these five. The upper ones require special entrance. General Loop was pretty security conscious, I’m afraid.”
Finally the three bankers and the bored watchman were so worn-out with walking that they simply stopped. “Do you mind,” said the gray-haired man, “if we go back to the hangar salon? If you’re still interested . . .”
“Oh, we’re interested!” said Flick with a wink at Madison. And he followed them back to where the airbus was.
Flick, arriving there, reached out his hand to the watchman. “Could I see that box?”
The watchman shook his head.
The three bankers sank wearily into chairs, quite worn-out from almost two hours of unaccustomed walking. Madison himself felt fagged.
“If you’re willing to talk price,” said the gray-haired man, “we are open to some serious offers. We know that the place is large, too large. And it could never obtain a hotel license. The entire remainder of the building, all seventy-five lower floors, are separately owned by residential families such as club officials and so on, and they are much smaller. This so-called townhouse is all under one deed that can’t be broken down into subdeeds and so it can’t be separately rented out or sold in pieces. Now, I am being very frank. The general’s heirs want to get rid of it. It would not be honest of us not to tell you. So what do you offer?” Madison was sure Flick would find some excuse. Madison’s main problem was how he was going to discourage Flick from a break-in and robbery.
Flick was looking at the box in the watchman’s hands. It was obvious the watchman was not going to give it up. Flick sighed deeply. Madison had visions of being part of a break-in that would bring immediate arrest. There was only one way to handle this. As a PR man he knew how to wheel and deal. He would offer a price too low. They would leave and then he would use his authority to argue some sense into Flick. Maybe bribe him.
“Well,” said Madison to the gray-haired man, “I’m afraid we can’t go higher than twenty thousand credits.”
“Sold,” said the gray-haired man without even looking at the other two. “The heirs will be very pleased. The papers are already here. I will fill in the amount and you can stamp them.”
Madison blinked. Then he suddenly realized the offer was about four hundred thousand dollars!
HE HAD BOUGHT A HAUNTED TOWNHOUSE!
PART SEVENTY-FOUR
Chapter 5
Jumping comets, are you smart!” crooned Flick as they rose up through the roof and flew away. “Now we can rob the place without any watchman even sticking their noses in.”
“Flick,” said Madison, “we OWN the place.”
“Makes no difference,” said Flick. “My dream is going to come true! Look, I got the box and a four-foot stack of directions in the bargain. Wow, what an easy break-in this will be! Oh, man, are all my dreams coming true!”
“Flick—”
“Oh, leave this up to me. You’re smart. I got to admit that now. I was wrong: a murderer can have brains for something else besides nightmares. Wow, what a master stroke! Boy, and I puzzled and puzzled over that for months and months!”
“Flick, it’s sunset and I think we ought to call it a day. I got to get up early in the morning and get on my job!”
“Hey, that shows you why you should leave all this up to me. Crime works best by night and you ought to know that.”
They had leaped up into the sky and the traffic lanes, strung out like fireflies in the dusk, were falling behind them.
“Flick, we seem to be leaving the towns. Where are you going?”
“Now, don’t bother your head. Just because you got one bright idea doesn’t prove you know enough to handle everything in sight. Just relax back there.”
“Flick, I think . . .”
“Hand me a sweetbun, would you? They’re in that side locker. Have some yourself.”
A vast sea was on their left and they were speeding along the coast, a greenish surf drawing ribbons of foam upon the sand in the dimming light. Great scarlet clouds, far to the west, were catching the afterglow of the sun.
Presently, in the fading twilight, the beaches gave way to cliffs and black mountains began to silhouette against the stars. Suddenly Flick pulled his throttle back and pointed.
A huge ebony bulk lay just ahead, sprawling along the top of cliffs that fell a quarter of a mile, sheer, to the sea. Battlements that covered acres were blacker against an ink-dark sky.
“That’s the Domestic Confederacy Prison,” said Flick. “Two hundred miles from Government City and two miles past hell nine. My brother did twenty years here and he told me all about it. It used to be an Army fort that held a million men: huge underground bunkers. But part of it was destroyed by an earthquake that took some of the cliff away so they gave it to the ‘bluebottles.’ They use it for those sentenced to twenty years or more: place is escape-proof, so they ship in their worst ones from all over the Confederacy. There’s about two hundred thousand prisoners there and they never see the light.” He slid Madison’s identoplate into a slot in the dash.
“You mean we’re going in amongst murderers?” said Madison.
“Oh, you kill me, Chief, you really do. Always gagging around. You don’t have to pretend with me. I’m your driver, remember?” Flick snickered. “An officer of the Apparatus squealing like a little girl about associating with criminals! And a murderer at that.” He thought it was very funny. Then he sobered. “There’s their call-in light. Now, you let me do the talking, you hear?”
A glaring light hit them from a battlement and then went off. Four bright blue lights
sprang up, bathing a courtyard in an eerie glow.
Flick landed and they got out. Two “bluebottles” approached and the snout of a gun covered them from a high turret. Flick showed them Madison’s identoplate and a torch glared in Madison’s face as they compared the picture. Surf sounded with a distant boom and the wind moaned.
“Take us to the warder,” said Flick.
They walked across the gritty courtyard, through a rusty door, and shortly were ushered into a stone-walled room where a very old and tough-faced man was just getting his jacket on. “And what’s so urgent that you come here at night?” said the warder, scowling.