The screen blacked out. Reich ground his teeth and tasted blood. He turned, dashed out of the Rainbow House and located a vacant coin-Jumper. He dropped a half-credit into the lock, opened the door and lurched in. As he took off with a hissing roar, he clattered against a thirtieth story cornice and nearly capsized. He realized dazedly that he was in no condition to pilot a Jumper or set a booby-trap.
"Don't try to think," he thought. "Don't try to plan. Leave it to your instincts. You're a killer. A natural killer. Just wait and kill!"
Reich fought himself and the controls all the way to Hudson Ramp, and he fought the Jumper down through the crazy, shifting North River winds. The killer instinct prompted him to crash-land in Powell's back garden. He didn't know why. As he pounded the twisted cabin door open, a canned voice spoke: "Your attention, please. You are liable for any damage to this vehicle. Please leave your name and address. If we are forced to trace you, you will be liable for the costs. Thank you."
"I'm going to be liable for a lot more damage," Reich growled. "You're welcome."
He plunged under a heavy clump of forsythia and waited with the scrambler ready. Then he understood why he had crashed. The girl who answered Powell's phone came out of the house and ran down through the garden toward the Jumper. Reich waited. No one else came from the house. The girl was alone. He surged up out of the brush and the girl spun around before she heard him. A peeper. He pulled the trigger to first notch. She stiffened and trembled... helpless.
At the moment when he was about to pull the trigger all the way back to the big D, instinct stopped him again. Suddenly, the booby-trap for Powell came to him. Kill the girl inside the house. Seed her body with Detonation Bulbs and leave that bait for Powell. Sweat broke out on the girl's swarthy face. The muscles in her jaws twitched. Reich took her by the arm and led her up the garden to the house. She walked with the stiff-legged gait of a scarecrow.
Inside the house, Reich led the girl through the kitchen to the living room. He found a long, corded modern lounge and thrust the girl down on it. She was fighting him with everything short of her body. He grinned savagely, bent down and kissed her full on the mouth."
"My love to Powell," he said, and stepped back, raising the scrambler. Then he lowered it.
Someone was watching him.
He turned, amost casually, and darted a quick look around the living room. There was no one. He turned back to the girl and asked: "Are you doing that with TP, peeper?" Then he raised the scrambler. Again he lowered it.
Someone was watching him.
This time, Reich prowled around the living room, searching behind chairs, inside closets. There was no one. He checked the kitchen and the bath. No one. He returned to the living room and Mary Noyes. Then thought of the upper floor. He went to the stairs, started to mount them, and then stopped in mid-stride as though he had been pole-axed.
Someone was watching him.
She was at the head of the stairs, kneeling and peeping through the bannisters like a child. She was dressed like a child in tight little leotards with her hair drawn back and tied with ribbon. She looked at him with the droll, mischievous expression of a child. Barbara D'Courtney.
"Hello," she said.
Reich began to shake.
"I'm Baba," she said.
Reich motioned to her faintly.
She arose at once and came down the stairs, holding on to the bannister carefully. "I'm not s'posed to," she said. "Are you Papa's friend?"
Reich took a deep breath. "I... I..." he croaked.
"Papa had to go away," she prattled. "But he's coming back right away. He told me. If I'm a good girl, he'll bring me a present. I'm trying, but it's awful hard. Are you good?"
"Your father? Coming b-back? Your father?"
She nodded. "Was you playing games with Aunt Mary? You kissed her. I saw it. Papa kisses me. I like it. Does Aunt Mary like it?" She took his hand confidently. "When I grow up I'm going to marry Papa and be his girl for always. Do you have a girl?"
Reich pulled Barbara around and stared into her face. "Are you rocketing?" he said hoarsely. "Do you think I'll fall into that orbit? How much did you tell Powell?"
"That's my papa," she said. "When I ask him why his name is different from my name he looks funny. What's your name?"
"I asked you!" Reich shouted. "How much did you tell him? Who do you think you're fooling with that act? Answer me!"
She looked at him doubtfully, then began to cry, trying to pull away from him. He held on to her.
"Go 'way!" she sobbed. "Let me go!"
"Will you answer me!"
"Let me go!"
He dragged her from the foot of the stairs to the lounge where Mary Noyes still sat paralyzed. He threw the girl alongside her and stepped back again, with the scrambler raised. Suddenly, the girl whipped upright in the chair in a listening attitude. Her face lost its childishness and became drawn and taut. She thrust out her legs, leaped from the lounge, ran, stopped abruptly, then appeared to open a door. She ran forward, yellow hair flying, dark eyes wide with alarm... a lightning flash of wild beauty.
"Father!" she screamed. "For God's sake! Father!"
Reich's heart constricted. The girl ran toward him. He stepped forward to catch her. She stopped short, backed away, then darted to the left and ran in a half circle, screaming wildly, her eyes fixed.
"No!" she cried. "No! For the love of Christ! Father!"
Reich pivoted and clutched at the girl. This time he caught her while she fought and screamed. Reich was shouting too. The girl suddenly stiffened and clutched her ears. Reich was back in the Orchid Suite. He heard the explosion and saw the blood and brains gout out of the back of D'Courtney's head. He shook with galvanic spasms that forced him to release the girl. She fell forward to her knees and crawled across the floor. He saw her crouch over the waxen body.
Reich gasped for breath and beat his knuckles together painfully, fighting for control. When the roaring in his ears subsided, he propelled himself toward Barbara, trying to arrange his thoughts and make split-second alterations in his plans. He had never counted on a witness. God damn Powell. He would have to kill the girl. Could he arrange a double-murder in the — No. Not murder. Booby-trap. Damn Gus Tate. Wait. He wasn't in Beaumont House. He was... in...
"Thirty-three Hudson Ramp," Powell said from the front door.
Reich jerked around, crouched automatically and whipped the scrambler up under his left elbow as Quizzard's killers had taught him.
Powell side-stepped. "Don't try it," he said sharply.
"You son of a bitch," Reich shouted. He wheeled on Powell who had already crossed him up and again stepped out of the line of fire. "You god damned peeper! You lousy, sleazy, son of a—"
Powell faked to the left, reversed, closed with Reich and delivered a six-inch jab to the ulnar nerve complex. The scrambler fell to the floor. Reich clinched; punching, clawing, butting, swearing hysterically. Powell hit him with three lightning blows, nape, navel, and groin. The effect was that of a full spinal block. Reich crashed to the floor, retching, blood streaming from his nose.
"Brother, you think only you know how to gut fight," Powell grunted. He went to Barbara D'Courtney, who still knelt on the floor, and raised her.
"All right, Barbara?" he said.
"Hello, Papa. I had a bad dream."
"I know, baby. I had to give it to you. It was an experiment on that big oaf."
"Gimme a kiss."
He kissed her forehead. "You're growing up fast," he smiled. "You were just baby-talking yesterday."
"I'm growing up because you promised to wait for me."
"It's a promise, Barbara. Can you go upstairs by yourself or do you have to be carried... like yesterday?"
"I can go all by my own self."
"All right, baby. Go up to your room."
She went to the stairs, took a firm hold on the bannister and climbed up. Just before she reached the top, she darted a glance at Reich and stuck her tongue out. T
hen she disappeared. Powell crossed to Mary Noyes, removed the gag, checked her pulse, then made her comfortable on the lounge.
"First notch, eh?" he murmured to Reich. "Painful but she'll recover in an hour." He went back to Reich and stared down at him, anger darkening his drawn face. "I ought to pay you back for Mary; but what's the use? It wouldn't teach you anything. You poor bastard... you're just no damned good."
"Kill me!" Reich groaned. "Kill me or let me up and by Christ I'll kill you!"
Powell picked up the scrambler and cocked an eye at Reich. "Try flexing your muscles a little. Those blocks shouldn't last more than a few seconds..." He sat down with the scrambler in his lap. "You had a tough break. I wasn't out of the house five minutes when I realized Chooka's story was a phoney. You put her up to it, of course."
"You're the phoney!" Reich shouted. "You and your ethics and your high talk. You and your phoney goddam—"
"She said the gun killed D'Courtney." Powell continued imperturbably. "It did, but no one knows what killed D'Courtney... except you and me. I turned around and came back. It was a long take. Almost too long. Try getting up now. You can't be that sick."
Reich struggled up, his breath hissing horribly. Suddenly he dipped into his pocket and brought out the cartridge of Detonation Bulbs. Powell arched back in the chair and kicked Reich in the chest with his heel. The cartridge went flying. Reich fell back and collapsed on a sofa.
"When will you people learn you can't surprise a peeper?" Powell said. He went to the cartridge and picked it up. "You're quite the arsenal today, aren't you? You're acting more like you're wanted dead or alive than like a free man. Notice I said free. Not innocent."
"Free how long?" Reich said through his teeth. "I never talked about innocence either. But free how long?"
"Forever. I had a perfect case against you. Every detail right. I checked that when I peeped you with Barbara just now I had every detail except one, and that one flaw blew my case out into deep space. You're a free man, Reich. We've closed your file."
Reich stared. "Closed the file?"
"Yep. No solution. I'm licked. You can disarm, Reich. Go about your business. No one's going to bother you."
"You're a liar! This is one of your peeper tricks. "You—"
"Nope. I'll lay it out for you. I know all about you... How much you bribed Gus Tate... What you promised Jerry Church... Where you located that Sardine Game... What you did with Wilson Jordan's Rhodopsin Caps... How you emptied those cartridges for an alibi and then turned them lethal again with a drop of water... So far a perfect chain of evidence. Method and Opportunity. But Motive was the flaw. The courts demand Objective Motive and I can't produce it. That sets you free."
"You liar!"
"Of course I could throw this breaking and entering with deadly intent at you... but it's too small a charge. Like shooting a popgun after you misfire with a cannon. You could probably beat it too. My only witnesses would be a peeper and a sick girl. I—"
"You liar," Reich growled. "You hypocrite. You lying peeper. Am I supposed to believe you? Am I supposed to listen to the rest of it? You had nothing, Powell. Nothing! I licked you on every point. That's why you're booby-trapping me. That's why you—" Reich broke off abruptly and beat his forehead. "And this is probably the biggest booby-trap of all. And I fell into it. What a damned fool I am. What a—"
"Shut up," Powell snapped. "When you rave like that I can't peep you. Now what's all this about booby-traps? Think it through."
Reich uttered a ragged laugh. "As if you don't know... My stateroom on the liner... My gaffed safe... My Jumper..."
For almost a minute, Powell focussed on Reich, peeping, absorbing, digesting. Then his face began to pale and his respiration quicken. "My God!" he exclaimed. "My God!" He leaped to his feet and began pacing distractedly. "That's it... That explains it... And Old Man Mose was right. Passion motive, and we thought he was kittenish... And Barbara's Siamese Twin Image... And D'Courtney's guilt... No wonder Reich couldn't kill us at Chooka's... But — the murder isn't important any more. It goes deeper. Far deeper. And it's dangerous... More than I ever dreamed." He stopped, turned and looked at Reich with blazing eyes.
"If I could kill you," he cried, "I'd twist your head off with my hands. I'd tear you apart and hang you on a Galacti Gallows, and the Universe would bless me. Do you know how dangerous you are? Does a plague know its peril? Is death conscious?"
Reich goggled at Powell in bewilderment. The Prefect shook his head impatiently. "Why ask you?" he muttered. "You don't know what I'm talking about. You'll never know." He went to a sideboard, selected two brandy ampules and popped them into Reich's mouth. Reich attempted to spit them out. Powell held his jaws shut.
"Swallow them," he said crisply. "I want you to pull yourself together and listen to me. Do you want Butylene? Thyric Acid? Can you compose yourself without drugs?"
Reich choked on the brandy and sputtered angrily. Powell shook him silent.
"Get this straight," Powell said. "I'm going to show you half the pattern. Try to understand it. The case against you is closed. It's closed because of those booby-traps. If I'd known about them I'd never have started the case. I'd have broken my conditioning and killed you. Try to understand this, Reich..."
Reich stopped sputtering.
"I couldn't find a motive for your murder. That's the flaw. When you offered merger to D'Courtney, he accepted. He sent WWHG in answer. That's acceptance. You had no reason to murder him. You had every objective reason to keep him alive."
Reich went white. His head began to wobble crazily. "No. No. WWHG. Offer refused. Refusal. Refusal!"
"Acceptance."
"No. The bastard refused. He—"
"He accepted. When I learned that D'Courtney accepted your offer, I was finished. I knew I couldn't bring a case to court. But I haven't been trying to booby-trap you. I did not gaff your stateroom lock. I did not plant those Detonation Bulbs. I'm not the man who's trying to murder you. That man is trying to kill you because he knows you're safe from me. He knows you're safe from Demolition. He's always known what I've just discovered... that you're the deadly enemy of our entire future."
Reich tried to speak. He struggled up out of the sofa, gesticulating feebly. Finally he said: "Who is it? Who? Who?"
"He's your ancient enemy, Reich... A man you'll never escape. You'll never be able to run from him... hide from him... and I pray to God you'll never be able to save yourself from him."
"Who is it, Powell? WHO IS IT?"
"The Man With No Face."
Reich emitted a guttural cry of pain. Then he turned and staggered out of the house.
15
TENSION, APPREHENSION, AND dissension have begun.
Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.
Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.
Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.
"Shut up!" Reich cried.
Eight, sir;
Seven, sir;
Six, sir;
Five, Sir;
"For God's sake! Shut up!"
Four, Sir;
Three, sir;
Two, sir;
One!
"You've got to think. Why don't you think? What's happened to you? Why don't you think?"
Tension, apprehension and—
"He was lying. You know he was lying. You were right the first time. A giant booby-trap. WWHG. Refusal. Refusal. But why did he lie? How is that going to help him?"
—dissension have begun.
"The Man with No Face. Breen could have told him. Gus Tate could have told him. Think!"
Tension—
"There is no Man With No Face. It's just a dream. A nightmare!"
Apprehension—
"But the booby-traps? What about the booby-traps? He had me cold in his house. Why didn't he pull the switch? Telling me I'm free. What's he up to? Think!"
Dissension—
A hand touched his shoulder.
"Mr. Reich?"
"What?"
"Mr. Reich!"
"What? Who's that?"
Reich's eyes focussed. He became aware that it was raining heavily. He was lying on his side, knees drawn up, arms folded, his cheek buried in mud. He was drenched, shivering with cold. He was in the esplanade of Bomb Inlet. Around him were sighing, sodden trees. A figure was bending over him.
"Who are you?"
"Galen Chervil, Mr. Reich."
"What?"
"Galen Chervil, sir. From Maria Beaumont's party. Can I do you that favor, Mr. Reich?"
"Don't peep me!" Reich cried.
"I'm not, Mr. Reich. We don't usually — " Young Chervil caught himself. "I didn't know you knew I was a peeper. You'd better get up, sir."
He took Reich's arm and pulled. Reich groaned and yanked his arm free. Young Chervil took him under the shoulders and raised him, staring at Reich's frightful appearance.
"Were you mugged, Mr. Reich?"
"What? No. No..."
"Accident, sir?"
"No. No, I... Oh, for God's sake," Reich burst out, "get the hell away from me!"
"Certainly, sir. I thought you needed help and I owe you a favor, but—"
"Wait," Reich interrupted. "Come back." He rasped the bole of a tree and leaned against it, panting hoarsely. Finally he thrust himself erect and glared at Chervil with bloodshot eyes. "You mean that about the favor?"
"Of course, Mr. Reich."
"No questions asked. No tales told?"
"Certainly not, Mr. Reich."
"My problem's murder, Chervil. I want to find out who's trying to kill me. Will you do me that favor? Will you peep someone for me?"
"I should imagine the police would be able to—"
"The police?" Reich laughed hysterically, then clutched himself in agony as the broken rib caught.
"I want you to peep a cop for me. Chervil. A big cop. The Commissioner of cops. D'you understand?" He let go of the tree and lurched to Chervil. "I want to visit my friend the Commissioner and ask him a few questions. I want you to be there to tell me the truth. Will you come to Crabbe's office and peep him for me? Will you just do it and forget about it? Will you?"
Demolished Man Page 17