Man of Many Minds

by Robert Donald Locke

  Chapter 11

  A black look suffused the leader's face at Hanlon's impertinent "can youdish it out, Mister?" He half-rose from his seat, while the other fourmen reached quick hands towards their weapons.

  Then slowly the man sank back, relaxed, and smiled--an open, friendlysmile of genuine cordiality, and his men also relaxed.

  "You'll do, Hanlon, by the great ... uh ... Zeus, you'll do! But," headded significantly, "I think you will find that I can 'dish it out', asyou call it, if the need ever arises. You had better pray it neverdoes."

  "Fair enough," Hanlon shrugged indifferently.

  "The boys will take you out and show you the town, if you like," theleader smiled engagingly. "They will get word to you when I have a jobready, which may be in a day or two."

  Hanlon thanked him, and felt it policy to go out with "the boys," eventhough he did not particularly care to do so. Nor did he especiallyenjoy the night that followed.

  He had left a ten o'clock call with the hotel's visiphone operator whenhe got back to the hotel at last. When she called he groggily opened oneeye half way, and fumbled for the toggle-switch.

  "H'lo."

  "Ten o'clock of a fine morning, Mr. Hanlon."

  "Oh, no!" he groaned.

  "Oh, yes," she giggled. "That bad, is it?"

  "Worse'n that. But thanks anyway ... I guess."

  She was laughing heartily as she disconnected.

  Hanlon groaned with the utter misery of a hugely-distorted, throbbinghead. The sunlight pouring through an open window directly into his eyesdid not help any. He rolled over petulantly, but knew he had to get up.

  He stumbled out of bed and went in to stand under a cold shower. Tenminutes later he began to feel a little more human, and decided maybe hewould live after all.

  "Never again!" he swore fervently. "I'm just not cut out for seriousdrinking. Hope I didn't give anything away to those guys last night."

  He dressed slowly, meanwhile striving as best his aching head would lethim, to review his situation. He was fairly well pleased with hissuccess to date, but the grue of fear was still with him. He was gettingpart way where he wanted to be, but ... this was certainly no picnic hewas muscling into. He remembered his father's injunction to take it easyat first, and grimaced wrily.

  Eating breakfast in the hotel dining room, after taking an effervescentto relieve his headache, he tried to plan his next moves. There wasn'tmuch he could do, he decided, until they called him. He had made hisbid--it wouldn't do to try to push himself too much, or it would lookmighty fishy to those sharp minds.

  He shuddered again, involuntarily, thinking about that enigmatic leader.Who ... or what ... was he?

  Hanlon went first to the bank, and made out a card for his own box. Butonce in the vault, and the attendant gone out, it was box 1044 heopened. There was a note for him.

  "Welcome to Simonides," he read. "My name--here--is Art Georgopoulis. Iwork at present as a bartender at the Golden Web, on Thermopylae street.The high-ups in the underworld hang out there, and I pick up occasionalbits of news. If you come in, introduce yourself by asking for 'a goodold Kentucky mint-julep,' Practically no one ever asks for those. I'mthe blond, skinny one at the far end of the bar. If I can be of anyhelp, just yell. Me, I haven't got to first check station yet--but I'mstill in there punching. Hope you do better--Curt Hooper."

  Hanlon "ate" the note, then wrote one of his own, telling what he hadlearned to date, what he suspicioned, and what he was trying to do. Ofhis new mental powers he said nothing. He did not distrust this SS man,of course, but if the fellow didn't know he couldn't be made to tell.

  As Hanlon left the bank he began to get the feeling he was beingtrailed, but could not seem to locate anyone doing it, although he didnot dare search to his rear very carefully. Neither could he catch anydefinite thoughts about such a thing from among the welter ofthought-sensations on the crowded streets.

  He wandered about most of the day, frankly sight-seeing--but his mindwas always open. He went into various public buildings, sat for sometime in one or another of the numerous parks whenever he felt a bittired of walking.

  That feeling of being watched made him cautious, so he did not practicemuch with his mind-control on any of the pigeon-like birds! He did,however, make a trip to the local zoo, and as he paused momentarily infront of each of the cages to look at the exhibit it contained, hebriefly made an excursion into the mind of each different type ofanimal, bird or rodent. Outside of minor differences of texture, theyall seemed about the same. Each of them had, naturally, differentmuscular abilities that would need considerable study if he everintended using one of them.

  And every minute he was seeking, searching for any tiniest thread ofevidence as to what it was that was causing this undercurrent of secretintrigue that was so plainly evident to his super-sensitive mind.

  But there was no factual data to be learned. Only that "feel" of it inthe very air. Yet as the day wore on he came to believe that much ormost of what he sensed was not that plot which was causing the Corpsconcern. Rather, it seemed more as though all the people here wereengaged in some sort of secret aggressiveness.

  And it was finally forced into his consciousness that it was "business,"not "politics." For it was well-known that Simonides, even though it hadbecome the Federation's wealthiest world, was not yet satisfied ... thatits merchants and traders wanted to capture more and still more of theSystem's business.

  There were far too many minds engaged in aggressive thoughts for apolitical revolution, he felt sure. If it was this wide-spread, surelyothers of the Corps of the Secret Service would have found out somethingdefinite about it. No, whatever this was, it distinctly was not what hewas here to find.

  The feeling that he was being spied upon was always more or lesspresent, but he could not spot the man or men who were watching him.Either several were working in short shifts, or else the trailer kept sofar behind him that the multiplicity of thoughts from the hundreds ofpeople always around masked those of the spy.

  Hanlon ate a leisurely lunch in a small restaurant, and during theafternoon continued his apparently-aimless sight-seeing. If they wereshadowing him, they would have nothing to report, he grinned. Not duringthe day, at least. What the evening would bring forth would perhaps beanother matter.

  For he had determined to at least get in touch with the SS man who hadwritten that note. He would have dinner at the Golden Web, if theyserved meals. If not, he would have a drink anyway. The two mencertainly should know each other by sight.

  He went briefly to the hotel, but there had been no calls for him. So hetook a ground-cab to the cafe, which turned out to be a pretentious,garish one. Inside he made his way to that part of the long, busy barpresided over by a slim, blond man.

  Hanlon climbed onto a stool. "Gimme a good old Kentucky mint-julep,suh," he demanded, "an' be doggoned suah it's made right."

  The bartender eyed him peculiarly. "Where's this Kentucky and what's amint-julep?"

  "On Terra, of course, where I came from. Where'd you think it was, onAndromeda Seven?"

  "Pardon me, sir. I seem to remember now, having heard of such a drink.I'll have to look it up in the recipe-book--I disremember theingredients."

  Hanlon grinned and lost his appearance of truculence. "It's partly madeof Blue Grass, like a 'horse's neck.' But if it's too much trouble, justgive me a Cola."

  The barkeep grinned, too. "I gotcha, Steve," and poured out the softdrink.

  Hanlon sat sipping his innocuous drink, looking about him quietly. Alarge-sized crowd was beginning to fill the place--well-dressed,evidently fairly prosperous people, but he could see that they were notthe real upper-class, but the slightly-off-shade climbers.

  His drink finished Hanlon signalled his friendly barman. "The grub hereany good? This looks like a nice place."

  "Yes, it is. One often hears some interesting things here. As for thefood, it is very good, and not too expensive. They have a native fowlmuch like chicken I think you'd like
. Ask for _poyka_, in whatever styleyou like it fixed. Glad to be of service, sir, any time, in any way."The last words were slightly emphasized.

  Hanlon had ordered and was waiting for his food when a man he had neverseen before slipped into the seat opposite him.

  "The Boss wants to see you."

  "Yeah?" Hanlon looked him up and down almost contemptuously. "Just whois this 'boss' who's interested in me?"

  "Cut the clowning. You know who. At the Bacchus. Now!"

  "So." Hanlon let himself appear slightly interested. "Well, after I getthrough eating, if nothing else shows up to interest me more, I mightdrop over."

  "You'd better, and mighty quick, too!" the man snapped, although it wasapparent he was puzzled by Hanlon's manner. "He don't like to be keptwaiting."

  "And I don't like to be hurried--or ordered about!" Hanlon snapped back."If I come, and notice I said 'if,' I'll be there in about an hour. Now,do you mind? I like to enjoy my food."

  The man rose, still with that perplexed expression. It was evident hewas not used to people not jumping when his "Boss" issuedinvitations--which were really commands. He shook his head slowly. "Ihope for your sake he's in a good humor," he said as he left.

  Hanlon's mind was not too easy as he ate swiftly, and his relish of theexcellent food was not as keen as it might have been but for thisinterruption. He shivered, remembering that cold ruthlessness he hadsensed behind that leader's suave manner. But he had to play out hisstring as a somewhat brash youngster who wasn't afraid of anybody oranything. He had made a clean score with that reckless "can you dish itout, Mister?" but he had better not press his luck too far.

  Thus it was only about half an hour later when he presented himself atthe Bacchus.

  "You took your time coming," the leader looked at Hanlon curiously.

  "I was hungry," Hanlon answered simply. "I'd just ordered dinner whenyour message was delivered. I came as soon as I'd finished."

  "Those who work for me usually ... uh ... come running when I call."

  Hanlon grinned wolfishly. "Maybe they're afraid of you."

  "And you aren't?"

  "Should I be?"

  "I don't like impudence or insolence," the voice was more curt and theeyes lost some of their calmness in a flash of anger.

  Hanlon knew he had gone far enough for the time being, so instantlybecame less brash, more apologetic.

  "If I take your job if you offer me one, sir, I'll obey all orderspromptly, and I'll give you everything I've got, naturally. But I'm notone of your snivelling toadies."

  The leader regarded him once more with silent appraisal, in which ameasure of respect, or at least approval, seemed to show. Hanlon,probing the other minds present, was secretly amused at theirastonishment at his temerity ... and the fact that he was getting awaywith it.

  After long moments the leader nodded his head, as though he had reacheda decision.

  "What were you doing in the bank this morning?"

  "Why, just depositing some of my stuff in a safety deposit box," hesaid, surprised. "Why?"

  "How did you get your own box so quickly?"

  "What do you mean so quickly? I went in yesterday and asked if one wasavailable, and the girl clerk signed me up for it, and said I could getentry today."

  "Oh, I see. I was told it was done like you already had a boxand ... uh ... wondered about it."

  Hanlon reached in his pocket and threw a key onto the desk "Go look init for yourself if you think it's important. And incidentally," he saidcontemptuously, "I've known all day long I was being shadowed." But wasinstantly sorry he had said that last.

  For there came a deadly coldness in the leader's tone, and a gleam inthose hard eyes that boded ill for someone. "I see. Well, let it pass."He pushed the key back toward Hanlon, who pocketed it thankfully. Hisbluff had worked. This was the key to his own box, of course; his masterkey was in a hidden pocket in the cuff of his trousers.

  The leader sank back into his chair and was silent for long minutes,thinking deeply, while Hanlon waited patiently, still trying to get someglimmering of thought from that unreadable mind, still frustrated almostto the point of despair that he couldn't.

  Finally the man spoke, but not to Hanlon. "Panek, you and the others gofind Rellos and bring him here."

  When they were alone, the leader leaned forward and spoke earnestlyto Hanlon, yet watching him carefully as he did so. "I like you,Hanlon, and I'm going to test you out. I am not too sure of you, yet,but if I become so, you can go far--very, very far with me. ThisRellos I sent for is the man who was shadowing you today. I cannot--I_will not_!" he spat venomously, "abide failure or incompetence. I amassigning you the pleasant little task of seeing that some sort ofan ... uh ... accident happens to Rellos. And as I think about it, itmight as well be a ... uh ... permanent one."

  Hanlon's stomach curled up so tightly it hurt, but he strove manfullynot to let his feelings show in his face. He'd had an instant's inklingof what the proposal was going to be, and it was a measure of hisstability that he succeeded in keeping his mask up.

  He knew starkly that this time he would have to go through with akilling, or else give up this line of research. For he knew that if hedid not kill this man, this way was closed to him. And if he droppedout, but gave the tip to some other SS man, that one would eventuallyface the same sort of a task. So, much as it sickened him even tocontemplate it, it now became a _must_! He would have to think ofhimself as a soldier in war, and Rellos an enemy.

  Outwardly calm, he shrugged indifferently. "Any guy that can't produceisn't worth keeping," he said. "Any special way you want it done?"

  "No ... I think I would like to see how you work. Plan it yourself. Butif it isn't done, you had better not let me or my men see you again."

  "Fair enough. If I can't do a simple job like that I sure can't be ofenough value to you to do myself any real good."

  They were silent again, but Hanlon's mind was bleak with what was tocome. He wasn't the killer type--he believed in the sacredness of humanlife. Yet he knew he would have to steel himself to go through with it.The job was more important than one man's life. But to kill in coldblood--a deliberate, planned-out murder!

  Just then Panek returned with a slender, middle-aged man.

  "Ah, Rellos," the leader greeted him. "I want you to meet a new memberof our group, George Hanlon. He has just come from Terra, and has neverbeen on Simonides before. I would like you to take him out and show himNew Athens and what it contains in the way of pleasures. You can turn inan account of your expenses tomorrow."

  And _that_, thought Hanlon, was just about as low and slimy a trick ashe had ever heard, and the thought came and would not be denied, that ifit was this leader he was to kill he could do it cheerfully and with aclear conscience.

  He rose, though, and smiled as he held out his hand. "Glad to know you,Rellos. It'll be fun comparing your amusements with those of Terra."

  The man was somewhat sullen, although it was plain he did not dare showit too much before their boss. Hanlon could read enough from the newman's mind to know how deathly afraid he was of the leader, and how hehated him.

  "Wonder why he's in this, feeling that way?" Hanlon thought swiftly, andduring the evening tried to find out, but without success--the mansteered clear of any such thoughts.

  As the two went outside, the Simonidean asked curtly, "Wine, women orsong?"

  "Why not some of all three?" Hanlon laughed lightly. "Anything you thinkwould be a lively evening, and that you'd enjoy."

  The other unbent a little. "We'll go to the Phobos first, then. Theyhave good liquor and a nice floor show. Good looking wenches who don'twear too much."

  He hailed a ground-cab, which the two entered.

  Hanlon couldn't enjoy that evening. In the first place, he couldn'tditch all his drinks--and he hated alcohol--yet had to remain as soberas possible. Second, and most disturbing, was that horrible thing he hadto do, and he knew it must be carefully planned. A gun, knife or poisoncouldn't be use
d now--it must look so much like an accident that nopossible blame could be attached to him; so that the police could nothold him even for a short time.

  He thought of and discarded one plan after another, then rememberedsomething seen during his wanderings--a pedestrian bridge crossing ahigh-speed truckway where the inter-city freighters were so numerousthey ran almost bumper to bumper. "I'll lead him up there, then throwhim over and down. He's sure to be run over and killed."

  The nakedness of the girls at the Phobos, the coarse jokes of theso-called comedians, the raucous, ribald laughter of the drunken patronsdisgusted Hanlon, and he was glad when they left.

  "Let's walk a bit and see the sights," he suggested, and Rellos agreedafter some argument--he wanted to visit more night clubs.

  They had walked a couple of blocks along a residential street when alittle, roly-poly puppy waddled out onto the sidewalk to greet them.

  "What a cute ..." Hanlon began, but with an oath, Rellos savagely andviciously kicked the little mite, sending it howling with pain acrossthe low hedge.

  A growl of anguish broke out, and Hanlon sent his mind searching forthat deeper note. He found it, the mother dog, and was instantly insidethat mind, controlling it.

  With a leap the huge shepherd was over the hedge, straight at Rellos.The dog's weight bore the man backward, fighting for his life, trying tohold back those gleaming fangs straining for his throat.

  Hanlon threw himself into the melee, but while ostensibly trying to dragthe dog away, delayed the few seconds it took for those slashing fangsto rip out Rellos' throat.

  People came running up, and as the first reached the spot they sawHanlon struggling to hold back the snarling, blood-flecked dog, whileRellos lay dead in a pool of blood.

  The dog's owner rushed up and snapped a leash on the dog.

  "I'm terribly sorry, sir," Hanlon said. "My companion was drunk andkicked her puppy. She merely avenged it."

  "I wondered," the man was shaken. "Kaiserina never was vicious before."

  "I don't think she will be again," Hanlon said soothingly. "Is the puppyall right?" he asked the small boy who came up with the little animalcradled in his arms.

  "No," the boy sobbed, "Fluffy's dead."

  "What's going on here?" an authoritative voice said, and two policemenpushed their way through the quickly-gathered crowd.

  The dog's owner explained in swift words, and completely exoneratedHanlon. "This man tried to stop my dog; he was holding her back when Igot here," and others corroborated his statement.

  "You'd better have the dog killed," the policeman said, but Hanlonintervened.

  "No, she was just striking back at the man who killed her puppy. Shewasn't to blame, and I'm sure she isn't vicious."

  The police were finally satisfied, and while they were calling thedead-wagon Hanlon walked slowly back to his hotel, his heart still sickbut consoled a bit.

  "He had it coming to him," his thought was bitter. "The rottenbeast--kicking a little puppy like that!"