Callahan's Lady

by Spider Robinson

  She reached across the desk and took my hands. Her eyes caught mine and held them. “Maureen…do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” I said at once. Not even “Yes, but—” Just “Yes.”

  “Do you have faith in me?”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  “I tell you truly: there is a chance.”

  My heart did not wait for proof; it swelled with relief at once, until I thought it would burst in my chest. And almost immediately it began to hammer rapidly. Terror leaves you when you despair; once you let yourself hope again it returns redoubled. “What do we do?”

  “Come with me.”

  She rose from her chair, still holding the sawbuck with the tweezers, crossed the room to one of the two floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and pressed hard on the spine of a thousand-page hardcover textbook titled THE RUFFED GROUSE. Like many others in the House, I had browsed Lady Sally’s bookshelves often; it had never occurred to me to touch that volume. The entire bookshelf slid smoothly and quietly down into the floor, leaving a bare wall.

  “Used to have a hinged sort of affair,” she said, “but you couldn’t open the damned thing without moving all the furniture out into the hall. Come along, child.”

  She walked through the wall.

  I got up and followed her.

  Even when my nose was an inch away from it, it looked like a solid wall; I could make out paintbrush marks and even a dirty fingerprint or two. But I did not bang my nose on it an instant later.

  There was no tingling sensation involved in stepping through it, no perceptible sensation at all. I just walked through it as though it were a hologram image at Disneyland—

  —and was elsewhere.

  I don’t think I can describe what it was like on the other side of that wall. I didn’t see anything familiar. It was enclosed, there, but there were no walls or ceiling as such, not even the one I’d just stepped through…I know that doesn’t tell you anything; it’s the best I can do. There were things of various kinds around, some of them seemingly suspended in mid-air, others resting decently on the…whatever was under our feet…but some of those looked like they ought to be toppling over, and I couldn’t identify a single item. Some didn’t seem to have any fixed shape; others were sometimes there and sometimes not. I think one of those latter was alive. A pet? There was a fragrance unlike anything I’d ever smelled, pleasant but elusive.

  One and only one thing was familiar enough for me to grasp; somewhere, with a clarity attainable by no sound equipment I knew, Hoagy Carmichael was singing “The Old Music Master.” He was just up to the line where the 1890’s composer asks the little colored boy how he can be sure that his prophecies of new musical phenomena call “jazz,” “boogie-woogie,” and “swing” are accurate, and the boy explains that he knows…because he was born a hundred years from now.

  I made a major effort and got control of my breathing. Shortly I began to calm down. Priorities, Maureen. Willard needs you. My eyes found and clung to the only thing they understood: Lady Sally.

  “You can relax now, darling,” she said. “We’re no longer in a hurry.”

  I nodded. “Uh huh.”

  She was just letting go of the phony ten-dollar bill—which remained suspended in the air, parallel to the floor, trembling very slightly. She made some manual adjustments to…something nearby, and a rectangle of cool green light appeared in the air next to the ten. It moved from left to right so that the bill threaded it like a needle, then it flipped, did the same thing vertically, and vanished. The thing nearby grew a tray, which began to fill quietly with neatly stacked ten dollar bills. As a stack reached the top of the tray, a new stack began beside it. Within less than twenty seconds, it was filled to the brim by five stacks of tens. Somehow I knew there were five thousand of them. I leaned closer and looked at the ones on top. They all had the same serial number.

  I looked up at Lady Sally. “Double-sided color Xerox?” I asked.

  “No, dear.”

  “Uh huh. Tell me about it.”

  “We’ve left my House, dear. This is my Home.”

  I nodded. “Uh huh. What planet are we on?”

  “We call it Harmony.”

  I nodded. “Uh huh. What year are we in?”

  “We don’t use Gregorian, so I’m not certain. I could look it up.”

  I nodded. “Uh huh. To quote James Taylor, ‘Is that the way you look?’”

  “This is my true appearance, yes, dear. I’ve used cosmetics to make me look older than I would naturally, of course—I’m only three hundred and fifty-something. But this is me, all right.”

  I nodded. “Uh huh.”

  She smiled. “You boys and girls have always tried so hard, and so ingeniously, to trick me into talking about my past before I opened the House. Now you see why none of you ever succeeded. I have over three centuries of past—but none of it took place before I opened the House.”

  “A lot of things are just beginning to make sense for the first time,” I said. “Some day I must ask you what made you go to all the trouble.”

  “Some day I’ll tell you. But we have more immediate priorities.”

  What I thought of as reality came back with a rush. “Oh, God, the Professor!” I glanced at my watch.

  “Maureen, listen to me!” she said sharply, taking me by the shoulders. “The clock is not ticking! It stopped the moment we left the House. All that watch is measuring right now is your own consciousness. When we go back through the membrane we can emerge into the instant we left, or any space-time we like—as long as it is one we do not already exist in. What we must do now together is decide which one would be most useful.”

  My adrenal glands sent word that they were on strike until I for Chrissake made up my mind. “You mean we could both pop out of the air in front of Tony Donuts?”

  “Yes—but I don’t know if it would be the best idea. Suppose he had his hands around the Professor’s throat at the time?”

  I shuddered. “Right. Tony would react badly to surprises. And he’s too stupid to be startled by the impossible.” I looked around the…place. “Would you have anything like a wallet-sized laser cannon around the joint?”

  “Yes, dear. And I certainly would have no deep-seated objection to seeing it used on Tony Donuts. But are you absolutely sure you wish to be that kind to the son of a bitch?”

  I thought about it. “You have a better idea? One that’s safe? I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  I smiled for the first time in a thousand years. “My Lady, tell me all about it.”

  Just then her husband Mike walked into the room. Don’t ask me from where. He had a soiled apron around his waist, and the scent of his cigar clashed horribly with the fragrance in the room. “Hi, Mo,” he boomed cheerily. “Here you go, Sal.” He gave her what, at first, I thought just might be a wallet-size laser cannon. When I realized it was technology of my own space-time, and recognized it, my smile got even bigger…

  It took me awhile to get the knack of finding the membrane again: from that side, its location was not so much a place as an attitude, if that makes any sense. But with Lady Sally’s help I figured it out.

  I emerged bang on target. I was standing on the gravel road that led down to the shore, just around a corner from sightline of the boathouse. In a briefcase which was less than two minutes old, I was carrying the fifty thousand dollars of counterfeit-counterfeit money. (Would that be “feit money”?) Lady Sally had reset my watch to correct local time for me. I found that I had four minutes’ grace. I started walking.

  I could feel Tony’s eyes on me from the moment I was first visible from the boathouse. I gave some attention to my face. I felt alert and cautious, but it took an odd effort to remember how it felt to be utterly terrified of Tony Donuts, and let that terror show in my expression. Thespian challenge.

  On the other hand, Tony was not a subtle observer. He was smiling as he opened the door f
or me. “Hiya, sugar-pie. Youse cut it pretty close.”

  “I had to go a long way. Is the Professor okay?”

  “Just fine, babe,” his sweet voice came from within. “Did you say hi to Rube for me?”

  I drew the first totally painless breath in a long time—how long I could not even guess. Thank you, God! I hadn’t been absolutely sure Tony Donuts could tell time. “That I did. He said to tell you everything is copacetic.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that.”

  Tony cleared his throat, a disgusting sound. “How bout it?”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” I told him.

  He stared at me for a moment, and roared with laughter.

  “If you give up that right,” I said while he guffawed, “anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to counsel; if you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?”

  He laughed a long time. Finally he said, “Funny. I didn’t see no balls on youse when I looked before.”

  “It’s called graveyard humor,” I said dully.

  Tony stood aside for me. “Maybe I’ll hafta take anudda look fer ’em. Come on in and jern de pahty, honey-pants. Dat my present youse got dere?”

  “Yes.” I brushed my tits against him as I stepped into the boathouse, and handed him the briefcase. He liked both actions. He leaned out, scanned the horizon carefully in all directions, and followed me in, closing the door behind him.

  The Professor was looking a little pale but otherwise fine. I could see him trying to understand what I had up my sleeve, and failing. I winked to reassure him. At once he looked happier. Flattering.

  Tony was squatting over the briefcase, popping it open. His smile became a broad grin as he saw all the money. He reached into his breast pocket, and took out the single bill I had put back there while he was paying attention to my nipples a moment ago. He compared numbers—laboriously, moving his lips—and grunted joyously. “Dat’s maw like it,” he boomed.

  “It’s okay?”

  “You got it, dollface.”

  “You’re satisfied that’s the same fifty thousand dollars of counterfeit money you ran off yourself?”

  He grin shrank a bit; the question made him suspicious. He picked a couple of tens from the briefcase, squinted at the numbers again, held the bills up to the light and fingered them carefully. The grin broadened again. “Yah, dese is de ones I made, aright.”

  “They’re very good,” I said. “How did you ever get such good plates? Prof never said.”

  “I never have much trouble wit stuff like dat,” he said smugly. “Once I decided ta get inta da paper business, I just ast aroun’ ’til I found out who de best cutter was, an’ looked him up. Finkelstein, his name wuz. Kind of a shame. I wuz gonna keep him around, so he could help me wit stuff like changin’ da serious numbers an’ stuff. But dese old Jews, youse just put ya hands on ’em an dey comes apart like a stewed chicken.”

  I’m happy to say I had and have no idea what a stewed chicken is like, but the image was self-explanatory. “You killed Finkelstein.”

  “T’urrily,” he agreed.

  “Well, now that I’ve brought you your counterfeit tens, will you let us go like you said?”

  “Nah.”

  I did my best to look shocked, then angry, then terrified. “You promised! What are you going to do with us?”

  “Well, dis mug,” he said, indicating the Professor, “tried ta stiff me, an’ I don’t like dat. So I t’ought of a funny joke. Like youse wit dat right ta remain silent gag, kinda. I found out once accidental dat if youse break a guy’s arms in just da right place, youse can tie ’em in a knot. So I t’ought maybe I’ll do dat, an’ toss him off de dock, an’ see how long can he float.” He looked suddenly thoughtful. “Maybe it’s even funnier if I break his ankles too.” He nodded judiciously. “Yah, dat’s good. After I stop laughin’ I t’ought I’d look over dat lawnjaree I had youse put on, an’ maybe we c’ud have some laughs.” He smiled again. “Youse c’ud have de right to remain silent…but I don’t tink youse will.”

  “You’re going to kill him and rape me?” I quavered.

  “Youse got it,” he said happily.

  Lady Sally tapped him on the shoulder from behind. “I’m delighted to disappoint you,” she said. She seemed to brush his hair with her fingers as he turned.

  If I’d expected him to jump a foot in the air, I’d have been disappointed myself. But I hadn’t, I knew he was too stupid to be fazed by the impossible. The question of how she could have managed to sneak up on this isolated place in total silence and enter it undetected was so complex that he ignored it. And it wasn’t as if a red-and-grey haired old lady could represent a serious threat…

  “I know you,” he said in a tone of mild complaint. “Where do I know youse from?”

  She held up a small rectangular object. “Do you know what this is?” He gaped at it in incomprehension. “It is a Nagra. One of the best hand-held pocket-sized stereo tape recorders in the world.”

  “Smile, Tony,” I suggested. “You’re on candid tape-deck.”

  He stared at the thing for several seconds. Then his face showed the exasperation of a small boy whose kid sister has just taken his favorite toy. “Give me dat,” he said indignantly.

  “Come and get it,” Lady Sally said.

  She did not move a muscle as his big hands reached for her. But somehow they missed her by inches. He roared with astonishment and outrage, made another grab—and missed again. The third and most violent attempt was the least successful of all; he overbalanced and fell to one knee.

  “You may rise,” she told him.

  He gaped at her. An expression came to his face which I’m sure was utterly new to it: wonder. “I know you,” he said slowly. “Youse run dat crib joint in Brooklyn. Wit de muscle broad.”

  “I have never in my life run a ‘crib joint,’” Lady Sally said with great dignity, “although I grant you my establishment does resemble a day-care center in certain respects—but yes, I am the woman who had Priscilla throw you out of my House. I’d do it again.”

  He shook his head like a horse besieged by flies. “I’m gonna tear youse in pieces an’ piss on de pieces,” he said.

  “You’re welcome to try, but I really think you’re wrong.”

  He stood, planted his feet, and cocked a punch that would have punctured a safe—

  —if it had connected. It whistled harmlessly past Lady Sally’s ear. Even he knew, this time, that she had not moved an inch.

  “It’s a relatively trivial adjustment to your brain,” she explained. “Even a neuroanatomist armed with a C.A.T. scanner might fail to find it. But I’m afraid it’s permanent and noncorrectable. From now on, every time you attempt to perform an aggressive action of any sort, your coordination will fail.”

  He bellowed with rage and launched another titanic blow. It didn’t even come close.

  “You are helpless, Tony Donuts,” she said quietly, “and will be for the rest of your days. Watch:” She slapped him across the face. Crack! He stiffened, thunderstruck. “That was for Solomon Finkelstein.” She backhanded him hard enough to cross his eyes. Crack! “And that was for Priscilla’s sprained back. The next one will be for me…” He tried to grab her wrist, and missed. Crack! “Professor,” she said, “I believe you have next claim?”

  He looked at me, profoundly puzzled but certainly not displeased. “After you, my love. Your privilege.”

  I blew him a kiss. “Thank you, darling. My pleasure.”

  And I walked right up to Tony Donuts, unzipped my skirt and stepped out of it to gain maximum freedom of movement, took two running steps and kicked his donuts up into his abdominal cavity.

  He fell to his knees, grabbed uselessly at my legs, then gave up and let his hands drop to his sides. “Back to you, darling,” I said.

  The Professor applauded me. “Nice shot, Maureen!” he said enthusiastically. He
sauntered over, stood over Tony Donuts, and waited. After a while Tony started breathing again, and began to emit an astounding high-pitched peep sound. His eyes were very round and his lower lip protruded even more than his forehead. He touched his crotch experimentally, then let his hands fall again.

  The Professor’s voice was as cold and stern as interstellar space. “By rights, Anthony Donnazio, I ought to wait for your eggs to descend again—however long that might take—and then pick up that mallet and marlinspikes over there and turn you into Tony Cheerios. I confess I am sorely tempted. But I have tried all my adult life to avoid physical violence, and I’m damned if I’ll break that tradition for the likes of you. So I will content myself with pointing out something that may not have occurred to you yet. I’m going to enjoy watching you think about it during your trial. Can you hear me?”

  Still peeping, Tony Donuts nodded.

  “You are too stupid to unlearn a lifetime of behavior patterns, no matter how hard you try. You’ll continue to act and conduct yourself like a tough guy. But you can no longer back it up.

  “You may be able to bluff for a long time. Days, even. But they have animals in Leavenworth just as ferocious as you are. Sooner or later one of them will try you. And then another. The word will spread. Leavenworth also has its share of weak, skinny, defenseless guys—they call them ‘punks’—and you simply can’t imagine how overjoyed they’ll be to meet you. You’ll be exactly what they’ve been fantasizing about for a long time. You’re going to be a very popular fellow.”

  Rocking on his knees, hands at his sides, Tony Donuts began to weep.

  “Look on the bright side,” the Professor suggested. “You’ve still got your figure. Maybe if you start looking right away you can find a protector to marry you. He need not necessarily be sadistic in the least, as long as you make yourself agreeable enough. Then you’ll only have to deal with him, and a few of his closest personal friends.”

  “Say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ a lot,” I advised him. “It’s always worked for me with nasty old macho types.”