by Joe Haldeman
We decelerated hard and floated down to the landing pad on a hospital on the outskirts of the city. Two orderlies were waiting with a stretcher; the pilot popped the door before we set down.
They rushed in and strapped the body onto the stretcher. “Who’s going to pay?” the female orderly asked.
“Landreth Wallace. But he’s under an Assassin’s Guild guarantee.”
“Okay. You want to fill out the forms?”
“Have to make a delivery. I’ll be back in half an hour, or maybe Wallace’ll come out.”
“We can only give him maintenance treatment, without a signature. He’s losing a thousand brain cells a second.”
“Then he’s already a hundred thousand in the hole.” He unbuckled. “Christ O’Hara, Hawkings, come along with me. Don’t try anything.”
So my introduction to Las Vegas was sitting in a hospital waiting room while a criminal signed forms to save the life of a man he detested. It got more interesting, though.
41
Reunion
Landreth Wallace’s house, or place of business, was very near the hospital; we spent less than a minute in the air. The pilot turned me over to a silent man who was armed prominently with two pistols. He led me from the roof down a winding staircase to a small room with a chair, a bed, and a cube.
“Mr. Wallace is out,” was the only thing he said. He turned on the cube and sat in the chair.
I sat on the edge of the bed. The show had to do with a naked woman creeping through the corridors of an old castle, armed with a dagger.
“Do we have to watch this?” He waved his hand, evidently giving me permission to change the station; at least he didn’t shoot me when I started punching the button.
Prime-time cube involves various permutations of vaginal fluids, semen, and blood. I found a public-service station, and we spent the next twenty minutes being instructed in the use of compost in home gardens, with a special emphasis on cucumbers.
A man in his seventies or eighties came into the room and dismissed the guard. I turned off the cube, much wiser in the ways of cucumbers.
“You were assaulted. I do apologize. The man was an amateur.”
“I doubt it. That word means ‘lover.’” Past tense. “Is he dead, then?”
“I don’t know. It no longer concerns me. He has guild coverage.”
“This guild must not have very strong entrance requirements.”
“It does, actually. But he was from out of state, an associate member. For that, I believe you only have to show evidence that you have committed a murder.” He sat down.
“And you belong to the kidnapper’s guild, I suppose.”
He smiled slightly. “There is no such thing. To the best of my knowledge.”
“But you do belong to something.”
He looked at me for a second and inclined his head. “Pardon me? I don’t think I understand.”
“You must have had some reason for kidnapping me.”
“Money.”
“But I don’t have any money. Nothing like as much as you paid those”—I searched for a word—“ shitbags who abducted me.”
The word appeared to offend him. “Please. Whether you personally have money is immaterial. There are very few individuals with fortunes large enough to meet your ransom.
“I shall explain, so far as I can. An unstable situation exists between the United States and the Worlds. Various … people … would benefit from a total severance of relations.
“Last night a decision was made, and analysis of various sources indicated that you are the most prominent Worlds citizen currently residing in the United States.”
“Because of my music?” I was incredulous.
“I really don’t know the details. Aren’t you some sort of musical star?”
“But that’s something that changes daily.”
“Nevertheless, yours was the name chosen. I offer my personal regrets, if only for the selfish reason that I should find it easier to deal with a man.
“To sum up the situation. We have demanded that New New York pay fifty million dollars for your release.”
“Impossible.”
“And we have indicated that it would be a generous gesture on the part of the governments of the United States and Louisiana to help with the payment.”
“That doesn’t seem likely, either.”
“We realize this. Much more than fifty million is at stake.”
“Who are these ‘people’?”
“If I told you more, you would have to die, whether the money were paid or not.” He pressed his fingers together and said calmly, “I may myself die, for my knowledge. But it is an exciting thing to be involved with. Excitement is rare at my age.”
“What happens to me if nobody pays?”
“The threat is that you will be killed. Actually, your life, and the payment, are trivial. If the desired objective comes about, you will probably be released.” He stood up slowly. “At any rate, don’t entertain any illusion about escaping. There are more than forty armed guards in this house. Even if you could escape from this room, you could only get to the roof. There are several people on guard there.”
“It seems like excessive caution, against one unarmed woman.”
He stood with his hand on the doorknob. “Nevada is a difficult place to do business. We don’t want you kidnapped from us.” He favored me with a wan smile and left.
Was it possible the door was unlocked? I went to try it, but before I reached it, it opened. A young man came in, carrying a tray of food. He didn’t seem to be armed.
“Hello. Dinner time.” He set the tray on the bed and then went into the bathroom, and returned with a small folding table. He uncovered the tray and there were two of everything. Bowls of chili, bottles of beer, utensils.
“I take it you’ll be my companion for dinner?”
“Your companion for everything. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you.”
“I thought this place was escape-proof.”
He attacked his chili like a starved man. “It is. I’m supposed to prevent you from committing suicide, that’s all.”
“Suicide? God, what a crazy world.”
“Well, you have to admit it would screw things up.” He pinched open his beer, and then mine. “My name’s Kelly, Kelly Chantenay. You’re Mary? Or Marianne.”
“Neither. O’Hara.”
He nodded pleasantly and kept eating. I tried the chili and it was bland but palatable. “What do you do when you’re not preventing people from committing suicide?”
“I’m a bodyguard. Kelly Girl.”
“You were just rented for the occasion, then?”
“Most of us were. Except for that talkative cob who was down here with you, he’s Mr. Wallace’s regular body-guard. He’s a real joke, Two-Gun Pete. Americans.”
“Landreth Wallace isn’t a Nevadan?”
“No, he’s from Washington. The city.”
That was interesting. “He works for the government?”
“At the office they said he was a ‘financier,’ that’s all I know. Sounds like a Lobby to me. They’re all a bunch of crooks.”
I tried not to laugh with my mouth full. “Was your name Kelly before you went to work for Kelly Girls? Or did you change it to accommodate them?”
“I get a lot of kidding about that. I should have known when I signed up with them that everyone would call me Kelly Boy. I’m going to change my name to George.”
“They’ll still call you Kelly Boy.”
He laughed. “Well, it’s worth it. They’re the straightest outfit in town. And anyone who pays me two thousand dollars a day for sitting with a beautiful woman has my unswerving loyalty.”
Well, he was a gallant liar. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Union scale. But I kick back two hundred to the clerk who picked me, and another four hundred to the union, for each day. It’s still better than the States. I’d be paying more than half my income in taxes.”
We ate for a while. “Are you actually trained in preventing people from killing themselves?”
He shrugged. “A bodyguard has to know all kinds of things.”
“I could inhale a mouthful of chili.” Sure. “Choke myself.”
He pulled a knife out of his pocket, evidently sharp. “Tracheotomy.”
“Drown myself in the shower.”
“I’ll be sitting on the pot, watching. If you want to bathe with an audience, that is. You can go without; I won’t complain.”
“Speaking of going…”
“I’m afraid so. I have to be with you every minute.”
“That’s right. I could braid a rope out of toilet paper and hang myself.” Actually, he would probably be more embarrassed than I would. Violet told me that they have separate toilets for men and women here.
“You could flush yourself down the drain and escape,” he said, deadpan.
“What happens when you have to sleep? Crawl in with me?”
“I won’t sleep. Not for five or six days, with pills. If it goes longer than that, I can knock you out for twelve hours, painlessly. And I wouldn’t crawl in with you. The carpet’s soft.”
“The last man who knocked me out raped me. More than once, I think.”
“That’s terrible.” I told him about Winchell. “He’ll never get another job, I can guarantee that. You want him killed?”
“What, would you do it?”
“I’m no scab. But anybody in the Assassin’s Guild would do it for pocket change. They have a reputation to protect. I wouldn’t be surprised if they get to him in the hospital, just on principle.”
It seemed likely. All of my rapists the in hospitals.
He went on. “They shouldn’t let associates into their guild. It really waters it down. Americans are such animals, anyhow.”
“I know some nice ones.” Was I hearing this? From a Nevadan?
“For women your age, the second leading cause of death is murder after rape or sexual battery. They’re animals”
“Women never get raped or murdered in Nevada.” He said something in reply, but I didn’t hear it. The tranquilizer I’d taken on the floater was wearing off as fast as it had taken effect. Rising sense of helpless terror. I snatched up my bag and emptied it on the bed, grabbed the bottle of Klonexine.
My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t get it open. I held it out to him. “Please. Open this goddamn thing for me.”
He studied the label for a maddening few seconds. “Open it!” I felt like grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. He figured out the top, pinched and turned, and handed it back to me. I shook out three capsules and washed them down with the dregs of my beer. Then I curled up on the bed and trembled and sobbed.
Then my head was on his lap and he was stroking my hair gently, trying to say reassuring things. I reached around and held him tightly, awkwardly, his belt buckle pleasantly cold against my forehead, and in a minute the triple dose hit me like a velvet club.
I woke up, groggy, to the sound of the cube: a news announcer had just said my own name. Kelly Boy was watching the program intently and hadn’t realized I’d awakened.
It was a good thing I’d overdosed on Klonexine. I was flattened out and didn’t come apart when I heard the details of Wallace’s terms.
They had twenty-four hours to come up with fifty million dollars. If they didn’t pay, one of my ears would be sent to the New New York Corporation at the Cape. Another twenty-four hours, the other ear. Then they would start on the fingers.
Kelly heard me sigh. “They didn’t tell you about that?”
“I guess it didn’t seem important.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t hurt” He fingered a penstick clipped to his pocket, evidently the thing he could use to knock me out “Just don’t look in a mirror until you can have it built back. I had the end of my nose shot off last year. It wasn’t so bad.”
“Fingers, though?”
“That would be pretty expensive,” he admitted. “Nothing like fifty million, though.”
I wondered who else was making that calculation. “How close are we to twenty-four hours?”
He checked his watch. “Another thirteen. You want a pill?”
“No. Is there anything around here to read? I really do hate the cube.”
He searched drawers but all he could come up with was a deck of cards. He taught me how to play gin rummy, and I had some talent at it. One thing Klonexine is good for is concentration. Nothing mattered but the cards. When breakfast came, nothing mattered but the scrambled eggs. Since there was nothing I could do about the situation, I kept myself thoroughly flattened out I deliberately did not keep track of time.
I was dozing when lunch came. The man who brought it looked vaguely familiar, from the back. He turned around and it was Jeff.
“New guy?” Kelly said.
“Right” Jeff set the tray on the table, reached inside his shirt and pulled out a laser.
“Don’t shoot him!” I said quickly.
Kelly raised his hands. “I’m not armed.”
“Is that true?” Jeff said. He didn’t look at me. He was frozen in a half crouch, holding the laser with both hands, aimed at the center of Kelly’s chest.
“Well, he has a pocket knife. And that spraystick in his breast pocket is some kind of anesthetic, knock-out gas.”
“You’re pretty calm,” Jeff said.
“Doped.”
“Has he hurt you?”
“No,” I said. “I’m a bodyguard,” Kelly said in an injured tone.
I rolled off the bed. “Why don’t I take his own spraystick and put him under?”
“Don’t go near him,” Jeff said. “He might use you as a shield.” He gestured at Kelly. “Turn around. Put your hands on the top of your head.” Jeff walked over to him and put the laser against the base of his skull.
“Don’t twitch. Don’t even breathe.” He reached around carefully and took the spraystick from Kelly’s pocket.
He stepped back. “Okay. Turn around.” As Kelly was turning around, Jeff discharged the spraystick into his face; he wilted sideways.
“Let’s move. We may not have much time.” Before he opened the door, Jeff took my arm. “Maybe you better keep your eyes closed for a minute. I don’t think you want to see what’s in the hall. I’ll guide you.”
When he opened the door there was a smell like roast pig. I did open my eyes, and what I saw bothered me slightly. It was evidently the man Kelly had called Two-Gun Pete; at least he had a gun in each hand. There was a charred slash from the center of his chest to the middle of his face, oozing blood, and the top of his head had exploded. There were bits of his skull scattered down the hall, like chips of white pottery, along with most of his brains and one eyeball. My reaction to this gruesome sight was a testimonial to Klonexine: “What a mess. Did you have to kill many others?”
“Nobody else, not yet.” We hustled toward the spiral staircase that led to the roof. “We gassed the guards up above and found the circuit box; cut off the power to the elevator. I tossed a couple of gas grenades down the fire stairs after I took care of that one.”
At the top of the spiral staircase was a man in a black jumpsuit with a mirror helmet Jeff gave him a signal with his thumb. He opened a door and shouted Go! I was surprised to see that it was night.
We got to the roof in time to see that man jump into a single-seat floater. There were three other small ones; they rose a few meters and took off rapidly in four different directions. One of them drew some hand-laser fire from the ground, but it didn’t seem to have any effect.
Jeff’s floater was larger, with two seats. We stepped aboard and he helped me strap in, a complicated net that slipped over the head and attached itself to the seat at hip level.
The transparent canopy slipped into place and, with a hydraulic sigh, the seats unfolded themselves into beds. I started to say something lewd, but Jeff snapped “Keep your arms in!” and we were su
ddenly roaring straight up, with much greater acceleration than the kidnapper’s floater had managed. My ears popped loudly and I saw purple blotches and bright blinking stars. It was hard to breathe and I had aches in places where I never felt pain before or since. I was barely conscious when the acceleration abruptly stopped, and the beds became chairs again.
“You all right?” I nodded. I didn’t think anything was broken. He touched his throat and said, “Well done, boys. All units return to Denver.”
We were at a high enough altitude that the Earth’s curvature was obvious. Las Vegas was a beautiful splash of light, slowly receding. The snow-capped mountains glowed faintly under a gibbous moon.
“I don’t know what to say. They were going to cut off my ears.”
He patted my hand. “What good is a husband who won’t look after his wife’s ears?”
“I’ll never say anything bad abut the FBI again.”
“Don’t count on it” He looked suddenly grim. “This was not an FBI job. Strictly private enterprise.”
“Oh, I understand. The FBI can’t work in foreign countries.”
“Actually, we do, under various guises. We certainly have a lot of people in Nevada, which is how I found you so easily. But when it gets back to the Bureau therein be hell to pay.
“What happened, I told my squad I was going to borrow some of the Bureau’s equipment and try to come un-snatch you. I asked whether one of them might want to come along, as a friend not a subagent, and protect my back. All of them volunteered. Good bunch.
“So I checked out the vehicles and weapons from the Denver office, supposedly for a training exercise in assault tactics. The vehicles are all ‘ghosts’; they look like commercial sport floaters. We painted over the license numbers. Right now we’re headed for a rendezvous point in a Denver suburb, a private garage where well scrub the paint off.”
“You’ve taken an awful lot of chances. With your career, I mean, as well as the danger.”
“I’m not going to have a career with the Bureau much longer.”
“It may be some time before you can get to New New.”
“That’s not what I mean. When I got back from New Orleans, I tried to pull the file on Benny. Couldn’t It was tagged ‘Secrecy Class Five,’ which means it’s only accessible to a couple of dozen people.