his foot, Bemis alerted Transit Security,Publicity, Intercompany Relations, and the Psychoanalysis Division.This done, he looked earnestly at Rath. "Not a chance of it, my dearsir. Just between us, why does General Motors really want to know?"
Rath smiled bitterly. He should have anticipated this. NYRT and GM hadhad their differences in the past. Officially, there was cooperationbetween the two giant corporations. But for all practical purposes--
"The question is in terms of the Public Interest," Rath said.
"Oh, certainly," Mr. Bemis replied, with a subtle smile. Glancing athis tattle board, he noticed that several company executives had tappedin on his line. This might mean a promotion, if handled properly.
"The Public Interest of GM," Mr. Bemis added with polite nastiness."The insinuation is, I suppose, that drunken conductors are operatingour jetbuses and helis?"
"Of course not. I was searching for a single alcoholic predilection, anindividual latency--"
"There's no possibility of it. We at Rapid Transit do not hire peoplewith even the merest tendency in that direction. And may I suggest,sir, that you clean your own house before making implications aboutothers?"
And with that, Mr. Bemis broke the connection.
No one was going to put anything over on him.
"Dead end," Rath said heavily. He turned and shouted, "Smith! Did youfind any prints?"
Lieutenant Smith, his coat off and sleeves rolled up, bounded over."Nothing usable, sir."
Rath's thin lips tightened. It had been close to seven hours since thecustomer had taken the Martian machine. There was no telling what harmhad been done by now. The customer would be justified in bringing suitagainst the Company. Not that the money mattered much; it was the badpublicity that was to be avoided at all costs.
"Beg pardon, sir," Haskins said.
Rath ignored him. What next? Rapid Transit was not going to cooperate.Would the Armed Services make their records available for scansion bysomatotype and pigmentation?
"Sir," Haskins said again.
"What is it?"
"I just remembered the customer's friend's name. It was Magnessen."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Absolutely," Haskins said, with the first confidence he had shown inhours. "I've taken the liberty of looking him up in the telephone book,sir. There's only one Manhattan listing under that name."
Rath glowered at him from under shaggy eyebrows. "Haskins, I hope youare not wrong about this. I sincerely hope that."
"I do too, sir," Haskins admitted, feeling his knees begin to shake.
"Because if you are," Rath said, "I will ... Never mind. Let's go!"
-- -- -- -- --
By police escort, they arrived at the address in fifteen minutes. Itwas an ancient brownstone and Magnessen's name was on a second-floordoor. They knocked.
The door opened and a stocky, crop-headed, shirt-sleeved man in histhirties stood before them. He turned slightly pale at the sight of somany uniforms, but held his ground.
"What is this?" he demanded.
"You Magnessen?" Lieutenant Smith barked.
"Yeah. What's the beef? If it's about my hi-fi playing too loud, I cantell you that old hag downstairs--"
"May we come in?" Rath asked. "It's important."
Magnessen seemed about to refuse, so Rath pushed past him, followed bySmith, Follansby, Haskins, and a small army of policemen. Magnessenturned to face them, bewildered, defiant and more than a little awed.
"Mr. Magnessen," Rath said, in the pleasantest voice he could muster,"I hope you'll forgive the intrusion. Let me assure you, it is in thePublic Interest, as well as your own. Do you know a short,angry-looking, red-haired, red-eyed man?"
"Yes," Magnessen said slowly and warily.
Haskins let out a sigh of relief.
"Would you tell us his name and address?" asked Rath.
"I suppose you mean--hold it! What's he done?"
"Nothing."
"Then what you want him for?"
"There's no time for explanations," Rath said. "Believe me, it's in hisown best interest, too. What is his name?"
Magnessen studied Rath's ugly, honest face, trying to make up his mind.
Lieutenant Smith said, "Come on, talk, Magnessen, if you know what'sgood for you. We want the name and we want it quick."
It was the wrong approach. Magnessen lighted a cigarette, blew smoke inSmith's direction and inquired, "You got a warrant, buddy?"
"You bet I have," Smith said, striding forward. "I'll warrant you, wiseguy."
"Stop it!" Rath ordered. "Lieutenant Smith, thank you for yourassistance. I won't need you any longer."
Smith left sulkily, taking his platoon with him.
Rath said, "I apologize for Smith's over-eagerness. You had better hearthe problem." Briefly but fully, he told the story of the customer andthe Martian therapeutic machine.
When he was finished, Magnessen looked more suspicious than ever. "Yousay he wants to kill me?"
"Definitely."
"That's a lie! I don't know what your game is, mister, but you'll nevermake me believe that. Elwood's my best friend. We been best friendssince we was kids. We been in service together. Elwood would cut offhis arm for me. And I'd do the same for him."
"Yes, yes," Rath said impatiently, "in a sane frame of mind, he would.But your friend Elwood--is that his first name or last?"
"First," Magnessen said tauntingly.
"Your friend Elwood is psychotic."
"You don't know him. That guy loves me like a brother. Look, what'sElwood really done? Defaulted on some payments or something? I can helpout."
"You thickheaded imbecile!" Rath shouted. "I'm trying to save yourlife, and the life and sanity of your friend!"
"But how do I know?" Magnessen pleaded. "You guys come busting in here--"
"You can trust me," Rath said.
Magnessen studied Rath's face and nodded sourly. "His name's ElwoodCaswell. He lives just down the block at number 341."
-- -- -- -- --
The man who came to the door was short, with red hair and red-rimmedeyes. His right hand was thrust into his coat pocket. He seemed verycalm.
"Are you Elwood Caswell?" Rath asked. "The Elwood Caswell who bought aRegenerator early this afternoon at the Home Therapy Appliances Store?"
"Yes," said Caswell. "Won't you come in?"
Inside Caswell's small living room, they saw the Regenerator,glistening black and chrome, standing near the couch. It was unplugged.
"Have you used it?" Rath asked anxiously.
"Yes."
Follansby stepped forward. "Mr. Caswell, I don't know how to explainthis, but we made a terrible mistake. The Regenerator you took was aMartian model--for giving therapy to Martians."
"I know," said Caswell.
"You do?"
"Of course. It became pretty obvious after a while."
"It was a dangerous situation," Rath said. "Especially for a man withyour--ah--troubles." He studied Caswell covertly. The man seemed fine, butappearances were frequently deceiving, especially with psychotics.Caswell had been homicidal; there was no reason why he should not stillbe.
And Rath began to wish he had not dismissed Smith and his policemen sosummarily. Sometimes an armed squad was a comforting thing to havearound.
Caswell walked across the room to the therapeutic machine. One hand wasstill in his jacket pocket; the other he laid affectionately upon theRegenerator.
"The poor thing tried its best," he said. "Of course, it couldn't curewhat wasn't there." He laughed. "But it came very near succeeding!"
-- -- -- -- --
Rath studied Caswell's face and said, in a trained, casual tone, "Gladthere was no harm, sir. The Company will, of course, reimburse you foryour lost time and for your mental anguish--"
"Naturally," Caswell said.
"--and we will substitute a proper Terran Regenerator at once."
"That won't be necessary."
"It won't?"
"No." Ca
swell's voice was decisive. "The machine's attempt at therapyforced me into a compete self-appraisal. There was a moment of absoluteinsight, during which I was able to evaluate and discard my homicidalintentions toward poor Magnessen."
Rath nodded dubiously. "You feel no such urge now?"
"Not in the slightest."
Rath frowned deeply, started to say something, and stopped. He turnedto Follansby and Haskins. "Get
Bad Medicine Page 4