by Fritz Leiber
you've got a single man ought to be able to save half hispay." She added, more quietly, "Or get married and support a family."
"Save half my pay?" Larry snorted. "And get a far out reputation, eh? Nothanks, you can't afford to be a weird these days."
She flushed--and damn prettily, Larry Woolford decided. She could be anattractive item if it wasn't for obviously getting her kicks out of beingindividualistic.
Larry said suddenly, "Look, promise like a good girl not to make usconspicuous and I'll take you to the Swank Room for dinner tonight."
"Is that where all the bright young men currently have to be seen once ortwice a week?" she snapped back at him. "Get lost, Larry. Being a healthy,normal woman I'm interested in men, but not necessarily in walkingstatus-symbols."
It was his turn to flush, and, he decided wryly, he probably didn't do itas prettily as she did.
On his way to his office, he wondered why the Boss kept her on.Classically, a secretary-receptionist should have every pore in place, butin her time LaVerne Polk must have caused more than one bureaucraticeyebrow to raise. Efficiency was probably the answer; the Boss couldn'tafford to let her go.
Larry Woolford's office wasn't much more than a cubicle. He sat down atthe desk and banged a drawer or two open and closed. He liked the work,liked the department, but theoretically he still had several days ofvacation and hated to get back into routine.
Had he known it, this was hardly going to be routine.
He flicked the phone finally and asked for an outline. He dialed threenumbers before getting his subject. The phone screen remained blank.
"Hans?" he said. "Lawrence Woolford."
The Teutonic accent was heavy, the voice bluff. "Ah, Larry! you need someassistance to make your vacation? Perhaps a sinister, exotic young lady,complete with long cigarette holder?"
Larry Woolford growled, "How'd you know I was on vacation?"
The other laughed. "You know better than to ask that, my friend."
Larry said, "The vacation is over, Hans. I need some information."
The voice was more guarded now. "I owe you a favor or two."
"Don't you though? Look, Hans, what's new in the Russkie camp?"
The heartiness was gone. "How do you mean?"
"Is there anything big stirring? Is there anyone new in this country fromthe Soviet Complex?"
"Well now--" the other's voice drifted away.
Larry Woolford said impatiently, "Look, Hans, let's don't waste timefencing. You run a clearing agency for, _ah_, information. You're strictlya businessman, nonpartisan, so to speak. Fine, thus far our department hastolerated you. Perhaps we'll continue to. Perhaps the reason is that wefigure we get more out of your existence than we lose. The Russkiesevidently figure the same way, the proof being that you're alive and havebranches in the capitals of every power on Earth."
"All right, all right," the German said. "Let me think a moment. Can yougive me an idea of what you're looking for?" There was an undernote ofinterest in the voice now.
"No. I just want to know if you've heard anything new anti-my-side, fromthe other side. Or if you know of any fresh personnel recently fromthere."
"Frankly, I haven't. If you could give me a hint."
"I can't," Larry said. "Look, Hans, like you say, you owe me a favor ortwo. If something comes up, let me know. Then I'll owe you one."
The voice was jovial again. "It's a bargain, my friend."
After Woolford had hung up, he scowled at the phone. He wondered if HansDistelmayer was lying. The German commanded the largest professional spyring in the world. It was possible, but difficult, for anything inespionage to develop without his having an inkling.
The phone rang back. It was Steve Hackett of Secret Service on the screen.
Hackett said, "Woolford, you coming over? I understand you've beenassigned to get in our hair on this job."
"Huh," Larry grunted. "The way I hear it, your whole department has givenup, so I'm assigned to help you out of your usual fumble-fingeredconfusion."
Hackett snorted. "At any rate, can you drop over? I'm to work in liaisonwith you."
"Coming," Larry said. He hung up, got to his feet and headed for the door.If they could crack this thing the first day, he'd take up that vacationwhere it'd been interrupted and possibly be able to wangle a few more daysout of the Boss to boot.
At this time of day, parking would have been a problem, in spite ofautomation of the streets. He left his car in the departmental lot andtook a cab.
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The Counterfeit Division of the Secret Service occupied an impressivesection of an impressive governmental building. Larry Woolford flashed hiscredentials here and there, explained to guards and receptionists here andthere, and finally wound up in Steve Hackett's office which was all but aduplicate of his own in size and decor.
Steve Hackett himself was a fairly accurate carbon copy of Woolford,barring facial resemblance alone. The fact was, Steve was almostLincolnesque in his ugliness. Career man, about thirty, good university,crew cut, six foot, one hundred and seventy, earnest of eye. He woreHarris tweed. Larry Woolford made a note of that; possibly herringbone wascoming back in. He winced at the thought of a major change in hiswardrobe; it'd cost a fortune.
They'd worked on a few cases together before when Steve Hackett had beenassigned to the presidential bodyguard and co-operated well.
Steve came to his feet and shook hands. "Thought that you were going to bedown in Florida bass fishing this month. You like your work so well youcan't stay away, or is it a matter of trying to impress your chief?"
Larry growled, "Fine thing. Secret Service bogs down and they've got tocall me in to clean up the mess."
Steve motioned him to a chair and immediately went serious. "Do you knowanything about pushing queer, Woolford?"
"That means passing counterfeit money, doesn't it? All I know is what'sin the TriD crime shows."
"I can see you're going to be a lot of help. Have you got anywhere at allon the possibility that the stuff might be coming from abroad?"
"Nothing positive," Larry said. "Are you people accomplishing anything?"
"We're just getting underway. There's something off-trail about this deal,Woolford. It doesn't fit into routine."
Larry Woolford said, "I wouldn't think so if the stuff is so good not evena bank clerk can tell the difference."
"That's not what I'm talking about now. Let me give you a run down onstandard counterfeiting." The Secret Service agent pushed back in hisswivel chair, lit a cigarette, and propped his feet onto the edge of apartly open desk drawer. "Briefly, it goes like this. Some smart lad getshimself a set of plates and a platen press and--"
Larry interrupted, "Where does he get the plates?"
"That doesn't matter now," Steve said. "Various ways. Maybe he makes themhimself, sometimes he buys them from a crooked engraver. But I'm talkingabout pushing green goods once it's printed. Anyway, our friend runs off,say, a million dollars worth of fives. But he doesn't try to pass themhimself. He wholesales them around netting, say, fifty thousand dollars.In other words, he sells twenty dollars in counterfeit for one gooddollar."
Larry pursed his lips. "Quite a discount."
"Um-m-m. But that's safest from his angle. The half dozen or sodistributors he sold it to don't try to pass it either. They also areplaying it carefully. They peddle it, at say ten to one, to the next rungdown the ladder."
"And these are the fellows that pass it, eh?"
"Not even then, usually. These small timers take it and pass it on at fiveto one to the suckers in the trade, who take the biggest risks. Most ofthese are professional pushers of the queer, as the term goes. Some,however, are comparative amateurs. Sailors for instance, who buy with theidea of passing it in some foreign port where seamen's money flows fast."
Larry Woolford shifted in his chair. "So what are you building up to?"
Steve Hackett rubbed the end of his pug nose with
a forefinger in quickirritation. "Like I say, that's standard counterfeit procedure. We're allset up to meet it, and do a pretty good job. Where we have ourdifficulties is with amateurs."
Woolford scowled at him.
Hackett said, "Some guy who makes and passes it himself, for instance.He's unknown to the stool pigeons, has no criminal record, does upcomparatively small amounts and dribbles his product onto the market overa period of time. We had one old devil up in New York once who actually_drew_ one dollar bills.