The Ambulance Made Two Trips

by Murray Leinster

Fitzgerald nodded.

  "There's one thing more," he said formidably. "You got a delivery truck.You keep it in a garage back yonder. Yesterday you sent it to a garagefor inspection of brakes an' lights an' such."

  "Yes," said Brink. "I did. It's not back yet. They were busy. They'llcall me when it's ready."

  Fitzgerald snorted.

  "They'll call you when the bomb squad gets through checkin' it! When theguys at the garage lifted the hood they started runnin'. Then theyhollered copper. There was a bomb in there!"

  Brink seemed to try to look surprised. He only looked interested.

  "Two sticks of dynamite," the detective told him grimly, "wired up to gooff when your driver turned on the ignition. He did but it didn't. Butwe got a police force in this town! We know there's racketeerin' bein'practiced. We know there's crooked stuff goin' on. We even got mightygood ideas who's doin' it. But we ain't been able to get anything onanybody. Not yet. Nobody's been willin' to talk, so far. But you--"

  The telephone rang stridently. Brink looked at the instrument andshrugged. He answered.

  "Hello.... No, Mr. Jacaro isn't in today. He didn't come to work. On theway downtown his pants caught on fire--"

  Fitzgerald guessed that the voice at the other end of the line said"_What?_" in, an explosive manner.

  Brink said matter-of-factly: "I said his pants caught on fire. It wasprobably something he was bringing here to burn the plant down with--afire bomb. I don't think he's to blame that it went off early. Heprobably started out with the worst possible intentions, but somethinghappened...." He listened and said: "But he didn't chicken! He couldn'tcome to work and plant a fire bomb to set fire to the place!... I knowit must be upsetting to have things like that automobile accident and mytruck not blowing up and now Jacaro's pants instead of my business goingup in flames. But I told you--"

  He stopped and listened. Once he grinned.

  "Wait!" he said after a moment. He covered the transmitter and turned toFitzgerald. "What hospital is Jacaro in?"

  Fitzgerald said sourly: "He wasn't burned bad. Just blistered. They lenthim some pants and he went home cussing."

  "Thanks," said Brink. He uncovered the transmitter. "He went home," hetold the instrument. "You can ask him about it. In a way I'm sure itwasn't his fault. I'm quite sure his eyelids twitched when he startedout. I think the men who drove the car the other day had twitchingeyelids, too. You should ask--"

  The detective heard muted noises, as it a man shouted into a transmittersomewhere.

  Brink said briskly: "No, I don't see any reason to change mymind.... No.... I know it was luck, if you want to put it that way,but.... No. I wouldn't advise that! Please take my advice about whenyour eyelid twitches--"

  Fitzgerald heard the crash of the receiver hung up at some distantplace. Brink rubbed his ear. He turned back.

  "Hm-m-m," he said. "Your pipe's gone out."

  It was. Sergeant Fitzgerald puffed ineffectually. Brink reached out hisfinger and tapped the bowl of the detective's pipe. Instantly fragrantsmoke filled the detective's mouth. He sputtered.

  "Now.... where were we?" asked Brink.

  "Who was that?" demanded Fitzgerald ferociously. "That was Big JakeConnors!"

  "You may be right." Brink told him. "He's never exactly given me hisname. He just calls up every so often and talks nonsense."

  "What sort of nonsense?"

  "He wants to be a partner in this business," said Brink withoutemotion. "He's been saying that things will happen to it otherwise. Idon't believe it. Anyhow nothing's happened so far."

  * * * * *

  Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald tried at one and the same time to roar andto swallow. He accomplished neither. He put his finger in the bowl ofhis pipe. He jerked it out, scorched.

  "Look!" he said almost hoarsely, "I was tellin' you when the phone rang!We got a police force here in town! This's what we've been tryin' toget! You come along with me to Headquarters an' swear to a complaint--"

  Brink said interestedly: "Why?"

  "That guy Big Jake Connors!" raged the detective. "That's why! Tryin' tothreaten you into givin' him a share in your business! Tryin' to burn itdown or blow it up when you won't! He was just a small-town crook, once.He went to the big town an' came back with ideas. He's usin' 'em!"

  Brink looked at him expectantly.

  "He started a beer business," said the detective bitterly. "Simultaneousother beer dealers started havin' trouble. Empty kegs smashed. Trucksbroke down. Drivers in fights. They hadda go outta business!"

  "What did the cops do?" asked Brink.

  "They listened to their wives!" snarled Fitzgerald. "They begun to findlittle grabbag packages in the mail an' with the milk. Fancy perfume.Tricky stockin's. Fancy underwear they shoulda been ashamed for anybodyto know they had it on underneath. The cops weren't bribed, but theirwives liked openin' the door of a mornin' an' findin' charmin' littlesurprises."

  "Ah," said Brink.

  "Then there were juke boxes," went on the detective. "He went in thatbusiness--an' trouble started. People'd drive up to a beer joint, go in,get in a scuffle an'--bingo! The juke box smashed. Always the juke box.Always a out-of-town customer. Half the juke boxes in town weren'tworkin', on an average. But the ones that were workin' were always BigJake's. Presently he had the juke-box business to himself."

  Brink nodded, somehow appreciatively.

  "Then it was cabs," said Fitzgerald. "A lot of cops felt bad about that.But their wives wouldn't be happy if anything happened to dear Mr. BigJake who denied that he gave anybody anything, so it was all right touse that lovely perfume.... Cabs got holes in their radiators. They gotsand in their oil systems. They had blowouts an' leaks in brake-fluidlines. Cops' wives were afraid Big Jake would get caught. But he didn't.He started insurin' cabs against that kinda accident. Now everycab-driver pays protection-money for what they call insurance--or else.An' cops' wives get up early, bright-eyed, to see what Santa Claus leftwith the milk."

  "You seem," said Brink with a grin, "to hint that this Big Jakeis ... well ... dishonest."

  "Dishonest!" Fitzgerald's face was purplish, from many memories ofwrongs. "There was a guy named Burdock who owned this business beforeyou. Y'know what happened to him?"

  "Yes," said Brink. "He's my brother-in-law. Connors or somebody insistedon having a share of the business and threatened dreadful things if hedidn't. He didn't. So acid got spilled on clothes. Machinery gotsmashed. Once a whole delivery-truck load of clothes disappeared and mybrother-in-law had to pay for any number of suits and dresses. Itgot him down. He's recovering from the nervous strain now, and mysister ... eh, asked me to help out. So I offered to take over. He warnedme I'd have the same trouble."

  "And you've got it!" fumed the detective. "But anyhow you'll make acomplaint. We'll get out some warrants, and we'll have somethin' to goon--"

  "But nothing's happened to complain about," said Brink, quitereasonably. "One broken window's not worth a fuss."

  "But somethin's goin' to happen!" insisted the detective. "That guy BigJake is poison! He's takin' over the whole town, bit by bit! You've beenlucky so far, but your luck could run out--"

  Brink shook his head.

  "No-o-o," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm grateful to you, Mr.Fitzgerald, but I have a special kind of luck. I won't tell you about itbecause you wouldn't believe but--but I can give you some of it. If youdon't mind, I will."

  He went to the slightly dusty, partly-plastic machine. On its shelf weresome parts of metal, and some of transparent plastic, and some grayish,granular substance it was hard to identify. There was an elaboratediagram of something like an electronic circuit inside, but it mighthave been a molecular diagram from organic chemistry. Brink made anadjustment and pressed firmly on a special part of the machine, whichdid not yield at all. Then he took a slip of plastic out of a slot inthe bottom.

  "You can call this a good-luck charm," he said pleasantly, "or atalisman. Actually it's a psionic unit.
One like it works very well, forme. Anyhow there's no harm in it. Just one thing. If your eyelids startto twitch, you'll be headed for danger or trouble or somethingunpleasant. So if