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“I thought he’d die right there,” said the guard. “Right there on the spot. He got purple in the face and—”
“What do you say,” suggested Blaine, “if we just look in? If he’s asleep, I’ll leave. But if he’s still awake, I’d like a quick word with him. It’s really quite important.”
“Well, I guess that would be all right. Seeing you’re his friend.”
And that, thought Blaine, was the final pay-off in this fantastic game. Fi
This was the pay-off, then — unless it was a trap.
He felt his muscles tensing and he forced them to relax.
The guard was getting up and fumbling for the key.
“Hey, wait a minute there,” said Blaine. “You’d better shake me down.”
The guard gri
He found the key and unlocked the door.
“I’ll go in first,” he said. “I’ll see if he’s asleep.”
He swung the door open quietly and moved across the threshold, Blaine following close behind.
The guard stopped so abruptly that Blaine bumped into him.
The guard was making fu
Blaine put out a hand and pushed him roughly to one side.
Fi
And there was about him a strange sense of alie
His body was twisted as if someone had taken it and twisted it beyond the natural ability of a body to contort itself. His face, resting on one cheek, was the visage of a man who had glimpsed the fires of hell and had smelled the stench of bodies that burned eternally. His black clothing had an obscene shine in the light from the lamp that stood beside a chair not far from the body. There was a wide blot of darkness in the carpeting about his head and chest. And there was the horror of a throat that had been slashed wide open.
The guard still was standing to one side of the door and the noises in his throat had changed to gagging noises.
Blaine walked close to Fi
Now, Blaine knew, all hope was gone. There could be no bargain made. For Lambert Fi
To the very last the man had stayed in character, had remained his harsh, stern self. No easy way for him, but the toughest way of all for a man to take his life.
But even so, Blaine thought, staring in chilled horror at the red gash in the throat, there had been no need to do the job so thoroughly, to keep on slashing with the razor even as he died.
Only a man of hate would do that, a man insane with the hate of self — a man who despised and loathed what he had become.
Unclean — unclean with an alien mind inside his antiseptic skull. A thing like that would drive a man like Fi
Blaine turned on his heel and walked out of the room. In the corridor the guard was in a corner, doubled over, retching.
“You stay here,” Blaine told him. “I’ll call the cops.”
The man turned around. His eyes were glazed with horror. He wiped feebly at his chin.
“My God,” he said, “I ask you, did you ever see a mess—”
“Sit down,” said Blaine, “and take it easy. I’ll be right back.”
Although he wouldn’t be. Now was the time to blow. He needed time and he’d get a little time. For the guard was too shaken to do anything for quite a little while.
But as soon as the news was known, all hell was bound to break.
God help the parry, Blaine thought, who is caught this night! He went swiftly down the corridor and ran down the stairs. The lobby still was empty and he set out across it briskly.
As he reached the door, it came open suddenly and someone came through it, walking briskly, too.
A purse clattered to the floor, and Blaine’s hands reached out to steady the woman who had come through the doorway.
Harriet! Get out of here! Get out!
My purse!
He stooped to scoop it up and as he lifted it, the catch came open and something black and heavy fell. His free hand snapped at it and had it and he worked it back along his palm so that it was hidden.
Harriet had turned around and was going out the door. Blaine hurried after her and caught her by the elbow, urging her along.
He reached his car and stooped to open the door. He pushed her to the seat.
But, Shep, my car is just a block —
No time. We’re getting out of here.
He ran around the car and got in. He jerked it from the curb and out into the street. Moving far more slowly than he wanted, he eased it down the block, turned at the intersection, heading for the highway.
Just ahead stood the gutted structure of the Trading Post. He had been holding the purse in his lap and now he gave it to her.
“How about the gun?” he asked.
“I was going to kill him,” she shouted. “I was going to shoot him dead.”
“No need to do that now. He is already dead.”
She turned toward him quickly.
“You!”
“Well, now, I guess that you could say so.”
“But, Shep, you know. You either killed him or you—”
“All right,” he said. “I killed him.”
And it was no lie. No matter by what hand Lambert Fi
“I had reason to,” he said. “But you?”
“He had Godfrey killed. That itself would have been enough.”
“You were in love with Godfrey.”
“Yes, I suppose I was. He was such a great guy, Shep.”
“I know how great he was. We were friends in Fishhook.”
“It hurts,” said Harriet. “Oh, Shep, how it hurts!”
“And that night . . .”
“There was no time for tears,” she said. “There’s never time for tears.”
“You knew about all this . . .”
“For a long time. It was my job to know.”
He reached the highway and turned down it, back toward Hamilton. The sun had set. Twilight had crept across the land and in the east one star was twinkling, just above the prairie.
“And now?” he asked.
“Now I have a story. As much of it as I ever can.”
“You’re going to write it. Will your paper run it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I have to write it. You understand that I have to write it. I’m going to New York. . . .”
“Wrong,” he said. “You’re going to Fishhook. Not by car. From the nearest airport. . . .”
“But, Shep—”
“It’s not safe,” Blaine told her. “Not for anyone who has the faintest hint of parry. Even minor telepaths, like you.”
“I can’t do it, Shep. I—”
“Listen, Harriet. Fi
Harriet drew in her breath. “They’ll wipe us out,” she said.
“They’ll do their best. But there is a way. . . .”
“Knowing this, you still killed Fi
“Look, Harriet, I didn’t really kill him. I went to bargain with him. I found a way to take the parries off Earth. I was going to promise to clean every parry off the Earth, clean out of his way, if he’d hold off his dogs for a week or two. . . .”