The demolished man (7 page)

Reich snorted. "You're the peeper. You tell me."

"I don't know," Church muttered after a pause. "I can't read it. There's crazy

music mixing everything up..."

"Then I'll have to tell you. I want a gun."

"A what?"

"G-U-N. Gun. Ancient weapon. It propels projectiles by explosion."

"I haven't anything like that."

"Yes, you do, Jerry. Keno Quizzard mentioned it to me some time ago. He saw it.

Steel and collapsible. Very interesting."

"What do you want it for?"

"Read me, Jerry, and find out. I haven't anything to hide. It's all quite

innocent."

Church screwed up his face, then quit in disgust.

"Isn't worth the trouble," he mumbled and shuffled off into the shadows. There

was a distant slamming of metal drawers. Church returned with a compact nodule

of tarnished steel and placed it on the counter alongside the money. He pressed

a stud and the lump of metal sprang open into steel knuckle-rings, revolver and

stiletto. It was a XXth Century knife-pistol... the quintessence of murder.

"What do you want it for?" Church asked again.

"You're hoping it's something that can lead to black-mail, eh?" Reich smiled.

"Sorry. It's a gift."

"A dangerous gift." The ostracized peeper gave him that sidelong glance of snarl

and laugh. "Ruination for someone else, eh?"

"Not at all, Jerry. It's a gift for a friend of mine. Dr. Augustus Tate."

"Tate!" Church stared at him.

"Do you know him? He collects old things."

"I know him. I know him." Church began to chuckle asthmatically. "But I'm

beginning to know him better. I'm beginning to feel sorry for him." He stopped

laughing and shot a penetrating glance at Reich. "Of course. This will make a

lovely gift for Gus. A perfect gift for Gus. Because it's loaded."

"Oh? Is it loaded?"

"Oh yes indeed. It's loaded. Five lovely cartridges." Church cackled again. "A

gift for Gus." He touched a cam. A cylinder snapped out of the side of the gun

displaying five chambers filled with brass cartridges. He looked from the

cartridges to Reich. "Five serpent's teeth to give to Gus."

"I told you this was innocent," Reich said in a hard voice. "We'll have to pull

those teeth."

Church stared at him in astonishment, then he trotted down the aisle and

returned with two small tools. Quickly he wrenched each of the bullets from the

cartridges. He slid the harmless cartridge cases back into the chambers, snapped

the cylinder home and then placed the gun alongside the money.

"All safe," he said brightly. "Safe for dear little Gus." He looked at Reich

expectantly. Reich extended both hands. With one he pushed the money toward

Church. With the other he drew the gun toward himself. At that instant, Church

changed again. The air of chirpy madness left him. He grasped Reich's wrists

with iron claws and bent across the counter with blazing intensity.

"No, Ben," he said, using the name for the first time. "That isn't the price.

You know it. Despite that crazy song in your head, I know you know it."

"All right, Jerry," Reich said steadily, never relaxing his hold on the gun.

"What is the price? How much?"

"I want to be reinstated," the peeper said. "I want to get back into the Guild.

I want to be alive again. That's the price."

"What can I do? I'm not a peeper. I don't belong to the Guild."

"You're not helpless, Ben. You've got ways and means. You could get to the

Guild. You could have me reinstated."

"Impossible."

"You can bribe, blackmail, intimidate... bless, dazzle, fascinate. You can do

it, Ben. You can do it for me. Help me, Ben. I helped you, once."

"I paid through the nose for that help."

"And I? What did I pay?" the peeper screamed. "I paid with my life!"

"You paid with your stupidity."

"For God's sake, Ben. Help me. Help me or kill me. I'm dead already. I just

haven't the guts to commit suicide."

After a pause, Reich said brutally: "I think the best thing for you, Jerry,

would be suicide."

The peeper flung himself back as though he had been branded. In his bruised face

his eyes stared glassily at Reich.

"Now tell me the price," Reich said.

Quite deliberately, Church spat on the money, then levelled a glance of hurtling

hatred at Reich. "There will be no charge," he said, and turned and disappeared

into the shadows of the cellar.

4

Until it was destroyed for reasons lost in the misty confusion of the late XXth

Century, the Pennsylvania Station in New York City was, unknown to millions of

travellers, a link in time. The interior of the giant terminal was a replica of

the mighty Baths of Caracalla in ancient Rome. So also was the sprawling mansion

of Madame Maria Beaumont, known to her thousand most intimate enemies as The

Gilt Corpse.

As Ben Reich glided down the east ramp with Dr. Tate at his side and murder in

his pocket, he communicated with his senses in staccatto spurts. The sight of

the guests on the floor below... The glitter of uniforms, of dress, of

phosphorescent flesh, of beams of pastel light swaying on stilt legs... Tenser,

said the Tensor...

The sound of voices, of music, of annunciators, of echoes... Tension,

apprehension, and dissension... The wonderful potpourri of flesh and perfume, of

food, of wine, of gilt ostentation... Tension, apprehension...

The gilt trappings of death... Of something, by God, which has failed for

seventy years... A lost art... As lost as phlebotomy, chirurgery, alchemy...

I'll bring death back. Not the hasty, crazy killing of the psychotic, the

brawler... but the normal, deliberate, planned, cold-blooded---

"For God's sake!" Tate murmured. "Be careful, man. Your murder's showing."

Eight, sir; seven, sir...

"That's better. Here comes one of the peeper secretaries. He screens the guests

for crashers. Keep singing."

A slender, willowy young man, all gush, all cropped golden hair, all violet

blouse and silver culottes: "Dr. Tate! Mr. Reich! I'm speechless. Actually. I

can't utter word one. Come in! Come in!"

Six, sir; five, sir...

Maria Beaumont clove through the crowd, arms outstretched, eyes outstretched,

naked bosom outstretched... her body transformed by pneumatic surgery into an

exagerated East Indian figure with puffed hips, puffed calves and puffed gilt

breasts. To Reich she was the painted figurehead of a pornographic ship... the

famous Gilt Corpse.

"Ben, darling creature!" She embraced him with pneumatic intensity, contriving

to press his hand into her cleavage. "It's too too wonderful."

"It's too too plastic, Maria," he murmured in her ear.

"Have you found that lost million yet?"

"Just laid hands on it now, dear."

"Be careful, audacious lover. I'm having every morsel of this divine party

recorded."

Over her shoulder, Reich shot a glance at Tate. Tate shook his head

reassuringly.

"Come and meet everybody who's everybody," Maria said. She took his arm. "We'll

have ages for ourselves later."

The lights in the groined vaults overhead changed again and shifted up the

spectrum. The costumes changed color. Skin that had glowed with pink nacre now

shone with eerie luminescence.

On his left flank, Tate gave the prearranged signal: Danger! Danger! Danger!

Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun. RIFF. Tension, apprehension,

and dissension have begun...

Maria was introducing another effete, all gush, all cropped copper hair, all

fuchsia blouse and Prussian blue culottes.

"Larry Ferar, Ben. My other social secretary. Larry's been dying to meet you."

Four, sir; three, sir...

"Mr. Reich! But too thrilled. I can't utter word one."

Two, sir; one!

The young man accepted Reich's smile and moved on. Still circling in convoy,

Tate gave Reich a reassuring nod. Again the overhead lights changed. Portions of

the guests' costumes appeared to dissolve. Reich, who had never succumbed to the

fashion of wearing ultra-violet windows in his clothes, stood secure in his

opaque suit, watching with contempt the quick, roving eyes around him,

searching, appraising, comparing, desiring.

Tate signalled: Danger! Danger! Danger!

Tenser, said the Tensor...

A secretary appeared at Maria's elbow, "Madame," he lisped, "a slight

contretemps."

"What is it?"

"The Chervil boy. Galen Chervil."

Tate's face constricted.

"What about him?" Maria peeped through the crowd.

"Left of the fountain. An impostor, Madame. I have peeped him. He has no

invitation. He's a college student. He bet he could crash the party. He intends

to steal a picture of you as proof."

"Of me!" Maria said, staring through the windows in young Chervil's clothes.

"What does he think of me?"

"Well, Madame, he's extremely difficult to probe. I think he'd like to steal

more from you than your picture."

"Oh, would he?" Maria cackled delightedly.

"He would, Madame. Shall he be removed?"

"No." Maria glanced once more at the muscular young man, then turned away.

"He'll get his proof."

"And it won't be stolen," Reich said.

"Jealous! Jealous!" she squawked. "Let's dine."

In response to Tate's urgent sign, Reich stepped aside momentarily.

"Reich, you've got to give it up."

"What the hell... ?"

"The Chervil boy."

"What about him?"

"He's a 2nd."

"God damn!"

"He's precocious, brilliant... I met him at Powell's last Sunday. Maria Beaumont

never invites peepers to her house. I'm only in on your pass. I was depending on

that."

"And this peeper kid has to be the one to crash. God damn!"

"Give it up, Reich."

"Maybe I can stay away from him."

"Reich, I can block the social secretaries. They're only 3rds. But I can't

guarantee to handle them and a 2nd too... even if he is only a kid. He's young.

He may be too nervous to do any clever peeping. But I can't promise."

"I'm not quitting," Reich growled. "I can't. I'll never get a chance like this

again. Even if I knew I could, I wouldn't quit. I couldn't. I've got the stink

of D'Courtney in my nostrils. I---"

"Reich, you'll never---"

"Don't argue. I'm going through with it." Reich turned his scowl full on Tate's

nervous face. "I know you're looking for a chance to squirm out of this; but you

won't. We're trapped in this together, right down the line, from here to

Demolition."

He shaped his distorted face into a frozen smile and rejoined his hostess on a

couch alongside one of the tables. It was still the custom for couples to feed

one another at these affairs, but the gesture that had originated in oriental

courtesy and generosity had degenerated into erotic play. The morsels of food

were accompanied by tongue touched to fingers and were as often offered between

the lips. The wine was tasted mouth to mouth. Sweets were given more intimately.

Reich endured it all with a seething impatience, waiting for the vital word from

Tate. Part of Tate's Intelligence work was to locate D'Courtney's hiding place

in the house. He watched the little peeper drift through the crowd of diners,

probing, prying, searching, until he at last returned with a negative shake of

his head and gestured toward Maria Beaumont. Clearly Maria was the only source

of information, but she was now too excited by sensuality to be easily probed.

It was another in a never-ending series of crises that had to be met by the

killer-instinct. Reich arose and crossed toward the fountain. Tate intercepted

him.

"What are you up to, Reich?"

"Isn't it obvious? I've got to get the Chervil boy off her mind."

"How?"

"Is there any way but one?"

"For God's sake, Reich, don't go near the boy."

"Get out of my way." Reich radiated a burst of savage compulsion that made the

peeper recoil. He signaled in fright and Reich tried to control himself.

"It's taking chances, I know, but the odds aren't as long as you think. In the

first place, he's young and green. In the second place, he's a crasher and

scared. In the third place, he can't be flying full jets or he wouldn't have let

the fag secretaries peep him so easily."

"Have you got any conscious control? Can you double-think?"

"I've got that song on my mind and enough trouble to make doublethinking a

pleasure. Now get the hell out of the way and stand by to peep Maria Beaumont."

Chervil was eating alone alongside the fountain, clumsily attempting to appear

to belong.

"Pip," said Reich.

"Pop," said Chervil.

"Bim," said Reich.

"Bam," said Chervil.

With the latest fad in informality disposed of, Reich eased himself down

alongside the boy. "I'm Ben Reich."

"I'm Gally Chervil, I mean... Galen. I---" He was visibly impressed by the name

of Reich.

Tension, apprehension, and dissension...

"That damned song," Reich muttered. "Heard it for the first time the other day.

Can't get it out of my mind. Maria knows you're a phoney, Chervil."

"Oh no!"

Reich nodded. Tension, apprehension...

"Should I start running?"