"A five-day minimum at a thousand dollars a day for a measly twenty-five-thousand-dollar policy is NO special rate," I snarled.
He waved his cigarette holder in an airy way. "Hit men are hit men," he said. "And I must say the actuarial statistic shows that they themselves get hit. NOT what you would call a profession without risks. Rifles backfire, husbands take reprisals and," he fixed me with a beady eye, "cases have not been unknown where beneficiaries did a bit of hitting themselves, eh, what?"
I shook my head.
He took another approach. "It is not that your man is inexperienced. According to his record here, when he worked for Swindle and Crouch, he executed his contracts in quite a satisfactory way. It's just that records show he has a twist. A personality quirk, let's say. But I will tell you what I will do. Business has been slow today. Make it five thousand dollars for five days and I'll write the policy for seven days. It's the very best we can do, old chap."
I had to take it. It was the only way I had to hand to get Krak killed.
They wrote the policy with lots of scrolls and made his mother beneficiary. I paid them from my hard-earned hoard and I was on my way.
En route to Dr. Finkelbaum's I stopped off in a white-arm lunch, one of those places where the table is the arm of the chair. I took from my pocket a sheet and envelope of Apparatus self-destruct paper. You write on it and then spray it lightly and fold it and ten hours after it is opened it simply evaporates. No evidence left.
Disguising my handwriting, I wrote:
Find $850 enclosed. Your policy is clipped to the envelope so you can give it to your mother. Get a rifle. Get a car. Get to Hairy-town, New York. They're in an orange-colored cab, old style, unmistakable. Phone me at the number at the bottom of the page as soon as you have something to report.
X
I added Miss Pinch's number.
I sprayed the paper. I took a five-hundred-dollar bill, three one-hundred-dollar bills and a fifty, and wrapped the note around them: I didn't want them to get lost, for aside from thirty dollars they were all the money I had left. I put them in and sealed the envelope against air.
Not even finishing my bitter coffee, I sped for Dr. Finkelbaum's.
Arriving, I peeked in and, sure enough, there sat Torpedo.
I entered the waiting room with elaborate casual-ness. I picked up a two-year-old magazine from the table. I sat down. Unobserved, I slid the envelope and policy into the magazine while I pretended to read. Then, very casually, I rose, laid the magazine down in the chair beside Torpedo and walked out. Very smoothly done. Right by the manual.
I lurked around a corner, eyes fixed on a reflective shop window across the street. I saw Torpedo come out reading the letter.
Wonderful! The Countess Krak would soon be dead!
I raced down into a subway and was on my way home, conscious of pride in my organizational skill.
The moment I got home, I raced into the back room closet and put the viewer down.
I had expected by this time that they would be in Hairytown, for it is less than twenty miles north of Empire University, straight up the Hudson and right on the street or highway named Broadway.
I had only slightly misestimated. They were not yet into the town. They must have paused briefly somewhere for a bite of lunch. The Countess was watching torrents of air traffic going up and down the Hudson a mile west from their road.
Krak was saying, "This cab certainly rides roughly when you use it as a ground car, Bang-Bang. Why don't you take it off this bumpy cart track and fly it?"
"Jesus, Miss Joy," he said over his shoulder as he bounced along, "it won't do that."
"Is it broken or something? I see other vehicles flying up and down, way out there over the river."
"Those are choppers, Miss Joy. This is a cab: it ain't supposed to leave the ground."
"Are you afraid of the police?"
"Yes, MA'AM!"
"I am appalled, Bang-Bang, at how overregulated this planet is. It doesn't seem to reduce the crime rate any, either. Listen, Bang-Bang, I can fix it with any cop who stops us. I'm tired of the jolting. Take it into the air."
Bang-Bang said helplessly, "My chopper license isn't up-to-date."
"Now we're getting someplace," said the Countess Krak. "You should have told me and I could have made the parole officer renew it. Bang-Bang, you should understand here and now that you can trust me."
"Yes, ma'am," said Bang-Bang miserably.
She was looking at the road expectantly. Then she saw, apparently, that the old cab was not taking off the way any ordinary airbus would have. She said, "Well, get it into the air!"
"Ma'am," said Bang-Bang, with a sigh of relief, "we're here. There's the city limits sign of Hairytown."
"Good," said the Countess Krak. "But when we leave, make sure we don't have such a rough trip back. There's a shop. Stop and I'll go in."
"I'll keep the motor running."
"Oh, this isn't dangerous. I'm just asking for directions on how to get to Miss Agnes' house."
He stopped and she got out. There was a sign. It said:
ANTIQUES Priceless Artifacts
of
Sleepy Hollow Country
Washington Irving Slept Here
SALE TODAY ON HEADLESS-HORSEMEN
"Well, I never!" said the Countess Krak. "This is the place I'm supposed to be from, according to my passport."
Bang-Bang, sitting behind the wheel, blinked. "Isn't your passport right?"
"Government documents are never right. You wait right there-I won't be long."
She went into the shop. A very old, spindly man was drilling wormholes in a chair. He looked up.
"I'm supposed to be from around here," said the Countess Krak, "but I have gotten lost. Could you please direct me to the house of Miss Agnes?"
He stared at her. His eyes went round. Then he turned aside and spat. He went out the back door and didn't come back.
The Countess Krak went back to the car. She got in. "Drive on further."
Bang-Bang turned left onto Main Street. The Countess Krak apparently didn't see anything she considered inviting. They went about three-quarters of a mile and Bang-Bang turned right onto something called Beekman Avenue. A sign pointed to North Hairytown. As they approached it, she spotted a place that said:
Sign Painting House Numbers
She had Bang-Bang stop.
"They ought to know in here," she said. She entered the shop.
A middle-aged woman was at the counter. She looked up with the usual smile accorded to a customer.
"I have lost my way," said the Countess Krak, "could you please direct me to the house of Miss Agnes?"
An instant scowl replaced the welcome. The woman looked closely at the Countess. Then she shook her head. "My dear," she said, "what the hell would a beautiful girl like you be wanting with a God (bleeped) shrink?"
"Shrink?" said the Countess Krak.
"And with
that
God (bleeped) shrink in particular! Dearie, if somebody referred you to her, you just go back from whence you came and forget about it. There ain't no limit to what these God (bleeped) doctors will do to earn dough, even send somebody to
that
(bleepch)."
"You know her, then. Could you please give me her address?"
"No way," the woman said and walked out the back door, slamming it.
The Countess Krak went back to the cab. "Jettero said the natives repelled landings. Drive on, drive on, O Bang-Bang. We'll find Miss Agnes yet!"
They drove through North Hairytown. A street sign said:
Sleepy Hollow Road
"According to my passport," said the Countess, "I was born up that street somewhere. Do all American children get this lost?"
"Miss Joy," said Bang-Bang, "as long as we're into this and probably outflanked, there's an Octopus service station up there. If we're on the trail of something connected with Rockecenter, remember that he owns Octopus."
"Look," said the Countess. "There's a sign to Pokan-tickle Hills! We're within a couple of miles of the palace. Maybe we should go straight there."
"NO, ma'am. Because we were going to see the
parole officer, I didn't bring a single thing for a fire fight. We're going to stop at this service station."
He pulled in well away from the islands. He got out and threw his cap on the seat. He went over to the office. The Countess Krak followed him.
The man in the office was a hard-bitten, grease-spattered, service station manager type. He looked up from his accounts.
"We're from civilization," said Bang-Bang. "We're looking for Miss Agnes. So where is she?"
"Oh, you mean Dr. Morelay," the man said. "You must be the people coming to see about the land yacht. And it's about time! She wanted to park it down here but I was scared stiff something would happen to it. She said just yesterday she didn't think you were coming at all, so you better be tactful. We have to be careful of her because of
him.
Now, let me give you a word of warning: Don't get impudent with her the way you city people can be. She's a power in this area and can have you held under the insanity laws by just snapping her fingers. I don't want her getting upset and screaming around here, blaming me, if I send you and you get impolite. All right?"
"We'll show lots of respect," said Bang-Bang, feeling nervously under his armpit where he obviously didn't have a gun.
"I'll be (bleeped) glad to get this thing settled, so just come outside and I'll point out how you get there."
Standing on the island and pointing and showing turns with his hand, he told them exactly how to get to the Morelay Estate, as he called it.
He went back into the office muttering, "Well, that's one (bleeping) headache off my plate."
They drove away.
r
It was perfect sniper country: open and unobstructed shots available. Bang-Bang was unarmed. I felt sure Torpedo would soon be on the scene.
And then that would be the end of the vicious Countess Krak!
Chapter 2
Up a winding road and into hedge-enclosed and iron-walled streets they went, a sort of a maze of greenery and forbidding steel spikes. There was a security gate between two gray stone pillars and a very professional sign was inset in one:
AGNES P. MORELAY, Ph.D., M.D. KEEP OUT!
But you couldn't drive in the gate.
The inner road was blocked entirely by the most mammoth motor home I have ever seen.
"Oooooo!" said the Countess Krak. "What is that?"
Bang-Bang backed the cab and parked it at the street curb well away from the gate and out of its sight. He got out.
The Countess Krak picked up her shopping bag. She alighted. They walked back along the spiked wall to the pte.
She stopped and stared at the huge vehicle. "Bang-Bang, I didn't know they had those on this planet."
"Well, yes, ma'am," he said learnedly, "what you're
DEATH QUEST
105
looking at is pretty impressive, I will agree. What they do is take the frame of one of these super-size Greyhound buses, the kind that has a scenic deck for western tours, and they start from there. Now, a Greyhound bus has, below its floor and all along its length, a baggage compartment three feet or so high. Well, they eliminate that, which gives them lots of room. Then they extend the upper scenic floor and you get a two-story bus. Then they turn handcraftsmen loose and they build salons and dining rooms and staterooms and Jesus Christ knows what else. But this one, I see, seems to have a second driving cockpit in the roof, too, like a seagoing sports fisherman. Mike Mutazione told me all about these, in case I ever had to blow one up. Only multimillionaires could ever afford one, 'cause I think they cost three hundred G's on up. And from the looks of this one, it's closer to a million!"
The Countess Krak was going along the front of it. She found a big nameplate. It said:
Land Yacht Super-Deluxe
Kostly Custom Coach Company Detroit
Then she went all down the side of it, peeking in the antiglare opaqued windows and trying the various outside entrance doors. It was all white paint and chrome.
"Bang-Bang," she said, "it's just like the circus ground caravans we used to use when I was a little girl. I've travelled all over Atalanta in one of these."
"I didn't know you were with a southern circus."
"Bang-Bang, can you drive one of these?"
"Now, wait a minute, Miss Joy. It says right here on
these parole release papers that if I'm caught stealing a car, up I go to Ossining again and it's only a few miles north of here. And I think we got enough troubles already. Here comes the butler or somebody."
A very butler-type butler was coming down the drive from the sprawling house. He said in a rather severe voice, "The service station manager phoned us you were coming. If you will accompany me, I shall inform Dr. Morelay you have arrived."
"Bang-Bang," said the Countess Krak, "you stand by out here." She popped a pill into her mouth. She hefted her shopping bag and followed the butler.
They went through a large, iron entrance door and entered a huge hallway. It was all of gray stone and decorated with displays of broadaxes, battle-axes and headsmen's axes. The butler motioned for her to wait and walked on through another door at the end.
The Countess Krak took a completely blank card out of her purse. She took a small vial and sprayed something invisible on it. Then she put both back into her purse.
The butler came through the door and stood beside it. As though summoning someone to a royal audience, he said, "Dr. Morelay will see you now."
The Countess Krak passed him and entered a dark room. It seemed to be a sort of combination consulting room and den, made oppressive by black beams in the ceiling and deadly by the amount of electric shock equipment standing about.