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?"