Short Stories by Robert A. Heinlein Vol 2 Part 161

The yard door of my office was opcn. I gave the mug a final heave that lifted him over the threshold and sent him sprawling on the floor, Jedson was right behind; I bolted the door as soon as we were both inside.

Jedson strode over to my desk, s.n.a.t.c.hed open the middle drawer, and rummaged hurriedly through the stuff that acc.u.mulates in such places. He found what he wanted, a carpenter's blue pencil, and was back alongside our gangster before he had collected himself sufficiently to scramble to his feet. Jedson drew a circle around him on the floor, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, and closed the circle with an intricate flourish.

Our unwilling guest screeched when he saw what Joe was doing, and tried to throw himself out of the circle before it could be finished. But Jedson had been too fast for him - the circle was closed and sealed; he bounced back from the boundary as if he had struck a gla.s.s wall, and stumbled again to his knees. He remained so for the time, and cursed steadily in a language that I judged to be

Italian, although. I think there were bad words in it from several other languages - certainly some English ones.

He was quite fluent.

Jedson pulled out a cigarette, lighted it, and handed me one. Let's sit down,

Archie,' he said, and rest ourselves until our boy friend composes himself enough to talk business.'

I did so, and we smoked for several minutes while the flood of invective continued. Presently Jedson c.o.c.ked one eyebrow at the chap and said, Aren't you beginning to repeat yourself?'

That checked him. He just sat and glared. Well,' Jedson continued, haven't you anything to say for yourself?'

He growled under his breath and said, I want to call my lawyer.'

Jedson looked amused. You don't understand the situation,' he told him. You're not under arrest, and we don't give a d.a.m.n about your legal rights. We might just conjure up a hole and drop you in it, then let it relax.' The guy paled a little under his swarthy skin. Oh yes,' Jedson went on, we are quite capable of doing that - or worse. You see, we don't like you.

Of course,' he added meditatively, we might just turn you over to the police. I get a soft streak now and then.' The chap looked sour. You don't like that either? Your fingerprints, maybe?' Jedson jumped to his feet and in two quick strides was standing over him, just outside the circle. All right then,' he rapped, answer up and make em good! Why were you taking photographs?'

The chap muttered something, his eyes lowered. Jedson brushed it aside. Don't give me that stuff - we aren't children! Who told you to do it?'

He looked utterly panic-stricken at that and shut up completely.

Very well,' said Jedson, and turned to me. Have you some wax, or modelling clay, or anything of the sort?'

How would putty do?' I suggested.

Just the thing.' I slid out to the shed where we stow glaziers' supplies and came back with a five-pound can. Jedson prised it open and dug out a good big handful, then sat at my desk and worked the linseed oil into it until it was soft and workable. Our prisoner watched him with silent apprehension.

There! That's about right,' jedson announced at length, and slapped the soft lump down on my blotter pad. He commenced to fashion it with his fingers, and it took shape slowly as a little doll about ten inches high. It did not look like much of anything or anybody - Jedson is no artist - but Jedson kept glancing from the figurine to the man in the circle and back again, like a sculptor making a clay sketch directly from a model. You could see the chap's nervous terror increase by the minute.

Now!' said Jedson, looking once more from the putty figure to his model. It's just as ugly as you are. Why did you take that picture?'

He did not answer, but slunk farther back in the circle, his face nastier than ever.

Talk!' snorted Jedson, and twisted a foot of the doll between a thumb and forefinger. The corresponding foot of our prisoner jerked out from under him and twisted violently. He fell heavily to the floor with a yelp of pain.

You were going to cast a spell on this place, weren't you?' He made his first coherent answer. No, no, mister! Not me!' Not you? I see. You were just the errand boy. Who was to do the magic?'

I don't know- Ow! Oh, G.o.d!' He grabbed at his left calf and nursed it. Jedson had jabbed a pen point into the leg of the doll. I really don't know. Please, please!'

Maybe you don't,' jedson grudged, but at least you know who gives you your orders, and who some of the other members of your gang are. Start talking.'

He rocked back and forth and covered his face with his hands. I don't dare, mister,' he groaned. Please don't try to make me-' Jedson jabbed the doll with the pen again; he jumped and flinched, but this time he bore it silently with a look of grey determination.

OK,' said Jedson, if you insist-' He took another drag from his cigarette, then brought the lighted end slowly towards the face of the doll. The man in the circle tried to shrink away from it, his hands up to protect his face, but his efforts were futile. I could actually see the skin turn red and angry and the blisters blossom under his hide. It made me sick to watch it, and, while I didn't feel any real sympathy for the rat, I turned to Jedson and was about to ask him to stop when he took the cigarette away from the doll's face.

Ready to talk?' he asked. The man nodded feebly, tears pouring down his scorched cheeks. He seemed about to collapse. Here - don't faint,' Jedson added, and slapped the face of the doll with a finger tip. I could hear the smack land, and the chap's head rocked to the blow, but he seemed to take a brace from it.

All right, Archie, you take it down.' He turned back. And you, my friend, talk - and talk lots. Tell us everything you know. If you find your memory failing you, stop to think how you would like my cigarette poked into dolly's eyes!'

And he did talk - babbled, in fact. His spirit seemed to be completely broken, and he even seemed anxious to talk, stopping only occasionally to sniffle, or wipe at his eyes. Jedson questioned him to bring out points that were not clear.

There were five others in the gang that he knew about, and the setup was roughly as we had guessed. It was their object to levy tribute on everyone connected with magic in this end of town, magicians and their customers alike. No, they did not have any real protection to offer except from their own mischief. Who was his boss? He told us. Was his boss the top man in the racket? No, but he did not know who the top man was. He was quite sure that his boss worked for someone else, but he did not know who. Even if we burned him again he could not tell us.

But it was a big organization - he was sure of that. He himself had been brought from a city in the East to help organize here.

Was he a magician? So help him, no! Was his section boss one? No - he was sure; all that sort of thing was handled from higher up. That was all he knew, and could he go now? Jedson pressed him to remember other things; he added a number of details, most of them insignificant, but I took them all down. The last thing he said was that he thought both of us had been marked down for special attention because we had been successful in overcoming our first lesson'.

Finally Jedson let up on him. I'm going to let you go now,' he told him. You'd better get out of town. Don't let me see you hanging around again. But don't go too far; I may want you again. See this?' He held up the doll and squeezed it gently around the middle. The poor devil immediately commenced to gasp for breath as if he were being compressed in a strait jacket. Don't forget that I've got you any time I want you.' He let up on the pressure, and his victim panted his relief. I'm going to put your alter ego - doll to you! - where it will be safe, behind cold iron. When I want you, you'll feel a pain like that' - he nipped the doll's left shoulder with his fingernails; the man yelped - then you telephone me, no matter where you are.'

Jedson pulled a penknife from his vest pocket and cut the circle three times, then joined the cuts. Now get Out!'

I thought he would bolt as soon as he was released, but he did not. He stepped hesitantly over the pencil mark, stood still for a moment, and shivered. Then he stumbled towards the door. He turned just before he went through it and looked back at us, his eyes wide with fear. There was a look of appeal in them, too, and he seemed about to speak. Evidently he thought better of it, for he turned and went on out.

When he was gone I looked back at Jedson. He had picked up my notes and was glancing through them. I don't know,' he mused, whether it would be better to turn this stuff at once over to the Better Business Bureau and let them handle it, or whether to have a go at it ourselves. It's a temptation.'

I was not interested just then. Joe,' I said, I wish you hadn't burned him!'

Eh? How's that?' He seemed surprised and stopped scratchin' his chin. I didn't burn him.'

Don't quibble,' I said, somewhat provoked. You burned him through the doll, I mean with magic.'

But I didn't, Archie. Really I didn't. He did that to himself - and it wasn't magic. I didn't do a thing!'

What the h.e.l.l do you mean?'

Sympathetic magic isn't really magic at all, Archie. It's just an application of neuropsychology and colloidal chemistry. He did all that to himself, because he believed in it. I simply correctly judged his mentality.'

The discussion was cut short; we heard an agony-loaded scream from somewhere outside the building. It broke off sharply, right at the top. What was that?' I said, and gulped.

I don't know,' Jedson answered, and stepped to the door. He looked up and down before continuing. It must be some distance away. I didn't see anything.' He came back into the room. As I was saying, it would be a lot of fun to-'

This time it was a police siren. We heard it from far away, but it came rapidly nearer, turned a corner, and yowled down our street. We looked at each other.

Maybe we'd better go see,' we both said, right together, then laughed nervously.

It was our gangster acquaintance. We found him half a block down the street, in the middle of a little group of curious pa.s.sers-by who were being crowded back by cops from the squad car at the kerb.

He was quite dead.

He lay on his back, but there was no repose in the position. He had been raked from forehead to waist, laid open to the bone in three roughly parallel scratches, as if slashed by the talons of a hawk or an eagle. But the bird that made those wounds must have been the size of a five-ton truck.

There was nothing to tell from his expression. His face and throat were covered by, and his mouth choked with, a yellowish substance shot with purple. It was about the consistency of thin cottage cheese, but it had the most sickening smell I have ever run up against.