Modus Vivendi Part 2

Don't tell me that wasn't telepathic jazz."

She tossed her short hair-do around. "My side-men were TP's," she conceded. "Why do you think I was playing box chords? They knew what I was playing--I didn't know what they'd play."

Well, some of it was adding up. Still, I had to be sure. "I see. Tell me, Mary, where were your parents on the 19th of April in '75?"

She sat up straight beside Keys on the bench, and her fair face flushed pinkly. "Drop dead!" she told me.

I stood up. "See you in jail," I said, and started for the door.

Elmer had played tackle for Ol' Miss--he sure stopped me in my tracks.

"I reckon we ain't through with you yet, Yankee," he grinned. He hurt me with his hands, big as country hams. My stiffened fingers jabbed his T-s.h.i.+rt where it covered his solar plexus, and he dropped back, gasping.

"You could learn a little about fighting, too, Psi," I growled. "And you're through with me if that bottle blonde won't answer my questions."

"Hey!" Keys protested. "Come on, relax. Everybody!" he snapped, as Elmer got his breath back and came in for another tackle. I signaled for a fair catch, and he eased up.

I peered over my shoulder at the girl at the piano. "Well?" I asked her. "Where _were_ your parents on the 19th of April in '75?"

Her eyes sought out Keys'. He nodded, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"About fifty miles from Logan, Iowa," she said.

"And you don't have the Stigma?" I scoffed.

"Not everybody inside the Logan Ring was affected," she reminded me.

"Which is my tough luck. But I _am_ being crucified because Mother and Dad _were_ in the Ring the day the N-bomb went off, whether I have the Stigma or not."

I came back to stand in front of her. "I'm an attorney," I said. "I have an idea what can happen to you if the Courts get hold of you.

Right now they can't find you--which must mean you've been hiding."

She confirmed that with a nod, biting her red, red lips. "They _are_ after you, and a Federal rap is just the start," I said. "You have only one chance, Mary, and I'm glad you claimed it. The only way you can keep them from putting you over a barrel is to prove you don't have the Stigma. I think I know a way to do it. Are you ready to let me help you?"

"Not _that_ fast," she said, looking worried. "Oh, I trust Keys'

judgment about you. Yes, I _do_," she said earnestly, turning to Crescas. "Yes, I _know_ he got you off, Keys. But it doesn't sound right. Why should he take a chance helping a Psi--even if I really _don't_ have the Stigma? What's his angle?"

"Fair enough," Keys said. "How about it, Maragon?"

"I knew it was a b.u.m rap they were trying to pin on Mary as soon as I heard about it," I explained. "This business about Mary having HC.

There just isn't any such Psi power as hallucination, and every one of you knows it--it's an old wives' tale. I wouldn't touch this little lady with a ten-foot pole if I really thought she had the Stigma. I have a living to make around this town--and you can't handle Stigma business and get any decent trade, too."

I looked back at Mary. "How _did_ you work your swindle at the bank?"

I asked quietly.

She sighed. "Sleight of hand," she said. "A d.a.m.ned fool stunt. I figured to put the money back in a day or so. If somebody else hadn't been working the same racket, they'd never have caught me. But they had set a trap--"

"I _thought_ it was some light-finger stuff," I grinned. "Well, it will take me a while to set up a real test of your Psi Powers. Where can I reach you--or are you spending the night here?"

"Certainly not!" she said, casting an annoyed glance at Elmer. She looked at her watch. "Would it be much longer than an hour? I might still be here, if Elmer--"

"Jes' fine," T-s.h.i.+rt said. "Unless yo' mine watching Keys and me practice." He grinned at me. "Keys is he'ping me build up mah TK," he explained.

"That'll make you popular," I sneered, as I wrote down Elmer's phone number. They let me out. It had been a pretty room, and in a way I hated to leave it. Still, by the time a cruising 'copter had taken me halfway back to my office up-town, I could relax the s.h.i.+eld over my thoughts--and that was worth getting out of that Stigma hideaway.

It was a little after nine when I walked into the lobby and rang for the elevator. A man lounging against the wall over near the building directory raised a wrist-phone to his mouth and spoke quietly into it as I waited for the car to come. He didn't seem to be interested in me--but then, he wouldn't want to show it if he were. Fool around with the Stigma, would I?

The building was mostly dark--in our circle we make too much dough to be interested in overtime. I keyed myself into our waiting room, turned on the ceiling, and went into my private office. There was enough light leaking in from our foyer, so I added none.

I found Lindstrom at home--after all, he should have been by nine o'clock. "Maragon!" he said. "Kill your focus. I have guests!"

I reached up to twist the 'scope so that my image would be a blur on his screen. Nice beginning. I was as welcome as a thriving case of leprosy.

"I want you to make a test for me, Professor," I said. "Tonight."

He shook his head. "I told you I had guests. We're entertaining. No thanks, Maragon."

"A Normal is being crucified," I said quietly. "They've got her pegged as a Psi. I've got to get her off the hook."

"How could this happen?" he demanded.

"She hangs with a bunch of Stigma cases, for one thing," I said.

"n.o.body forced her to a.s.sociate with a gang of Psis," he said. "Serves her right."

"n.o.body forced you to, either, Prof," I snarled. "But you have a steady stream of Stigma cases going through your laboratory."

"That's different!" he protested.

"Nuts. Now name a time when I can see you there."

"I don't want any part of it. If you're along, it will just mean trouble, Maragon. You got too much publicity on defending that TK locksmith. I've got a professional standing to maintain."

"You'd sure look silly if all the Psis in town blackballed you," I snarled at him. "Let me pa.s.s the word around--and you darned well know I've got the contacts to do it--and you've tested your last Stigma case. Then let's see what kind of a professional standing you've got."

He knew some pretty dirty words. "What time?" I pressed him, knowing the profanity was a confession of defeat.

"Not before eleven," he said glumly. "I won't forget this, Maragon."

"What the h.e.l.l," I said. "I'm on every S-list in town already. You hardly count beside the other enemies I'm making." I cut the image.

As if at a signal, there was a tapping on the door to the corridor. I got out of my swivel, walked into the waiting room and opened up. The man who stood there was faintly familiar--but it was the gun in his fist that got most of my attention.

"Maragon?" he asked softly.

I spread my feet a little. "I knew I was making enemies pretty fast,"

I said to him. "But I didn't know how strongly. Listen," I snapped, "I'll bet one thing never occurred to you."

He was taken back. You're not supposed to snarl at a guy who pokes a gun at you. In theory it gives him the edge of any conversation.