Modus Vivendi Part 4

"Well," Lindstrom said. "This is going to be difficult to prove, Miss Hall. Merely by withholding your HC ability, you can act Normal--but what would that prove?"

She turned to me. "I thought you said you had a way to get me off the hook," she protested. "How are we--?"

"Quiet," I told her. "I didn't come up here for a lecture in logic.

Especially from a dumb blonde." She started to bristle, but thought better of it.

"It goes like this, Prof," I said. "This innocent looking piece of fluff was caught slipping a five-dollar bill to a teller at a bank down town, and asking for change for a hundred dollar bill. She says it was nothing more than sleight of hand. You are an experienced observer. I want you to watch her work her little trick. If she can fool us, and not use Psi, the legal position is that she didn't need Psi to fool the teller." I turned to her. "And the logical principle, Miss Aristotle," I told her, "is equally simple: Occam's Razor. Prefer the simpler explanation. Can you show us how you palmed the hundred and slipped the teller a five?"

"You'll be watching for it," Mary protested, letting those ripe lips pout.

"I suppose the teller wasn't? It's his business to watch the bills when he's making change." I took out my wallet and handed her a one and a five. "Hand me the one and make me think it's the five," I said.

Lindstrom leaned his elbows on the black composition top of the lab bench, watching her narrowly. Mary got down off her stool and came over closer to me, smoothing the two bills in her fingers. The five was on top.

"I'd like change for a five," she said, handing it to me. She worked it three times while we watched.

"Utterly smooth," Lindstrom said. "I didn't see her make the switch."

"Me, too," I agreed. I could see the tension drain from Mary's face.

She was prettier when she wasn't worried. She was pretty all the time, when you got right down to it. No wonder she could fool a teller. He probably hadn't taken his eyes off that dazzling smile.

"Is that all?" Lindstrom asked.

"Would you certify that you saw her make these switches, and that Psi was not involved?" I asked him.

"Of course. I don't want to, but, if you call me as a witness, I'll testify to what I saw," he said glumly.

"It may not be necessary," I said. "I really ought to call you, just to teach you some manners, Prof. But then, we all have a right to be a little yellow."

Mary would have preferred to remain in silence as we rode a cab back to the Moldy Fig, and huddled over in her corner of the bubble. There wasn't enough light, that high over the city, to read her expression.

"Here's the strategy," I said, about midtown. "If we can get the Bank to agree to rest.i.tution, and to sign an admission that you did not use HC or any other Psi powers to work your theft, I think you'll be off the hook. I doubt the Federal Jury will listen to an information."

"I hope you're right."

"This is my business," I growled. "Do you want me to represent you?"

She didn't answer that until the 'copter had grounded in front of the Fig. "All right," she said. "I don't know what you're so mad at all the time, but it doesn't seem to be me. I'd like you to represent me."

I watched her scoot across the sidewalk and run up the stairs to Elmer's place. For some screwy reason I hoped she had another place to hole up for the night. I was getting as bad as Renner--looking lecherously at the raffish display of shapely leg as the blond bombsh.e.l.l beat it.

I directed my hacker to my apartment, and grabbed the phone in the bubble. The Mobile Operator got me Vito Pa.s.sarelli at his home. He sounded as if he had already retired.

"This is you know who," I said. "It's late, I know, but we'd better talk before morning. My apartment is the safest spot I can think of.

I'm in the Directory."

"Now?"

"Now."

I beat His Honor to my apartment by long enough to hang up my jacket, turn the ceiling on to a dim but friendly glow and get out a bottle of Scotch. Judges don't drink bourbon.

I let Pa.s.sarelli in when the buzzer sounded. "I'm reasonably sure there are no microphones in this place," I said. "This Mary Hall thing is getting hot--we'd better start taking precautions."

"Always," he said, running a hand over his balding head. His eyes saw the bottle and asked me a question. I threw some of the Pinch Bottle over ice and handed it to him, taking mine neat.

"Here's to crime," he said, sipping the liquor. "What happened?"

I poked a finger at my favorite easy-chair, which Pa.s.sarelli took. I stood in front of him, still holding my drink. "I got myself in a jam."

"You're talking to the wrong man," he said coldly. "Get yourself a lawyer--a _good_ Lawyer."

"You're in it with me, Pa.s.sarelli."

"Never met you," he said, getting up. "Thanks for the drink." He started for the door.

"That witch has the Stigma after all," I said to his back. That stopped him. He came back and poked his angry face into mine.

"You had her tested?"

"Professor Lindstrom, at Columbia," I told him. "She is slick as a whistle. Lindstrom fell for her yarn that it was sleight of hand--but it was HC. I'd have sworn it didn't exist."

"Well," he said. "Well, well. All right, Maragon. What's the jam you're in?"

"You suggested I should represent her, and I'm going to. But with the Stigma? That's more than I bargained for. You know no reputable attorney can afford to represent a Psi. Not if he wants any Normal business. Too much feeling."

"Going to duck out on her?"

"d.a.m.ned if I'll welch!" I said, more hotly than I had meant to. "You sure don't seem very shaken up by the news."

"It's not any news to me," Pa.s.sarelli said tightly. "You forget that I've had first-hand experience with that little lady. She gave me the business right in my courtroom. I'm no credulous egghead like Lindstrom. I know the difference between sleight of hand and an hallucination. She made me see just what she wanted me to see."

"Now you know why I think you're in the same jam, Judge," I said.

"You'll look great running for office, with your opposition telling the public how a Psi foozled your vision. They'll stomp on the loud pedal about how you let her get away with it and w.a.n.gle a 'Not Guilty'

verdict when she was guilty as sin."

"Yes," he agreed. "It's a hot potato, all right."

"There's just one out," I insisted. "That girl would have made rest.i.tution long ago if the Bank would have permitted it. And I've been asking myself how come--why should the Bank get sniffy and not want its money back?" That was the right question. He went back to the easy-chair and sat down. His eyes came up to meet mine, and then he held out his gla.s.s. I splashed some more Pinch in it.

"Politics, politics," he mourned. "The social workers are after me on this thing. They _want_ that girl to be in a jam. They've asked me to work on the Bank, asked that I make sure rest.i.tution can't be made.

They want the threat of a Federal indictment to hang over her head."

"Why?"

"So she'll agree to my committing her to their care. You know what they try to do--it's the doctrine of sterilization. Remove young Psis from the Psi society--cut them loose from their natural contacts, force them to quit using their powers. It's the same technique they use on narcotic violators, if they aren't too deeply committed to drugs."