Стюарт Стерлинг - The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

The Lieutenant, a gray-haired fatherly-looking man, scratched his head.

“It ain’t according to the rules,” he informed Brophy and me. “We’d usually investigate further before we let an amnesia case go off to strangers.”

Brophy was more than dubious. He was worried. “Take good care of that money, Harris. I don’t like to see so much of the Agency’s cash being exposed to risk. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”

“You never can tell what’ll happen in an amnesia case,” I cracked, and back I went to the airport and headed west again with eight thousand dollars and some extra bills in my pocket and amnesia on my mind.

How does amnesia feel? I wouldn’t know. L.A. was a vast blanket of sparkling lights when the big silver plane eased out of the late evening sky and settled on the airport. And the pretty little stewardess who gave me a parting smile and I walked down the portable steps into the blaze of light beside the plane.

Nine of us left the plane. Three were movie stars, and they walked into waiting photographers, flash bulbs and friends surging to greet them. And I walked past all that with a glassy look, wondering who was going to meet me and could I put this over.

A hand touched my arm. A smooth voice intoned: “Father Orion sends his greeting, Brother.”

I said, “Ahhhh...” and then almost strangled as I caught sight of two men well off to one side who had stopped and were staring at me.

Jake Dennis and Larry Sweet if I never had a bad dream. Sweet’s hand was on his stocky companion’s arms. I could almost hear him saying: “Hold it, Jake.”

Meanwhile Father Orion had sent his greetings.

Sweet and Dennis had caught me offguard. I didn’t know what my face had revealed to the man who had touched my arm.

He was a head taller than I, a jolly, well-fed young man with pink smiling cheeks and a stare that took me apart.

“I’m John Paige, Father Orion’s secretary, Brother. I’ve never seen you before, have I?”

I shook my head and mumbled: “I was hoping you’d know me. Will Father Orion know me?”

The hand he put to my elbow wore a curious jade ring. His manner was cheerfully confident. “This way, Brother. Father Orion knows all Truth.”

Dennis and Sweet were still watching as we walked away. I was in a sweat as to whether they’d hail me, and in another sweat as to whether they’d follow us.

“Everything went blank...” I mumbled to Paige.

“Yes, yes,” he said soothingly. “But Father Orion has the light. Here’s the car, Brother.”

At least Father Orion gave the faithful good taxi service. Paige stowed me into the front seat of a big blue Cadillac sedan and we rolled away. I tried to see if we were being followed and had no luck. But those two flat-feet from Headquarters would at least get the license number.

“How long have you followed the Master?” Paige inquired.

“There’s a... a wall in my mind,” I said forlornly. “In Chicago all I could remember was the name of Father Orion. I asked the police and — and they put me on the airplane.”

“Quite right,” Paige approved. “Strangers might have taken advantage of you. Remember any more now?”

“No.” And I groaned: “It’s terrible being like this!”

Paige dropped his hand on my arm. “You’re with friends, Brother. Perhaps we’d better make sure you haven’t any identifying papers on you. Let’s see your billfold.”

He parked at the curb, and I let him have the billfold and watched closely while he looked inside. Paige whistled softly at the hundreds and five hundreds Brophy had reluctantly turned over to me.

“A lot of money to be carrying around, Brother.”

“There was more,” says I vaguely. “The safe deposit box was almost full. I think I always keep money ready in the deposit box. But I... I can’t remember where the box is. Will Father Orion tell me?”

“The Master knows all Truth,” Paige stated. “Were you bringing this money, Brother, as a Love Offering?”

“I can’t remember,” I told him helplessly as I reached for the billfold.

So there we were without any secrets, as we rolled into the high wooded hills beyond Hollywood...

Lew Ryster had prepared me for Orion’s Shrine. But Lew hadn’t told all. Maybe Lew wouldn’t have believed it himself. A side road led us to stone gate towers flanked by a high, close-meshed fence topped by strands of barbed wire.

“The top wire is electrified,” Paige remarked casually as we paused in the glare of floodlights on the gate posts.

A guard unchained the gates and, as we rolled through, called: “Welcome, Brothers!”

And I gandered at the fellow and moved up another notch on the Hollywood nut tree. That big guard wore sandals on bare feet and a white cloak resembling a Roman toga. He had a curly brown beard and the bulging muscles and build of a ham wrestler. And the air of a wild-eyed fanatic.

The whole lay-out was getting a little more unbelievable as I came closer to Father Orion.

“Electricity?” I mumbled.

“Lots of electricity, Brother,” Paige assured me cheerfully.

“But... but—”

“The Shrine, Brother, is guarded from desecration by all unbelievers and scoffers.” Paige delivered the statement with a solemn manner and a deeper voice.

I said: “Ahhhh...”

Paige said nothing. The silhouette of his face was sterner, as if his manner at the station had been for the outside world.

There was nothing screwball about the muscles of that guard at the gate and the electrified fence. It made you wonder what would happen if Father Orion decided not to like a pilgrim. The eight grand cash inside my coat was folding money in any language. And if there did just happen to be murder in the background and Mike Harris stubbed his toe and got in bad — then what?

I’d have felt better with a gun tucked under my armpit or inside my shirt. But it wouldn’t have looked kosher for Brother Amnesia to show up packing a rod. So I sat watchful and wary as we rolled up the winding driveway to the Shrine.

Here were broad smooth lawns and narrow paths to small rustic outbuildings haphazardly scattered back against the trees. A few dim bulbs on poles showed the paths and the driveway, and made clear and startling the big white, templelike building that dominated the center of the broad lawns.

They called it a shrine and it looked like a pillared temple, with softly lighted windows and a wide flag-stone terrace all around. Our headlights picked out several figures on the terrace clad in the flowing white togas.

Paige turned the big car into a narrow side drive that skirted the trees and the small outbuildings. We stopped before one of the small buildings.

“You will live here, Brother,” Paige said, getting out.

Not so bad. It was a snug little cabin built of peeled cedar logs, with screened windows, flower beds and a trellised vine.

“Is Father Orion here?” I wanted to know doubtfully.

“Father Orion,” Paige said as he entered the cabin and switched on a light, “is now supervising the Evening Circle of Felicity. After you change into your robe and sandals, I’ll take you into the Circle.”

“Robe?” says I, eyeing the white garment Paige took from a hook and tossed on a narrow bed.

“I’ll change also and come back for you,” Paige nodded.

“B-but I’m dressed,” I protested weakly.

Paige was stern. “Father Orion only sees those who put aside all things of the world. I’ll return in fifteen minutes, Brother.”

He drove off and under my breath I damned Lew Ryster again. Mike Harris in one of those Roman nightgowns! If someone I knew ever caught me out in that harness I’d never live it down.