Стюарт Стерлинг - The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

“So I noticed.”

“Look at them,” said Trixie. “They’re fanatical. They’ve turned their minds over to that old man.”

“How many of them had a mind to start with?”

“Scratch deep enough,” said Trixie, “and you’ll find that most of them have a bank account. They weren’t swept up out of the gutter to be loaded with Truth and Felicity.”

“Somebody has to pay for the overhead,” I said. “Look at me. I brought eight grand cash money along, and I’ve got more in a safe deposit box if I can ever recover from my attack of amnesia and think where it is.”

“Does Father Orion know about the money?” Trixie asked quickly.

“Sister, the Master — knows all!”

“I’m trying to be serious, Mike!”

“Eight grand is always serious,” I grinned. “What’s wrong with the Master?”

“I’m afraid of him,” Trixie said without hesitation. “Mike, these people believe in him!”

“Does Paige?”

“I don’t know.”

“Both of us are foggy then,” I admitted. “The more I see of all this, the less sure I am—” I broke off, staring across the patio, and whistled softly in amazement.

“Don’t mug,” I said under my breath. “But get a load of that thin fellow with the black hair moving along the wall over there? He was looking at us.”

“I knew talking to me this way was a fool stunt!” Trixie snapped.

“He’s easing up for a gab fest with Father Time,” I said. “Know him?”

“I’m not the local directory,” says Trixie nastily. “I’ve only been here a day myself.”

“He’s dropped some weight,” I said. “But four-five years ago in Philly he was a con-man just paroled. Eddy Voss was his name. Haggerty, who was in our Philadelphia office then, had helped send him up several years before.”

“Did he see you with Haggerty?”

“I wish I knew.”

“A stir-bird,” says Trixie under her breath. “And now he’s a crackpot with the rest of them. I don’t believe it.”

“They bait a mean hook around here for suckers, Baby.”

“Nuts,” says Trixie. “Do you see any more familiar faces?”

I was looking, and I was more uneasy about Voss than I let Trixie see. If he remembered me, what then? At the least I’d be tossed out on my ear. And I wondered what kind of dice he was throwing in this crowd.

“I can’t spot anyone else,” I told Trixie. “If you see Lew Ryster before I do, have him get Voss’ record since the parole.”

Trixie nodded.

“How did you crash the gate here?” I asked.

“I pretended I worked at the studio with Nancy Cudahy’s dead friend,” Trixie said wryly. “Nancy was loaded with Father Orion, and was telling me about him before we’d been together fifteen minutes. I asked for more. It wasn’t hard to get her to bring me here.”

“Where is the Cudahy girl?”

“Up there on the platform with Father Time,” says Trixie. “That lumpy brunette with too much weight.”

“That?” I said. “That worth two million bucks?”

“That,” Trixie said.

I decided: “For a million bucks and a pair of smoked glasses I’d take a chance on her myself. Is she as big a fool as I hear?”

“Not as big a fool as most men who’d do anything for a pretty face or a bank account,” Trixie said acidly. “She’s bad enough. Tutors, guardians, servants and guards have insulated her from a lot she ought to know. That dumb-looking face hasn’t helped her any. In a way I’m sorry for her.”

“Poor kid.”

“Like hell,” says Trixie. “Not with millions. And don’t make any passes at her. She tells me she’s secretly engaged.”

“Who’s the lucky speculator?”

“She wouldn’t say. It’s a great big breathless secret. What are you going to do now, Mike?”

“Keep away from you and keep my fingers crossed.”

“We’ll both be happy then!” Trixie snapped. “Keeping away from you is one of life’s pleasures!”

Trixie flounced away with a swirl of her white robe.

And I sat there trying to make two and two into five. How could you tie all this into a slick murder? The dead girl hadn’t been one of this bunch. Father Orion had a neat enough racket. Why should he want anyone killed? And to add a little frosting to the cake, why was Eddy Voss here?

Meanwhile I had eight grand inside my robe and Felicity all around. And as I got up from the couch, the woman in black came in out of the night.

I was near the entrance to that big roofless patio. I was one of the first who saw that her pale face was molded in tragedy. I think I was the first to sense that her spirit was feeding on inner fires of suffering.

“Here’s trouble, Mike!” I decided — and I drifted across the patio after her to see what would happen.

She wore the somber black of mourning. She was in her thirties, plain-looking, uninteresting. Probably like the others for she seemed to be at home here.

But now she stood out sharply from the rest of the gathering. She came in slowly, one hand clutching a black purse to her bosom. She traversed the long patio toward Father Orion with the same heavy steps.

Those who became aware of her stopped talking and watched as I was watching.

A few moved toward the dais after her as I did.

Father Orion saw her. He stood up, hesitated, and stepped slowly off the dais and waited for her.

By now most of the talk had died away. You could feel the quick tenseness, like the quiet before a storm. Eddy Voss left the side of the dais in a stealthy manner.

Father Orion toyed with his beard in that dreamy manner as the woman stopped before him. She did not speak loudly, but in the quiet her brittle voice sounded loud.

“He killed himself,” she said. “He killed himself after they took the last of his money and kept on threatening him. He’s dead. You know why he’s dead. No one but you could have known. I’ve come all the way back here to settle with you.”

Her voice gave no further warning. She was still talking when she snatched a gun from her black purse. The first blasting shot broke the tension.

Women screamed, men yelled. They fled in all directions and became a milling, helpless mob. And the woman stood there and emptied her gun at Father Orion.

I had leaped on a couch to see better. Her black-clad figure did not move as the small automatic in her hand blasted shots directly into Father Orion’s chest.

There wasn’t anything I could do. He didn’t have a chance. It wasn’t pretty to watch. A bloody execution never is particularly pretty.

Father Orion did not try to save himself. I saw it. He stood there with that big white beard over his chest and his arms half-lifted as if he might be blessing her while she poured bullets into his body.

The ripping roar of explosions was over in seconds. All the patio was in an uproar. And I stood frozen on a couch waiting for Father Orion to fall.

Eddy Voss dived in from one side, caught her gun hand and jerked her around to him. He hit her in the jaw. She dropped. And I jumped off the couch and pushed and shoved toward the spot.

Voss was trying to lift the woman’s limp figure when I reached them. I caught her feet to help. And once more froze as the unbelievable happened.

Father Orion had stepped back on the dais and lifted his arms. His big hooked nose and half-closed eyes, his bushy white beard and uplifted arms made him like a prophet out of the old books. His voice came in a dreamy, awesome boom above the panic and the noise.

“Peace! Peace, Brothers! The Truth lives. The Great Truth lives undying.”

A woman screamed. “It didn’t hurt him! Master, they can’t kill you!”

Guess who! Miss Two Million Bucks screamed that.