Alfred Bester - The Demolished Man

From the launch he called Monarch Tower. His secretary's face appeared on the screen.

"Any news of Hassop?" Reich asked.

"No, Mr. Reich. Not since you called from Spaceland."

"Give me Recreation."

The screen herring-boned and then disclosed the chrome lounge of Monarch. West, bearded and scholarly, was carefully binding sheets of typescript into plastic volumes. He looked up and grinned.

"Hello, Ben."

"Don't look so cheerful, Ellery," Reich growled. "Where the hell is Hassop? I thought you'd surely---"

"Not my problem any more, Ben."

"What are you talking about?"

West displayed the volumes. "Just finishing up my work. History of my career with Monarch Utilities & Resources for your files. Said career ended this morning at nine o'clock."

"What!"

"Yep. I warned you, Ben. The Guild's just ruled Monarch out of bounds for me. Company Espionage is unethical."

"Listen, Ellery, you can't quit now. I'm on a hook and I need you bad. Someone tried to booby-trap me on the ship this morning. I beat it by an eyelash. I've got to find out who it is. I need a peeper."

"Sorry, Ben."

"You don't have to work for Monarch, I'll put you under personal contract for private service. The same contract Breen has."

"Breen? A 2nd? The analyst?"

"Yes. My analyst."

"Not any more."

"What!"

West nodded. "The ruling came down today. No more exclusive practice. It limits the service of peepers. We've got to be dedicated to the most good for the most people. You've lost Breen."

"It's Powell!" Reich shouted. "Using every dirty peeper trick he can dig out of the slime to bitch me. He's trying to nail me to the D'Courtney cross, the sneaking peeper! He---"

"Sign off, Ben. Powell had nothing to do with it. Let's break it off friendly, eh? We've always kept it pleasant. Let's break it pleasant. What do you say?"

"I say go to hell!" Reich roared and cut the connection. To the launch pilot he said in the same tone:

"Take me home!"

Reich burst into his penthouse apartment, once again awakening the hearts of his staff to terror and hatred. He hurled his traveling case at his valet and went immediately to Breens' suite. It was empty. A crisp note on the desk repeated the information West had already given him. Reich strode to his own rooms, went to the phone and dialed Gus Tate. The screen cleared and displayed a sign:

SERVICE PERMANENTLY DISCONTINUED

Reich stared, broke the connection and dialed Jerry Church. The screen cleared and displayed a sign:

SERVICE PERMANENTLY DISCONTINUED

Reich snapped the contact key up, paced around the study uncertainly, then went to the shimmer of light in the corner that was his safe. He switched the safe into temporal phase, revealing the honeycomb paper rack, and reached for the small red envelope in the upper left-hand pigeon hole. As he touched the envelope he heard the faint click. He doubled up and spun away, his face buried in his arms.

There was a blinding flash of light and a heavy explosion. Something brutal punched Reich in the left side, hurled him across the study and slammed him against the wall. Then a hail of debris followed. He struggled to his feet, bellowing in bewilderment and fury, stripping the ripped clothes from his left side to examine the state of his body. He was badly slashed, and a particularly excruciating pain indicated at least one broken rib.

He heard his staff come running down the corridor and roared: "Keep out! You hear me? Keep out! All of you!"

He stumbled through the wreckage and began sorting over the remains of his safe. He found the neuron scrambler he had taken from Chooka Frood's red-eyed woman. He found the malignant steel flower that was the knife-pistol that had killed D'Courtney. It still contained four unfired shells loaded with water and sealed with gel. He thrust both into the pocket of a new jacket, got a fresh cartridge of Detonation Bulbs from his desk, and tore out of the room, ignoring the servants who stared at him in astonishment.

Reich swore feverishly all the way down from the tower apartment to the cellar garage where he deposited his private Jumper key in the Call slot and waited for the little car. When it came out of storage with the key in the door, another tenant was approaching and even at a distance was staring. Reich turned the key and yanked open the door to jump in. There was a low pressure Rrrrrrip. Reich hurled himself to the ground. The Jumper tank exploded. By some freak, it failed to burst into flame. It erupted a shattering geyser of raw fuel and fragments of twisting metal. Reich crawled frantically, reached the exit ramp, and ran for his life.

On the street level, torn, bleeding, rank with creosote fuel, he searched frantically for a Public Jumper. He couldn't find a coin-Jumper. He managed to flag a piloted machine.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Reich dabbed dazedly at the blood and oil that smeared him. "Chooka

Frood!" he croaked in a hysterical voice. The cab hopped him to 99 Bastion West. Reich thrust past the protesting doorman, the indignant reception

clerk, and Chooka Frood's highly paid charg? d'affaires to the private office, a Victorian room furnished with stained glass lamps, overstuffed sofas and a roll-top desk. Chooka was seated at the desk, wearing a dingy smock and a dingy expression that changed to alarm when Reich yanked the scrambler out of his pocket.

"For God's sake, Reich!" she exclaimed.

"Here I am, Chooka," he said hoarsely. "So let's have the trail run

before we feed it to the dice. I used this scrambler on you once before.

I'm warmed up for it again. You warmed me up, Chooka."

She shot up from the desk and screamed: "Magda!"

Reich caught her by the arm and hurled her across the office. She side-swiped the couch and fell across it. The red-eyed bodyguard came running into the office. Reich was ready for her. He clubbed her across the back of the neck, and as she fell forward, he ground his heel into her back and slammed her flat on the floor. The woman twisted and clawed at his leg. Ignoring her he spat at Chooka: "Let's get it squared off. Why the booby-traps?"

"What are you talking about?" Chooka cried.

"What the hell do I look like I'm talking about. Read the blood, lady. I've skinned out of three obituaries running. How long can my luck hold out?"

"Make sense, Reich! I can't---"

"I'm talking about the big D, Chooka, D for death. I came in here and strong-armed the D'Courtney girl out of you. I beat hell out of your girl-friend and I beat hell out of you. So you got frabbed off and set those traps. Right?"

Chooka shook her head dazedly.

"Three of them so far. On the ship coming back from Spaceland. In my study. In my Jumper. How many more, Chooka?"

"It wasn't me, Reich. So help me. I---"

"It has to be you, Chooka. You're the only one with a gripe and the only one who hires gimpsters. That adds up to you, so let's get it squared off." He slapped the safety off the scrambler. "Ive got no time for a two-bit hater with coffin-queer friends."

"For God's sake!" Chooka screamed. "What the hell have I got against you? So you rough-housed a little. So you mugged Magda. You wasn't the first. You ain't gonna be the last. Use your head!"

"I used it. If it isn't you, who else?"

"Keno Quizzard. He hires gimpsters too. I heard you and him---"

"Quizzard's out. Quizzard's dead. Who else?"

"Church."

"He hasn't got the guts. If he had he would have tried it ten years ago. Who else?"

"How do I know? There's hundreds hate you enough."

"There's thousands, but who could get into my safe? Who could break a phase combination and---"

"Maybe nobody broke into your safe. Maybe somebody broke into your head and peeped the combination. Maybe---"