Alfred Bester - The Demolished Man

"Father!" she screamed. "For God's sake! Father!"

Reich's heart constricted. The girl ran toward him. He stepped forward to catch her. She stopped short, backed away, then darted to the left and ran in a half circle, screaming wildly, her eyes fixed.

"No!" she cried. "No! For the love of Christ! Father!"

Reich pivoted and clutched at the girl. This time he caught her while she fought and screamed. Reich was shouting too. The girl suddenly stiffened and clutched her ears. Reich was back in the Orchid Suite. He heard the explosion and saw the blood and brains gout out of the back of D'Courtney's head. He shook with galvanic spasms that forced him to release the girl. She fell forward to her knees and crawled across the floor. He saw her crouch over the waxen body.

Reich gasped for breath and beat his knuckles together painfully, fighting for control. When the roaring in his ears subsided, he propelled himself toward Barbara, trying to arrange his thoughts and make split-second alterations in his plans. He had never counted on a witness. God damn Powell. He would have to kill the girl. Could he arrange a double-murder in the---No. Not murder. Booby-trap. Damn Gus Tate. Wait. He wasn't in Beaumont House. He was... in...

"Thirty-three Hudson Ramp," Powell said from the front door.

Reich jerked around, crouched automatically and whipped the scrambler up under his left elbow as Quizzard's killers had taught him.

Powell side-stepped. "Don't try it," he said sharply.

"You son of a bitch," Reich shouted. He wheeled on Powell who had already crossed him up and again stepped out of the line of fire. "You god damned peeper! You lousy, sleazy, son of a ---"

Powell faked to the left, reversed, closed with Reich and delivered a six-inch jab to the ulnar nerve complex. The scrambler fell to the floor. Reich clinched; punching, clawing, butting, swearing hysterically. Powell hit him with three lightning blows, nape, navel, and groin. The effect was that of a full spinal block. Reich crashed to the floor, retching, blood streaming from his nose.

"Brother, you think only you know how to gut fight," Powell grunted. He went to Barbara D'Courtney, who still knelt on the floor, and raised her.

"All right, Barbara?" he said.

"Hello, Papa. I had a bad dream."

"I know, baby. I had to give it to you. It was an experiment on that big oaf."

"Gimme a kiss."

He kissed her forehead. "You're growing up fast," he smiled. "You were just baby-talking yesterday."

"I'm growing up because you promised to wait for me."

"It's a promise, Barbara. Can you go upstairs by yourself or do you have to be carried... like yesterday?"

"I can go all by own self."

"All right, baby. Go up to your room."

She went to the stairs, took a firm hold on the bannister and climbed up. Just before she reached the top, she darted a glance at Reich and stuck her tongue out. Then she disappeared. Powell crossed to Mary Noyes, removed the gag, checked her pulse, then made her comfortable on the lounge.

"First notch, eh?" he murmured to Reich. "Painful but she'll recover in an hour." He went back to Reich and stared down at him, anger darkening his drawn face. "I ought to pay you back for Mary; but what's the use? It wouldn't teach you anything. You poor bastard... you're just no damned good."

"Kill me!" Reich groaned. "Kill me or let me up and by Christ I'll kill you!"

Powell picked up the scrambler and cocked an eye at Reich. "Try flexing your muscles a little. Those blocks shouldn't last more than a few seconds..." He sat down with the scrambler in his lap. "You had a tough break. I wasn't out of the house five minutes when I realized Chooka's story was a phoney. You put her up to it, of course."

"You're the phoney!" Reich shouted. "You and your ethics and your high talk. You and your phoney god-dam---"

"She said the gun killed D'Courtney." Powell continued imperturbably. "It did, but no one knows what killed D'Courtney... except you and me. I turned around and came back. It was a long take. Almost too long. Try getting up now. You can't be that sick."

Reich struggled up, his breath hissing horribly. Suddenly he dipped into his pocket and brought out the cartridge of Detonation Bulbs. Powell arched back in the chair and kicked Reich in the chest with his heel. The cartridge went flying. Reich fell back and collapsed on a sofa.

"When will you people learn you can't surprise a peeper?" Powell said. He went to the cartridge and picked it up. "You're quite the arsenal today, aren't you? You're acting more like you're wanted dead or alive than like a free man. Notice I said free. Not innocent."

"Free how long?" Reich said through his teeth. "I never talked about innocence either. But free how long?"

"Forever. I had a perfect case against you. Every detail right. I checked that when I peeped you with Barbara just now I had every detail except one, and that one flaw blew my case out into deep space. You're a free man, Reich. We've closed your file."

Reich stared. "Closed the file?"

"Yep. No solution. I'm licked. You can disarm, Reich. Go about your business. No one's going to bother you."

"You're a liar! This is one of your peeper tricks. "You---"

"Nope. I'll lay it out for you. I know all about you... How much you bribed Gus Tate... What you promised Jerry Church... Where you located that Sardine Game... What you did with Wilson Jordan's Rhodopsin Caps... How you emptied those cartridges for an alibi and then turned them lethal again with a drop of water... So far a perfect chain of evidence. Method and Opportunity. But Motive was the flaw. The courts demand Objective Motive and I can't produce it. That sets you free."

"You liar!"

"Of course I could throw this breaking and entering with deadly intent at you... but it's too small a charge. Like shooting a popgun after you misfire with a cannon. You could probably beat it too. My only witnesses would be a peeper and a sick girl. I---"

"You liar," Reich growled. "You hypocrite. You lying peeper. Am I supposed to believe you? Am I supposed to listen to the rest of it? You had nothing, Powell. Nothing! I licked you on every point. That's why you're booby-trapping me. That's why you---" Reich broke off abruptly and beat his forehead. "And this is probably the biggest booby-trap of all. And I fell into it. What a damned fool I am. What a---"

"Shut up," Powell snapped. "When you rave like that I can't peep you. Now what's all this about booby-traps? Think it through." Reich uttered a ragged laugh. "As if you don't know... My stateroom on the liner... My gaffed safe... My Jumper..."

For almost a minute, Powell focussed on Reich, peeping, absorbing, digesting. Then his face began to pale and his respiration quicken. "My God!" he exclaimed. "My God!" He leaped to his feet and began pacing distractedly. "That's it... That explains it... And Old Man Mose was right. Passion motive, and we thought he was kittenish... And Barbara's Siamese Twin Image... And D'Courtney's guilt... No wonder Reich couldn't kill us at Chooka's... But--- the murder isn't important any more. It goes deeper. Far deeper. And it's dangerous... More than I ever dreamed." He stopped, turned and looked at Reich with blazing eyes.

"If I could kill you," he cried, "I'd twist your head off with my hands. I'd tear you apart and hang you on a Galacti Gallows, and the Universe would bless me. Do you know how dangerous you are? Does a plague know its peril? Is death conscious?"

Reich goggled at Powell in bewilderment. The Prefect shook his head impatiently. "Why ask you?" he muttered. "You don't know what I'm talking about. You'll never know." He went to a sideboard, selected two brandy ampules and popped them into Reich's mouth. Reich attempted to spit them out. Powell held his jaws shut.