Part 5 (1/2)

”And you are really resisting that?”

”Wouldn't you? Of course I had to tell the Bank to refuse rest.i.tution.

But do you think Psi is a sickness, like narcotic addiction? Nonsense.

Telepathy is no more sickness than the ability to discriminate colors, or hear the tones of a scale. This is equivalent to the color-blind and tone-deaf asking that the rest of us stop perceiving color or hearing the pitch of sound. Ridiculous.”

”What is the cure?”

”We could argue all night,” he said wearily. Then my buzzer sounded.

”Expecting anybody else?” he said, alarmed in an instant.

”I can't think of anybody I'd like to find out that you were here,” I said. ”Get out of sight.” He carried his drink into my bedroom.

Mike Renner was at the door. For a fat-faced bookkeeper with a law degree, he looked pretty grim and formidable.

”You rotten double-crosser,” he greeted me. I was the darling of practically everybody in New York that night.

”It happens every time. Now what do you want, Renner?”

”To break your neck,” he said. ”You have found that Psi, Mary Hall, and you haven't turned her over to Dunn. That's a dirty double--”

”With good reason,” I cut in on him. ”Do we both have to be idiots?

I've just finished having the girl tested. She hasn't got the Stigma, Mike. Dunn will look like a fool trying to pin anything on the Judge.”

”That's not our business. Our fee depends on giving her to Dunn!” He shook a fist in my face when he said that. He just doesn't look the part.

”And the reputation of our firm can very well depend on my successfully representing her, and proving that she hasn't got the Stigma.”

”You don't honestly mean you're going to represent that Psi!”

”I just _told_ you she hasn't got the Stigma!”

”You are a rotten lair,” Renner said, getting dangerously red in the face. ”What kind of games are you playing with Pa.s.sarelli? What has _he_ got to do with the reputation of our firm? Don't try to lie,” he said sharply. ”I know he's here. He's been tailed all night.”

That was enough for Pa.s.sarelli. He came out of the bedroom and walked up to Renner. ”Forgive me for saying this, Renner,” he said. ”But I just hope you have a case in my court. I'll find some way to pin one of your slippery tax frauds to you!”

Renner grew pale. He's conditioned to toady to judges. He didn't have the guts to answer Pa.s.sarelli, and took it out on me, instead. ”Our partners.h.i.+p is dissolved, as of right now,” he seethed. He dragged some money out of his pocket and threw it on the rug. ”There's your share of the rent. I'm throwing your stuff out in the hall in the morning. The auditors will be there at nine o'clock for an accounting.

You won't need that address any longer--only reputable people come to our building.” He stormed out.

Pa.s.sarelli and I faced each other in silence. ”Jerk!” I raged at him at last. ”You couldn't check to see if you were being followed!”

”I regret that,” he said. ”But you invited me.”

”Don't remind me,” I snarled. ”What now?”

”I don't know about you,” Pa.s.sarelli said. ”But I'm going to start looking out for myself. You're too tricky, Maragon.”

”And I suppose you think it's time I ditched Mary Hall, eh?”