Part 11 (1/2)

The killer's head snapped up at mention of the Corps, and he stared harder and more suspiciously than ever into Hanlon's eyes.

”... They said I cheated at exams, and wouldn't give me a chance to defend myself,” Hanlon continued quickly, but with heat. ”That soured me on 'em, but good! So I says to myself, blast John Law! From now on I'm on the other side. Anything he's after must be worth plenty to any guy who can outsmart him. Knowing his side of it and how he works, I figure I'm just that good!”

He said all this with such a deadly serious voice, that although it was bravado Panek could see it was also confidence. Hanlon had figured this straight-forwardness was his best bet. Tell his side of it first, for if he got in with them--or any gang--they would be sure to check, and would find out he had been a cadet, anyway. ”Beat 'em to the punch before they form any contrariwise conclusions,” was his judgment.

His plan seemed to be working, for as his explanation continued and was completed the killer looked at him with some measure of respect, although his eyes and manner were still filled with suspicion.

”Can't blame you for feeling sore, can't blame you, if they really did kick you out. But I don't trust n.o.body that's ever had any connection at all with the cops, don't trust 'em!”

”Look, Pal, use your head! If I was a John Law would I merely have stopped you? I'd be arresting you--or killing you for pulling that knife on me. I tell you I'm clean--and that I want an 'in' on Simonides.”

”I heard, too, there was good pickings on Sime,” the man said slowly.

”'Course, I'm not in on anything special, myself, not in on it. This here's a purely personal grudge deal. But you prob'ly did me a good turn, a good turn, and if you want to look me up after we land, I maybe could introduce you to a man or two. I didn't know old Abrams carried one of them needlers, didn't know that.”

The thanks in his gruff voice showed his respect for those silent, deadly little guns.

That name--Abrams--rang a bell in Hanlon's mind, though he quickly decided he'd better let it lie for the moment--file it away for future investigation.

He smiled in comradely fas.h.i.+on. ”The way you were walking into it made me sure you didn't know. And thanks. Maybe I will look you up. I don't know anyone on Simonides, and it doesn't hurt to have a friend or three.

Where do I find you there?”

”Evenings I'm often at the Bacchus Tavern. And,” with a sinister grimace, ”if you come, you'd better pray that '_he_' likes you, you'd sure better!”

Chapter 9

SS man George Hanlon went slowly back to his room where he could think seriously without the outside abstractions he would be sure to encounter in any of the public rooms.

He had made a good bid, he thought, for contact with what he felt sure must be the group he wanted to get in with. Hanlon felt Panek's statement that he, personally, was not in on it, was just so much hog-wash. That last crack about ”you'd better pray that 'he' likes you,”

was almost sure proof.

But what did it mean? Who was this ”he,” and why had Hanlon better pray ”he” liked him? Probably the leader ... and if so, undoubtedly a dangerous man to play around with. Hanlon remembered the fear of his boss he'd read in Panek's mind.

Also, what about Abrams? Hanlon felt sure it was the same man he had guarded that day. Oh, oh, was that ”failure” he had also read in Panek's mind that unsuccessful attempt he, Hanlon, had thwarted? Was Panek--and through him this as-yet-unmet leader--behind that attempt on Abrams'

life?

These were questions he could not answer yet--not enough data. But he would have to find the answers sometime. And once in Panek's gang, he might find them. And even if this particular gang was not the one doing the plotting in which the Corps was so interested, Hanlon felt that getting into even one of the organized gangs on Simonides would be a step in the right direction.

But he would have to watch his step. Those fellows would be about as safe to play with as a pitful of cobras. For a long moment he grew cold with fear; a deadly, paralyzing terror that twisted his vitals into hard, hard knots. What business did he have, mixing with mature, deadly killers such as these?

On the other hand, he consoled himself after awhile, being able to read their surface thoughts should warn him when he started getting out of line. Then, if or when he did, he would walk more softly, travel inch by inch, and not make any attempts to jump into the big middle of things until he got a lot more information ... and more experience in the ways and means of gangsterism.

But suddenly he felt that cold fear return. Those men were--must be--hard, trained killers all. This Panek was not even the boss--was just a gunny. And those higher-ups would be much worse than Panek--more ruthless and more contemptuous of human life and rights. They would have to be, to be the higher-ups. For Hanlon sensed that in such a group, Might very decidedly made Right ... and Power.

It took some time to quiet his shrieking nerves. Nor did he ever forget the awfulness of that fear that so nearly brought him down out of control. On the other hand, never again did he reach such depths of utter panic.

He finally rose, bathed and dressed for dinner. But during the meal his mind was in such a turmoil he had trouble keeping himself outwardly calm. For the first time in more years than he could remember he merely toyed with his food ... and he had always been a good trencher-man.

But he had something very important to do tonight, and he would let nothing keep him from it. So he went to the _h.e.l.lene's_ library and studied from such books on biology and physiology as he could find, all he could about the brain and the nerves that formed the connecting links between it and the muscles. He studied until the dimming of the lights told him that ”day” was over.