Internal minister handy
Fritz LeiberThe Night of the Long Knives,Amz, Jan. TOM HERZOG Thomas M. Disch One November there had been seventy cases of hysteria, most of them ending in suicide, down in the city of Kharkov several hundred kilometers away, but Rogov was not sure that his own machine was doing it. It came to me yesterday, Arvin said, but I figured youd thought of it.” After we had knocked off work, one of us drove the jeep over to the workshop of a young Italian, who lived not far away, and who earned his living by providing and servicing band instruments for a number of high schools within a twenty-five-mile radius. Instruments that the schools had discarded—and public schools have gotten very particular about such things—he sold to the general public at very moderate prices. I had had occasion to take my trombone to him for repairs a couple of times, and found him both sympathetic to impoverished amateur musicians, and a conscientious craftsman. He loved his work—he had learned the trade as a boy, most of his family being involved with musical instruments in some capacity—but the rough treatment the instruments received from the school children caused him endless pain, however good it was for his business. There was no question but that Miss Luptik was about to give beyond the demands of tuition. But was I elsewhere in terms of date or of position, before or to the side, after or nearer? I was in that place where one finds oneself after having left time and space: the infinite eternal, Sir. And hugely, magnificently, the tiger moved into place. Quincannon My wife. We had a spat just before landing and off she went in a huff without telling me our exact destination. She handles all the details when we travel, you see. Thats her in the cab that just departed. Would you be so good as to follow? There’ll be an extra half-dollar in it for you. So the message had upset her, had it? A falling out among thieves? A double cross of some sort, such as Buffalo Coat laying claim to all or part of the loot? Titus Wrixton was a well-fed gent of some fifty years, with puffy muttonchop whiskers and florid features. His rather nervous manner, Quincannon judged, was not normal with him, but the result of whatever difficulty had led him to seek the services of a private investigator. Wrixtons attire, like his office, was conservative, his handshake brief and slightly moist. Fasts great dark eyes washed like tides at Patrick. "Thats not quite the right word. But perhaps the result is similar." Frenchy smiled at me— a real smile, not her usual tense grin. I smiled back. We sat on. No noise, no people, no grimy, cracked buildings, no cops. A pale sun was high in the sky. The birds cheeped. I took Frenchys hand. It felt strange, to be holding someones hand again. It was warm and dry. Her fingers gripped mine. I stared at the pale, pointed profile beside me, and the long, messy blonde hair. Then I looked at the field again. We started a second bar of chocolate. Frenchy yawned. The silence went on and on. And on and on. He sat down in his leather-upholstered easy chair, flipped openPlutarchs Lives left-handed, glanced down through the lower halves of his executive bifocals at the paragraph in the biography of Caesar hed been reading before dinner, then, without moving his head, looked through the upper halves back toward the kitchen. Home was where he went, by trolley car from Market Street to his bachelors flat on Leavenworth. He had neither reason nor inclination to remain downtown. Titus Wrixton would have long since left the Hotel Grant for his residence on Rincon Hill; a report to him could and would wait until tomorrow. Perhaps by then Quincannon would have divined at least a partial explanation for the night’s strange events and some definite idea of what to do next. Benson, I must have that animal! Put him in a box. Well, what do you think it was? said Filmore. He was prefacing most of his statements with well” now..
