“For fifty, sure!” he glowed. “Want me to watch the kid?”
“No,” she said shortly.
The giant nodded, his eyes dark. “You know what you’re doing, lady. It’ll be-rough on her. Can I have the fifty now?
It’ll fake two, three days to get the stuff. Ten bucks for the kid wbo does the running. / can’t miss this rain.”
Norvell counted out fifty dollars and handed them over. “Okay!” Shep boomed happily. “We’ll get my crimson lake out of the way, then registration.”
They walked through the driving rain to a tumbledown building guarded by a ratfaced boy of twelve. Shep told him cryptically, “Got a message for Monmouth.”
The boy raised his head and hooted mournfully, “Wa-wa-wa-wa-wabbit twacks!”
Norvell blinked his eyes. Kids! Everywhere. From nowhere. Ratfaced, gimlet-eyed, appearing from the rainshroud, silently and suddenly before him as though they had condensed out of the watery air.
Shep told them, “Like last time, but with crimson lake too. Got it?”
A haggard girl of perhaps thirteen said dispassionately, “Cack like last time. The Goddams joined up with the Goer-ing Grenadiers. It’ll be a busted-bottle job getting through the West Side.”
Shep said, “I’m in a hurry, Lana. Can you do it or can’t you?”
She mildly told him, “Who said ‘can’t,’ you or me? I said it’d be a busted-bottle job.”
The ratfaced twelve-year-old said sullenly, “Not me. They know I was the one got Stinkfoot’s kid brother. Besides——”
“Shut your mouth about Stinkfoot’s kid brother,” Lana blazed. “You stay here; 111 talk to you when I get back.” The boy cowered away. Lana called to the kids, “Bwuther wab-bits, inspection harms!”
Jagged glass edges flashed. Norvell swallowed at what they implied.
“Good kids,” Shep cried, and handed Lana the fifty dollars.
“Wa-wa-wa-wa-wabbit twacks!” She hooted mournfully, and the kids were gone, vanished back into the shrouding rain.
Norvell swallowed his questions, trudging after Shep through the floods. He had learned that much, at least.
The Resident Commissioner lived hi an ordinary house, to Norvell’s surprise. He had expected the man who was responsible for the allowances of thousands of people to be living
in a G.M.L.; certainly Ms rank entitled him to one. There were only twenty commissioners scattered through Belly Rave.
Then Norvell saw the Resident Commissioner. He was a dreary old hack; he told Norvell dimly, “Carry your cards at all times. Be sure and impress that on your wife and the little girl. There’s all kinds of work to getting duplicate cards, and you might go hungry for a week before they come through if you lose these. As head of the family you get a triple ration, and there’s a separate one for the wife. Is the little girl a heavy eater?”
Norvell guessed so. He nodded vaguely.
“Well, we’ll give her an adult ration then. Lord knows there’s no shortage of food. Let’s see, we’ll make your hours of reporting on Wednesdays, between three and five. It’s important to keep to your right hours, otherwise there’s likely to be a big rush here sometimes, and nobody at all others. Is all that pretty clear? You’ll find that it’s mostly better to travel in groups when you come down for your allowance. Shep can tell you about that It—it prevents trouble. We don’t want any trouble here.” He tried to look stern. And pathetically added, “Please don’t make trouble in my district. There are nineteen others, aren’t there?”
He consulted a checklist, whispering to himself. “Oh. Your ration cards entitle you and the whole family to bleacher seats at all bouts and Field Days.” Norvell’s heart was torn by the words. The rest was a blur. “Free transportation, of course
—hope you’ll avail yourself—no use to stay home and brood
—little blood clears the air—door always open——”
Outside in the rain Norvell asked Shep: “Is that all he
does?” Shep looked at him. “Is there something else to do?” He
swung around. “Let’s get some firewood.”
Chapter Twelve
As a disappearing act, it was a beaut.
Mundin tried everything. No Norma Lavin. Gone.-After Ryan’s phone call, the track was lost.
Mundin went first to the police, of course, and when he told them Norma Lavin was a Belly Raver they tried not to laugh right in his face.