I WILL FEAR NO EVIL by Robert A. Heinlein

Alec Train said, “Brother Schmidt Joan Eunice honey, don’t you realize that it is unAmerican to talk that way about millions of dollars?”

She grinned at him. “Brother Alec, if I come out of this broke, I’ll bet you a million dollars that I can net a million dollars after taxes in the next five years, starting from scratch. Jake, will you back my bet? Since it calls for me starting broke?”

“Certainly.”

“Wait a minute!” Train protested. “I’m just a poor but honest lawyer. Will you make that bet fifty cents? Mac, will you lend me fifty cents?”

“Not without security. Joan Eunice, listen, please. I don’t doubt that you are willing to tackle the world broke. But I know in my heart that you are indeed Brother Johann Schmidt. . . who okayed a loan to me when I really needed it. Old Eata Bita Pi didn’t let me down. . . and I’m not going to let Brother Schmidt down.”

“Thank you, Brother Mac.”

Jake growled, “You f rat house aristocrats made me sick when I was in college and I don’t like it much better today. Judge, the only good reason for giving Joan Eunice a hand is because it’s the fair thing to do. Not because she—he—Okayed a loan years ago to some snot-nose fraternity brother.”

“Counselor, your point is well taken. I think I can truthfully say that I have never allowed fraternal bonds—including Shriner, which you and I are—to affect my behavior on the bench—”

“The hell it hasn’t, old buddy mine; you rule against me just for the hell of it. Ask anybody.”

“Even when I’ve been forced to instruct this Irishman in the finer points of the law. I would have helped in this matter in any case; both as a citizen and as a ward of the Court Joan Eunice is entitled to any help a court can offer in establishing her identity. But I confess that my emotions were aroused by a circumstance that I did not dream existed. Not that Joan Eunice is my fraternity brother—that is simply a pleasing coincidence—but that she—he at that time—gave me a hand when it mattered. Uh”—he stared at his glass—”no need to go into details. You know them, Joan Eunice?”

“Yes.”

“You can tell Jake later. Let me list the things I think are necessary in this case; both of you lawyers check me and I’m going to stick a fresh tape in this thing so that we can all have copies.” He turned to his clerk’s recording equipment. “That is I think I am going to. Damn! Excuse me, Joan Eunice. I wonder if Sperling has gone home.”

(Let’s look at that thing, dear.) “I’m ‘Brother Schmidt’ any time you feel like swearing, Judge. May I look at your recorder? It’s a bit like one I have at home.”

“Go ahead. I sometimes wish we still used shorthand reporters.”

“Thank you.” (How about, Eunice?) (It’s Betsy’s idiot baby sister, no huhu. You whistle Yankee Doodle or think about Judgie Wudgie and don’t bother me.) (Om Mani Padme Hum. Om Mani Padme Hum. Om Mani Padme—) (Got it, dearie.) “Recording with a fresh tape, Judge; set for three copies, and erase memory.”

McCampbell said, “I’m amazed every time I find someone who understands machinery.”

“I don’t, really. But Eunice Branca taught me to run one somewhat like yours.” (Boss, you’re learning how to lie—just tell the truth but not all of it.) (Honey girl, I invented that way of lying way back when your great-grandmother was a virgin.)

“First, Eunice Branca’s death must be established. As it was murder, we will assume extensive records with positive identification including fingerprints—and since they are police records, we must also assume that they are vulnerable to any determined and well-financed attempt to destroy or replace them. Then Mrs. Branca’s body must be followed into surgery and positive identification of the body again established at that point. Johann Schmidt’s body must also be followed to that point and positively identified just before surgery. Then we must be certain beyond any doubt that the brain was removed from the Schmidt body—Joan Eunice, this must be distressing to you. Would you like to retire to my washroom? There’s a couch in there.”