“Yes,” Scott said. “And he’s all set up. He’s got his field, his incoming rockets, his route–he must have taken over Stein–”
“Don’t talk any further,” Arnie interrupted. “Come on over here right away.”
“Will do.” The phone clicked as Scott rang off.
How do you like that, Arnie said to himself. Just as I’m getting good and started, some bugger horns in. And I mean, I didn’t even want to get into this black-market business in the first place–why didn’t this guy tell me he wanted to take over where Steiner left off? But it’s too late now; I’m in it, and nobody’s going to force me out.
Half an hour later Scott appeared at the door, agitated; he paced about Arnie Kott’s living room, eating hors d’oeuvres and talking away at a great rate. “He’s a real pro, this guy; must have been in the business before sometime–he’s already gone all over Mars, to practically everybody, including isolated houses way out in the goddamn fringes, to those housewives out there who only buy maybe one jar of something; so he’s leaving no stone unturned. There won’t be any room for us, and we’re just barely beginning to get our operation moving. This guy, let’s face it, is running rings around us.”
“I see,” Arnie said, rubbing the bald part of his scalp.
“We’ve got to do something, Arnie.”
“Do you know where his base of operations is?”
“No, but it’s probably in the F.D.R. Mountains; that’s where Norb Steiner had his field. We’ll look there first.” In his memo book, Scott made a note of that.
“Find his field,” Arnie said, “and let me know. And I’ll have a Lewistown police ship out there.”
“Then he’ll know who’s against him.”
“That’s correct. I want him to know it’s Arnie Kott he’s got to contend with and not no ordinary opposition. I’ll have the police ship drop a tactical A-bomb or some other minor demolition type of weapon and put an end to his field. So the bugger will see we’re genuinely sore at him for his effrontery. And that’s what it is, him coming in and competing against me, when I didn’t even want to get into this business! It’s bad enough without him making it harder.”
In his memo book, Scott made notes of all that: _him making it even harder, etc_.
“You get me the location,” Arnie concluded, “and I’ll see that he’s taken care of. I won’t have the police get him, just his equipment; we don’t want to find ourselves in trouble with the UN. I’m sure this’ll blow over right away. Just one guy, do you think? It’s not for instance a big outfit from Home?”
“The story I get is it’s definitely one guy.”
“Fine,” Arnie said, and sent Scott off. The door shut after him and once more Arnie Kott was alone in his living room, while his tame Bleekman puttered in the kitchen.
“How’s the bouillabaisse coming?” Arnie called in to him.
“Fine, Mister,” Heliogabalus said. “May I inquire who is to come this evening to eat all this?” At the stove he toiled surrounded by several kinds of fish, plus many herbs and spices.
Arnie said, “It’ll be Jack Bohlen, Doreen Anderton and some autistic child Jack’s working with that Dr. Glaub recommended . . . Norb Steiner’s son.”
“Low types all,” Heliogabalus murmured.
Well, same to you, Arnie thought. “Just fix the food right,” he said with irritation; he shut the kitchen door and returned to the living room. You black bastard, you got me into this, he thought to himself; it was you and your prognosticating stone that gave me the idea. And it better have worked out, because I got everything riding on it. And in addition–.
The door chimes sounded over the music from the speakers.
Opening the front door, Arnie found himself facing Doreen; she smiled warmly at him, as she entered the living room on high heels, a fur around her shoulders. “Hi. What smells so good?”
“Some darn fish thing.” Arnie took her wrap; removed, it left her shoulders smooth, tanned and faintly freckled, bare. “No,” he said at once, “this isn’t that kind of evening; this is business. You go in and put on a decent blouse.” He steered her to the bedroom. “Next time.”
As he stood in the bedroom doorway watching her change he thought, What a terrific high-type looking woman I got, here. As she carefully laid her strapless gown out on the bed he thought, I gave her that. He recalled the model at the department store appearing wearing it. But Doreen looked a lot better; she had all that flaming red hair that plunged down the back of her neck like a drizzle of fire.
“Arnie,” she said, turning to face him as she buttoned her blouse up, “you go easy on Jack Bohlen tonight.”
“Aw hell,” he protested, “whadya mean? All I want from good old Jack is results; I mean, he’s had long enough– time’s run out!”
Doreen repeated, “Go easy, Arnie. Or I’ll never forgive you.,’
Grumbling, he walked away, to the sideboard in the living room, and began fixing her a drink. “What’ll you have? I got a bottle of this ten-year-old Irish whisky; it’s O.K.”
“I’ll have that, then,” Doreen said, emerging from the bedroom. She seated herself on the couch and smoothed her skirt over her crossed knees.
“You look good in anything,” Arnie said.
“Thank you.”
“Listen, what you’re doing with Bohlen has my sanction, of course, as you know. But it’s all on the surface, what you’re doing; right? Deep inside you’re saving yourself for me.”
Quizzically, Doreen said, “What do you refer to by ‘deep inside’?” She eyed him until he laughed. “Watch it,” she said. “Yes, of course I’m yours, Arnie. Everything here in Lewistown is yours, even the bricks and straw. Every time I pour a little water down the kitchen drain I think of you.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the totem god of wasted water.” She smiled at him. “It’s a little joke, that’s all; I was thinking about your steam bath with all its run-off.”
“Yeah,” Arnie said. “Remember that time you and I went there late at night, and I unlocked it with my key, and we went in, like a couple of bad kids . . . sneaked in, turned on the hot water showers until the whole place was nothing but steam. And then we took off our clothes–we really must have been drinking–and we ran all around naked in the steam, hiding from each other. . . . ” He grinned. “And I caught you, too, right there where that bench is where the masseuse pounds on you to flatten your ass out. And we sure had fun there on that bench.”
“Very primordial,” Doreen said, recalling.
“I felt like I was nineteen again that night,” Arnie said. “I really am young, for an old guy–I mean, I got a lot left to me, if you know what I mean.” He paced about the room. “When is that Bohlen going to get here, for chrissakes?”
The telephone rang.
“Mister,” Heliogabalus called from the kitchen. “I am unable to attend to that; I must ask you to get it.”
To Doreen, Arnie said, “If it’s Bohlen calling to say he can’t make it–” He made a dour, throat-cutting motion and picked up the receiver.
“Arnie,” a man’s voice came. “Sorry to bother you; this is Dr. Glaub.”
Relieved, Arnie said, “Hi, Doc Glaub.” To Doreen he said, “It’s not Bohlen.”
Dr. Glaub said, “Arnie, I know you’re expecting Jack Bohlen tonight–he’s not there yet, is he?”
“Naw.”
Hesitating, Glaub said, “Arnie, I happen to have spent some time with Jack today, and although–”
“What’s the matter, has he had a schizophrenic seizure?” With acute intuition, Arnie knew it was so; that was the point of the doctor’s call. “O.K.” Arnie said, “he’s under a strain, under the pressure of time; granted. But so are we all. I gotta disappoint you if you want me to excuse him like some kid who’s too sick to go to school. I can’t do that. Bohlen knew what he was getting into. If he doesn’t have any results to show me tonight, I’ll fix him so he never repairs another toaster on Mars the rest of his life.”
Dr. Glaub was silent and then he said, “It’s people like you with your harsh driving demands that create schizophrenics.”
“So what? I’ve got standards; he’s got to meet them; that’s all. Very high standards, I know that.”
“So does he have high standards.”
Arnie said, “Not as high as mine. Well, you got anything else to say, Doc Glaub?”
“No,” Glaub said. “Except that–” His voice shook. “Nothing else. Thanks for your time.”
“Thanks for calling.” Arnie hung up. “That gutless wonder; he’s too cowardly to say what he was thinking.” Disgustedly, he walked away from the phone. “Afraid to stick up for what he believes in; I got nothing but contempt for him. Why’d he call if he’s got no guts?”