The door crashed open and feet pounded on the floor.
Just inside the door stood Green Shirt and behind him, grinning fiendishly, his band of Caphians.
Green Shirt advanced upon them happily, with his arms flung wide in greeting. He stopped beside Hart’s chair and clapped a massive hand upon his shoulder.
“You recall me, don’t you?” he asked in slow and careful English.
“Sure,” Hart said, gulping. “Sure, I remember you. This is Miss Maret and over there is Mr. Hansen.”
Green Shirt said, with precise bookishness, “So happy, I assure you.”
“Have a seat,” said Jasper.
“Glad to,” said Green Shirt, hauling out a chair. His necklaces jingled musically as he sat down.
One of the other Caphians said something to him in a rapid-fire alien tongue. Green Shirt answered curtly and waved toward the door. The others marched outside.
“He is worried,” Green Shirt said. “We will slow – how do you say it – we will slow the ship. They cannot leave without us. But I tell him not to worry. The captain will be glad we slow the ship when he see what we bring back.”
He leaned forward and tapped Hart upon the knee. “I look for you,” he said. “I look high and wide.”
“Who is this joker?” Jasper asked.
“Joker?” asked Green Shirt, frowning.
“A term of great respect,” Hart hastily assured him. “So,” said Green Shirt. “You all write the stories?”
“Yes. All three of us.”
“But _you_ write them best.”
“I wouldn’t say that exactly. You see – ”
“You write the wild and woolly stories? The bang-bangs?”
“Yeah. I guess I’m guilty.”
Green Shirt looked apologetic. “Had I known, we would not from the tavern have thrown you out. It was just big fun. We did not know you write the stories. When we find out who you are we try to catch you. But you run and hide.”
“Just what is going on here, anyhow?” Angela demanded.
Green Shirt whooped for Blake.
“Set them up,” he shouted. “These are my friends. Set up the best you have.”
“The best I have,” Blake said icily, “is Irish whiskey and that costs a buck a shot.”
“I got the cash,” said Green Shirt. “You get this name I cannot say, and you will get your cash.”
He said to Hart, “I have a surprise for you, my friend. We love the writers of the bang-bangs. We read them _always_. We get much stimulation.”
Jasper guffawed.
Green Shirt swung about in amazement, his bushy brows contracting.
“He’s just happy,” Hart explained, quickly. “He likes Irish whiskey.”
“Fine,” said Green Shirt, beaming. “You drink all you wish. I will give the cash. It is – how do you say – on me.”
Blake brought the drinks and Green Shirt paid him.
“Bring the container,” he said.
“The container?”
“He means the bottle.”
“That’ll be twenty dollars,” said Blake.
“So,” said Green Shirt, paying him.
They drank the whiskey and Green Shirt said to Hart, “My surprise is that you come with us.”
“You mean in the ship?”
“We have never had a real live writer on our planet. You will have a good time. You will stay and write for us.
‘Well,” said Hart, “I’m not sure – ”
“You try to take the picture. The tavern man explain it all to us. He say it is against the law. He say if I complain it will come big trouble.”
“You can’t do it, Kemp,” protested Angela. “Don’t let this big hyena bluff you. _We’ll_ pay your fine.”
“We not complain,” said Green Shirt, gently. “We just with you mop up the condemned place.”
Blake brought the bottle and thumped it down in the center of the table. Green Shirt picked it up and filled their glasses to the brim.
“Drink up,” he said and set a fine example.
He drank and Green Shirt filled his glass again. Hart picked up his glass and twirled it in his fingers.
There had to be a way out of this mess, he told himself. It was absurd that this thundering barbarian from one of the farther suns should be able to walk into a bar and tell a man to come along with him.
However, there was no percentage in stirring up a fight – not with ten or eleven Caphians waiting just outside.
“I explain it to you,” said Green Shirt. “I try hard to explain it well so that you will – so that you will – ”
“Understand,” supplied Jasper Hansen.
“I thank you, Hansen man. So you will understand. We get the stories only shortly ago. Many of the other races got them long ago, but with us it is new and most wonderful. It takes us – how would you say – out of ourselves. We get many things from other stars, useful things, things to hold in the hand, things to see and use. But from you we get the going of far places, the doing of great deeds, the thinking of great thoughts.”
He filled the glasses all around again. “You understand?” Green Shirt asked. They nodded.
“And now we go.”
Hart rose slowly to his feet. “Kemp, you can’t!” screamed Angela. “You shut the mouth,” said Green Shirt.
Hart marched through the door and out into the street. The other Caphians oozed out of dark alleyways and surrounded him.
“Off we go,” said Green Shirt, happily. “It gives big time on Caph.”
Halfway to the river, Hart stopped in the middle of the street.
“I can’t do it,” he said.
“Can’t do what?” asked Green Shirt, prodding him along.
“I let you think,” said Hart, “that I was the man you wanted. I did it because I’d like to see your planet. But it isn’t fair. I’m not the man you want.”
“You write the bang-bangs, do you not? You think up the wild and woollies?”
“Certainly. But not really good ones. Mine aren’t the kind where you hang on every word. There’s another man who can do it better.”
“_This_ man we want,” said Green Shirt. “Can you tell us where to find him?”
“That’s easy. The other man at the table with us. The one who was so happy when you ordered whiskey.”
“You mean the Hansen man?”
“He is the one, exactly.”
“He write the bang-bangs good?”
“Much better than I do. He’s a genius at it.” Green Shirt was overcome with gratitude. He hugged Hart to him in an extravagant expression of good will.
“You fair,” he said. “You fine. It was nice of you to tell us.”
A window banged up in a house across the street and a man stuck his head out.
“If you guys don’t break it up,” he bellowed, “I’ll call the cops.”
“We shatter the peace,” sighed Green Shirt “It is a queer law you have.”
The window banged down again.
Green Shirt put a friendly hand upon Hart’s shoulder. “We love the wild and woollies,” he said gravely. “‘We want the very best. We thank you. We find this Hansen man.”
He turned around and loped back up the street, followed by his ruffians.
Hart stood on the corner and watched them go. He drew a deep breath and let it slowly out.
It had been easy, he told himself, once you got the angle. And it had been Jasper, actually, who had given him the angle. _Truth Is regarded as a universal constant_, Jasper had said. _We are the only liars._
It had turned out tough on Jasper – a downright dirty trick. But the guy wanted to go on vacation, didn’t he? And here was the prospect of a travel jaunt which would be really worthwhile. He’d refused the use of his machine and he had guffawed insultingly when Green Shirt had asked about the wild and woollies. If ever a guy had it coming to him, Jasper Hansen was that guy.
And above and beyond all that, he always kept his door locked – which showed a contemptible suspicion of his fellow writers.
Hart swung about and walked rapidly away in an opposite direction. Eventually he’d go back home, he told himself. But not right now. Later on he’d go, when the dust had settled slightly.
It was dawn when Hart climbed the stairs to the seventh floor and went down the corridor to Jasper Hansen’s door. The door was locked as usual. But he took out of his pockets a thin piece of spring steel he’d picked up in a junkyard and did some judicious prying. In the matter of seconds, the lock clicked back and the door swung open.
The yarner squatted in its corner, a bright and lovely sight.
Jiggered up, Jasper had affirmed. If someone else ever tried to use it, it would very likely burn out or kill him. But that had been just talk, just cover-up for his pig-headed selfishness.
Two weeks, Hart told himself. If he used his head he should be able to operate it without suspicion for at least two weeks. It would be easy. All he’d have to say was that Jasper had told him that he could borrow it any time he wished. And if he was any judge of character, Jasper would not be returning soon.