Modus Vivendi Page 5

sawthe bottle and asked me a question. I threw some of the Pinch Bottleover ice and handed it to him, taking mine neat.

  "Here's to crime," he said, sipping the liquor. "What happened?"

  I poked a finger at my favorite easy-chair, which Passarelli took. Istood in front of him, still holding my drink. "I got myself in ajam."

  "You're talking to the wrong man," he said coldly. "Get yourself alawyer--a _good_ Lawyer."

  "You're in it with me, Passarelli."

  "Never met you," he said, getting up. "Thanks for the drink." Hestarted for the door.

  "That witch has the Stigma after all," I said to his back. Thatstopped him. He came back and poked his angry face into mine.

  "You had her tested?"

  "Professor Lindstrom, at Columbia," I told him. "She is slick as awhistle. Lindstrom fell for her yarn that it was sleight of hand--butit was HC. I'd have sworn it didn't exist."

  "Well," he said. "Well, well. All right, Maragon. What's the jamyou're in?"

  "You suggested I should represent her, and I'm going to. But with theStigma? That's more than I bargained for. You know no reputableattorney can afford to represent a Psi. Not if he wants any Normalbusiness. Too much feeling."

  "Going to duck out on her?"

  "Damned if I'll welch!" I said, more hotly than I had meant to. "Yousure don't seem very shaken up by the news."

  "It's not any news to me," Passarelli said tightly. "You forget thatI've had first-hand experience with that little lady. She gave me thebusiness right in my courtroom. I'm no credulous egghead likeLindstrom. I know the difference between sleight of hand and anhallucination. She made me see just what she wanted me to see."

  "Now you know why I think you're in the same jam, Judge," I said."You'll look great running for office, with your opposition tellingthe public how a Psi foozled your vision. They'll stomp on the loudpedal about how you let her get away with it and wangle a 'Not Guilty'verdict when she was guilty as sin."

  "Yes," he agreed. "It's a hot potato, all right."

  "There's just one out," I insisted. "That girl would have maderestitution long ago if the Bank would have permitted it. And I'vebeen asking myself how come--why should the Bank get sniffy and notwant its money back?" That was the right question. He went back to theeasy-chair and sat down. His eyes came up to meet mine, and then heheld out his glass. I splashed some more Pinch in it.

  "Politics, politics," he mourned. "The social workers are after me onthis thing. They _want_ that girl to be in a jam. They've asked me towork on the Bank, asked that I make sure restitution can't be made.They want the threat of a Federal indictment to hang over her head."

  "Why?"

  "So she'll agree to my committing her to their care. You know whatthey try to do--it's the doctrine of sterilization. Remove young Psisfrom the Psi society--cut them loose from their natural contacts,force them to quit using their powers. It's the same technique theyuse on narcotic violators, if they aren't too deeply committed todrugs."

  "And you are really resisting that?"

  "Wouldn't you? Of course I had to tell the Bank to refuse restitution.But do you think Psi is a sickness, like narcotic addiction? Nonsense.Telepathy is no more sickness than the ability to discriminate colors,or hear the tones of a scale. This is equivalent to the color-blindand tone-deaf asking that the rest of us stop perceiving color orhearing the pitch of sound. Ridiculous."

  "What is the cure?"

  "We could argue all night," he said wearily. Then my buzzer sounded."Expecting anybody else?" he said, alarmed in an instant.

  "I can't think of anybody I'd like to find out that you were here," Isaid. "Get out of sight." He carried his drink into my bedroom.

  * * * * *

  Mike Renner was at the door. For a fat-faced bookkeeper with a lawdegree, he looked pretty grim and formidable.

  "You rotten double-crosser," he greeted me. I was the darling ofpractically everybody in New York that night.

  "It happens every time. Now what do you want, Renner?"

  "To break your neck," he said. "You have found that Psi, Mary Hall,and you haven't turned her over to Dunn. That's a dirty double--"

  "With good reason," I cut in on him. "Do we both have to be idiots?I've just finished having the girl tested. She hasn't got the Stigma,Mike. Dunn will look like a fool trying to pin anything on theJudge."

  "That's not our business. Our fee depends on giving her to Dunn!" Heshook a fist in my face when he said that. He just doesn't look thepart.

  "And the reputation of our firm can very well depend on mysuccessfully representing her, and proving that she hasn't got theStigma."

  "You don't honestly mean you're going to represent that Psi!"

  "I just _told_ you she hasn't got the Stigma!"

  "You are a rotten lair," Renner said, getting dangerously red in theface. "What kind of games are you playing with Passarelli? What has_he_ got to do with the reputation of our firm? Don't try to lie," hesaid sharply. "I know he's here. He's been tailed all night."

  That was enough for Passarelli. He came out of the bedroom and walkedup to Renner. "Forgive me for saying this, Renner," he said. "But Ijust hope you have a case in my court. I'll find some way to pin oneof your slippery tax frauds to you!"

  Renner grew pale. He's conditioned to toady to judges. He didn't havethe guts to answer Passarelli, and took it out on me, instead. "Ourpartnership is dissolved, as of right now," he seethed. He draggedsome money out of his pocket and threw it on the rug. "There's yourshare of the rent. I'm throwing your stuff out in the hall in themorning. The auditors will be there at nine o'clock for an accounting.You won't need that address any longer--only reputable people come toour building." He stormed out.

  Passarelli and I faced each other in silence. "Jerk!" I raged at himat last. "You couldn't check to see if you were being followed!"

  "I regret that," he said. "But you invited me."

  "Don't remind me," I snarled. "What now?"

  "I don't know about you," Passarelli said. "But I'm going to startlooking out for myself. You're too tricky, Maragon."

  "And I suppose you think it's time I ditched Mary Hall, eh?"

  "What for?" he said mildly. "You're just one more Criminal Courtshyster now--Renner gave you the heave-ho. You might as well defendher, even if I can't work with you."

  I could feel my belly tighten with rage. "I thought you'd welcome areputable attorney who would represent Psis," I reminded him.

  "Yes, I suppose I would. Very much."

  "All of a sudden I'm not reputable?"

  "Reputable?" he sneered. "You've been on every side of this thing.Would you like to explain why you told Renner one thing and meanother?"

  "Same reason you've been going through some contortionsyourself--trying to save my profession and occupation."

  "Too tricky for me," Passarelli said.

  I measured him with my eyes. "That's not the reason you're walking outof here. What's bugging you?"

  "Reading my mind?" he said coldly. It wasn't the first time I'd beenaccused of it. "But you're right. You lied to me."

  "To you? Not so."

  "Oh, yes. How do you know that Mary Hall used HC on you in Lindstrom'slaboratory? Nothing but Psi could detect that. You had a TK there withyou. Admit it."

  "Never," I said. "How did you spot it in your courtroom? If I needed aTK, so did you. What about that?"

  "That was different," he argued. "I had the--"

  "Nuts," I told him. "Just because I have made as much of a study ofPsi as you have, don't blackball me. You going to act the same way ifI decide to specialize in Stigma cases?"

  "Are you going to?"

  "What else is left? I'll never get Normal trade after Renner finisheswith me. I come back to it: A reputable attorney representing Psis."

  Passarelli paused with his hand on the door. "It would have someinterest, I guess," he conceded, "if I thought for a moment you couldguarantee the behavior of your clients. But no Normal can, M
aragon.That's the curse of the Logan Stigma. Normals are panicked by it. Lookat the Bar Association and all the trouble