(eng) Michael G. Coney by Charisma

Author:Charisma [Charisma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Carter the doorman was surprised to see me; that much was obvious. Then the receptionist gave me the lifted eyebrows she generally reserves for those who wish to pay by personal cheque. Bascus examined a hunting print on the wall while I discussed the house count with the girl in what I hoped to be my doppelganger’s usual manner.

Then we trooped into the bar and Pablo and I ordered a scotch each, while Bascus, on duty, opted for a coke. William the bartender, looking embarrassed, drew me aside.

“You won’t mind paying cash for this round, will you, sir? Mr. Mellors’ orders, I’m afraid.”

I fumbled in my pockets and found I had come to World 6 without any money. I grinned at William. “That’s O.K.,” I reassured him. “Just keep track of it. We’ll be having several more. I’ll settle before I go.” Like hell I would … I wondered about the extent of my doppelganger’s dispute with Mellors. Unforgivable things must have been said.

Bascus drank his coke quickly and produced a Spoolette. “Now, Mr. Maine, I’d like you to tell me your movements today.”

“You mean since I woke up?”

“Maybe since about nine, this morning, when you had the argument with Mr. Mellors. Where is Mr. Mellors, by the way?”

“I really don’t know, officer,” I said, getting annoyed. Bascus, in whatever world he appears, has that effect on me. “And I don’t know anything about an argument, either. Who told you about it?”

Bascus smiled. “I always believe in being completely frank, Mr. Maine. It’s a characteristic of mine. One of my men told me; an alert young officer who will go far. You saw him, back at the boat. Apparently he uses your hotel frequently and is on friendly terms with the doorman—Carter, I understand the man’s name is. Now my man—whose name is Johnson, for your information—told me that Carter had overheard a discussion between you and Mr. Mellors this morning. A heated discussion during which your future was mentioned. To put it in Carter’s words, Mr. Mellors told you to, uh, get your ass out of here and take those freeloaders Blakesley and Orchard with you.”

“You never told me this, John,” Pablo said anxiously. “Is it true?”

I was on the spot. To add to my problems, the door swung open at that moment and Mellors appeared. He saw me, his eyes widened, and he strode angrily to the bar.

“I thought I told you to get the hell out, Maine!”

I looked from one man to the next, wondering what to say. Pablo was looking scared, waiting for Mellors to confirm that the boat deal was off. Bascus’ expression was guarded as he gazed absently at the liquor bottles on the back display, doubtless slightly disappointed to have concrete evidence that I had not slaughtered Mellors and embalmed him in fibreglass. Mellors looked pig-eyed and furious, waiting for me to reply.

I took a long drink of scotch and smiled at them all. If ever there was a suitable moment to pull out, this was it.

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