Fantastic Science Fiction August 1955 by Purcell Dick & Marks Winston & Herbert Frank & Fairman Paul W. & Lesser Milton

Author:Purcell, Dick & Marks, Winston & Herbert, Frank & Fairman, Paul W. & Lesser, Milton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Publisher: Fantastic Science Fiction
Published: 1955-08-08T00:00:00+00:00

After jockeying the young man into the cab, Mr. Derby Hat got in beside him and gave the driver an address in the lower part of town. “Hurry,” he said. He turned to the young man and smiled. “Everything’s going to be all right. I’ll see that the cops don’t get you.”

The young man turned and looked at him closely for the first time. “Who are you?”

“My name is Wiley—Tony Wiley. I work for a man named Carson. I want you to meet him.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you can do each other some good. It’s as simple as that. By the way—what’s your name, son?”

“Jerry Taylor. In what way can I do your boss any good?”

Tony Wiley took off his derby and wiped his bald head with a snowy handkerchief. “I’d think you’d be more interested in what he can do for you.”

There was a sullen hopelessness in the youth’s attitude, Even though he had asked questions, his manner indicated the answers were not very important to him. “All right—tell me.”

Wiley noted his mood and attitude with satisfaction. “Why not wait until you talk to him? He could tell you more than I can, That’s where we’re headed now—” Wiley cast a sidelong glance at his new charge. “—that is—if it’s okay with you.”

Jerry Taylor shrugged. “What have I got to lose?”

“That’s the attitude,” Wiley said heartily.

“Don’t touch me as we get out of the cab, though.”

“Why not?” Wiley asked.

“I’m liable to break you in two.” There was no animosity in the words, nor did Wiley take offense. He smiled and put his hat back on.

A half-hour’s drive got them through heavy traffic and into a dirty dead-end street in the slums where the driver pulled up in front of an ancient red-brick building with an old-fashioned archway entrance. “This is it,” Wiley said.

Jerry followed him through the archway and up a flight of dimly lit stairs. Even though it was bright midday, the hall lights were on. They climbed five flights before Wiley opened a door and motioned Jerry inside.

The room was brightly lit and reasonably well furnished. There was a reception desk with no one behind it and a red-haired youth napping on a lounge. As Wiley entered, the youth opened his eyes and sat up.

Simultaneously, a rear door opened and a tall dark man entered. He had a broad face and a sober air. Suitably clad, he could have passed for an undertaker. But there was power behind the somber eyes as they settled on Jerry.

Wiley said, “This is the lad, Frank.” Then to Jerry: “I want you to meet Mr. Hayden. He’s the man I told you about. Frank, this is Jerry Taylor.”

Hayden moved forward and laid a hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “Welcome, son. I’m glad you came. Step into my office if you’ll be so kind and we’ll have a little talk.”

He turned toward the office, then stopped and indicated the red-headed youth. “Oh, this is Tom Ames—Jerry Taylor.”

Tom Ames got up from the lounge and extended his hand.

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