Science-Fiction Carnival by Fredric Brown & Mack Reynolds

Author:Fredric Brown & Mack Reynolds
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 1957-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

“Of course you didn’t, Jake.” The cop smiled nastily, and came forward. “You button this guy’s trap while I fasten your chops— then we’ll know who’s doing it.”

“Meaning it’ll be you,” suggested Yule, maliciously.

“Me?” The cop was indignant. “I’m no vaudeville artist.”

“We’ve only your word for that,” pursued Yule, determined to fight fire with fire.

“What about giving him a handhold on your own pan, Eddie?” said the clerk, with a flash of genius.

“O.K.” The cop protruded his lips. They stuck out like pink tires.

All three took a firm grip on each other’s kissers and waited for Endwhistle to give forth.

The mayor, the fire chief and two henchmen chose this moment to walk in upon the intriguing scene. They stopped in midstep, simultaneously, like men who’d run into an invisible wall.

Taking off his hat, the mayor fanned his fat chops with it, put it back on his head and breathed, “Holy mackerel!”

Releasing the clerk’s pouter as if it were red-hot, the cop started beating urgently at Yule’s hand stubbornly fastened on his own masticator. He made an angry mmm-m-m sound resembling that of an oversized and irritated bee. Yule hung grimly on, stretching the tires somewhat in the process. The cop showed signs of becoming savage.

“Smell their breaths, Hank,” suggested the mayor to the fire chief.

With a frantic effort the cop pulled free of Yule’s grip, spluttered, rubbed his lips with the back of a hairy hand. He pointed the hand accusingly at Yule.

“I’m gonna pinch that mug,” he yelled.

Ungagging himself from the clerk, Yule inquired, “On what charge?”

“Horse-stealing,” suggested Endwhistle, usefully.

“See? Hear that?” The cop was triumphant. “He’s tossing his voice into that bangtail.”

“So what?” demanded the fire chief, admiring Yule. “That’s no crime.”

“It was Jake, anyway,” offered Yule, suddenly changing tactics.

The clerk backed away fast, waving protesting hands. “So help me, it wasn’t. I didn’t open—”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said the mayor, viewing Jake with some disfavor. “You put on a good turn at the last town concert. Maybe success has gone to your head, eh? You think you’re too good for the job you’ve got, eh?”

“That’s telling him, Fatso,” put in Endwhistle with unnecessary heartiness.

A faint tinge of purple bloomed on the mayor’s plump features. Switching his glare from Jake to Yule, he growled, “That wasn’t Jake. He just wouldn’t dare—would you, Jake?”

“Not on your life,” agreed Jake, fervently. “So you’re the smart-Aleck, eh?” The mayor moved forward until his paunch was almost in contact with his listener. “What’s the big idea?” He glowered at Yule.

“Look,” said Yule, “all I want is a coach reservation for that bronc. I came here to get it for him—and the trouble started.”

“I should think so, too,” said the mayor. “He’s got government authority,” Yule shouted. “And how!” added Endwhistle, smacking his lips. The mayor’s scowl grew deeper. “You can sling your voice half-way from here to Mex and it still wouldn’t impress me. Let’s see that authority.” Yule showed it to him. “Who issued this?”

“Parkinson of Social Survey.”

“O.K.,” said the mayor, ominously.

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