Endowment Policy (ss) by Henry Kuttner & C. L. Moore

Author:Henry Kuttner & C. L. Moore [Kuttner, Henry & Moore, C. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci Fi Short Story
Publisher: Astounding Science Fiction
Published: 1943-08-03T00:00:00+00:00

Holt, turning right, worked his way south to Prospect Park, and then east, toward the lonely beach section between Brighton Beach and Canarsie. Smith, huddled in back, had made no sound.

“So far, so good/’ Holt said over his shoulder*, “My arm’s in shape again, anyhow.^

“What happened to it?”

“Must have hit my funny bone.” “No,” Smith said, “that was a paralyzer. Like this.” He exhibited the cane.

Holt didn’t get it. He kept driving till they were nearly at their destination. He pulled up around the corner from a liquor store.

“I’m getting a bottle,” he said. “It’s too cold and rainy without a shot of something to pep me up.”

“We haven’t time.”

“Sure, we have.”

Smith bit his lip, but made no further objection. Holt bought a pint of rye and, back in the cab, took a swig, after offering his fare a drink and getting a shake of the head for answer.

The rye definitely helped. The night was intensely cold and miserable; squalls of rain swept across the street, sluicing down the windshield. The worn wipers didn’t help much. The wind screamed like a banshee.

“We’re close enough,” Smith suggested. “Better stop here. Find a place to hide the taxicab.”

“Where? These are all private houses.”

“A driveway … eh ?”

“O. K.,” Holt said, and found one shielded by overhanging trees and rank bushes. He turned off lights and motor and got out, hunching his chin down and turning up the collar of his slicker. The rain instantly drenched him. It came down with a steady, torrential pour, pattering noisily, staccato in the puddles. Underfoot was sandy, slippery mud.

“Wait a sec,” Holt said, and returned to the cab for his flashlight. “All set. Now what?”

“Keaton’s house.” Smith was shivering convulsively. “It isn’t eleven yet. We’ll have to wait.”

They waited, concealed in the bushes on Keaton’s grounds. The house was a looming shadow against the fluctuating curtain of drenched darkness. A lighted window on the ground floor showed part of what seemed to be a library. Tho sound of breakers, throbbing heavily, came from their left.

Water trickled dowm inside Holt’s collar. He cursed quietly. He was earning his thousand bucks, all right. But Smith was going through the same discomfort, and not complaining about it. “Isn’t it—”

“Sh-hr Smith warned. “The— others—may be here.”

Obediently, Holt lowered his voice. “Then they’ll be drowned, too. Are they after the notebook? Why don’t they go in and get it ?”

Smith bit his nails. “They want it destroyed.”

“That’s what the guy in the alley said, come to think of it,” Holt nodded, startled. “Who are they, anyhow?”

“Never mind. They don’t belong here. Do you remember what I told you, Denny?”

“About getting the notebook ? What’ll I do if the safe isn’t open?”

“It will be,” Smith said confidently. “Soon, now. Keaton is in his cellar laboratory, finishing his experiment.”

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