Vertigo

seven

Wrapped tight in a cocoon of self-interest, Hasson continued to live as quietly as he possibly could, devoting all his attention to his own welfare.

In that isolationist and myopic frame of mind, the importance he attached to events was reduced on a logarithmic scale by their distance from the core of his own being. News of world trade and shifts in global strategies, for example, had so little significance as scarcely to register on his consciousness. He was aware of Al Werry being unusually busy on the days following the barbecue, spending long hours rousting aerial vagabonds, but that too was at a remove from the hub of reality and no more worthy of his concern than the activities of the shadow people in a poor holoplay.

The truly momentous happenings in Hasson’s life, the events which could stir his imagination and dominate his thoughts, were of a different class altogether: the discovery that his skin was becoming tanned as a result of his prolonged spells in the open air; his growing ability to jog for kilometres over terrain which formerly would have exhausted him at walking pace; the Epicurean pleasures he had learned to derive from such noble arts as breathing properly and sleeping well. He made living an end in itself, a goal which was continuously achieved, and as the days progressed he felt increasingly safe, secure, impregnable… A five-hour trek across rolling grasslands had left Hasson feeling hot, dusty and tired. He took a cool shower and changed into fresh clothing, then realised he had neglected to take his full quota of yeast for the day. Oliver Fan had promised him he would eventually learn to enjoy the taste of the aromatic brown powder, and although he had made little progress in that direction he conscientiously swallowed fifty grams of it on a daily basis. He picked up the yeast canon and went downstairs, pausing for a moment in the crowded hall as he heard a familiar twanging voice coming from the direction of the kitchen. It appeared that Ginny Carpenter had returned from her stay in British Columbia.

When he went into the kitchen he saw Werry and May Carpenter seated at the round table with beer glasses in front of them, while Ginny — as spiky and sparkly as ever — was standing with her back to a counter, arms folded, relating details of her trip.

“Well, look who it is,” she said. “The quiet limey.”

“I’m very well, thank you,” Hasson replied politely. “How are you?” He turned and nodded greetings to Werry and May, then rook a glass out of a cupboard.

Ginny examined him critically, blinking a little, and spoke as if he was no longer present. “He’s looking a bit more human, anyways — I told you all he needed was a spell of good food and good home cooking.”

Hasson smiled at her. “Is that why you went away?”

Her face stiffened and she looked at Werry with scandalised eyes, seeking support.

“You needn’t try to put one over on Rob these days,” Werry said, looking delighted. “He’s as sharp as a razor lately — it must be something to do with that blasting powder he keeps swallowing.”

“What is that stuff?” Ginny watched suspiciously while Hasson took a spoonful of yeast and washed it down with water from the tap.

“Yeast. He gets it from the health food store on Second Street.”

“Oily Fan’s place?” Ginny gave a yelp of derision. “Anybody who goes in there needs his bumps felt.”

“Mum!” May Carpenter whispered. “That’s not a very nice thing to…”

Ginny waved her into silence. “You can’t tell me anything about those Chinks. I see “em hundreds of times in their corner stores. You know what they do to pass the time?”

“You’ve told us before,” May said wearily, with a flickering glance at the ceiling.

“They keep opening matchboxes and taking one match out of each. Nobody’s going to miss one match out of each, you see. Just standing there all the time — opening matchboxes and taking one match out of each. We wouldn’t do a thing like that, but after they’ve done it fifty times they’ve made the price of an extra box of matches.” Ginny paused, having completed her case, and looked at the others with a mixture of indignation and triumph. “What do you say to that?”

“What do they sell them in?” Hasson said, thinking about Oliver and his insight and compassion.

Ginny frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what do they sell those extra matches in? According to you they’ve got fifty extra matches, but no box to sell them in.” Hasson nodded to Werry. “Did anybody ever sell you a paper bag full of matches?”

“He’s got you there,” Werry shouted gleefully, gripping Ginny’s thigh. “You never thought of that one.”

“Just you listen to me, Al Werry, and I’ll tell you what they do,” she snapped, beating his hand away. She opened her mouth several times, as though prompting it to go ahead and produce an explanation by itself Finally, when it had become obvious to her that no suitable words were forthcoming, she looked at Hasson with eyes which were dulled with hatred.

“I haven’t got time to stand here jawing all night,” she said. “I’m going to make the dinner.”

The ultimate weapon, Hasson thought, but already he felt mildly disappointed in himself for having squared up to a tiny twig of a woman whose aggression was probably a sign of unhappiness.

“I shouldn’t have made that crack about your cooking,” he said, smiling. “I’ll look forward to eating anything you want to conjure up for us.”

“Have a beer, Rob,” Werry put in. “I’m on duty tonight, so I won’t be able to have one with you later.” He stood up, took a can of beer from the refrigerator and led the way into the front room. Hasson winked at Ginny, changing her expression to one of bafflement, and went after Werry. The two men sat for an hour during most of which Werry talked about the difficulties of police work and how much better off he would be in some other occupation. He looked composed and dauntingly immaculate, but there was a new soberness in his eyes which suggested that Buck Morlacher had managed to penetrate his mental armour, and he spoke at length about his renewed efforts to block off the Chinook Hotel to trespassers. His two air patrolmen, Henry Corzyn and Victor Quigg, had been detailed to circle the lofty upper section from before dusk to prevent unauthorised entry. Werry himself had arranged to spell them in four-hour shifts during the night vigil, which was why he was to go on duty as soon as he had eaten dinner.

“The trouble is I’ve been extra busy during the day, as well,” he grumbled, tapping the side of his beer glass to revive the head. “Now that the good flying weather is back, kids are drifting in from all over. The Chinook draws them like a magnet, you see. We keep turning them back or busting them for flight offences, but there’s always another lot on the way and we can’t stop them all. Especially after dark.

“Sometimes I feel like getting hold of a tonne of hidyne and blowing the stick out from under the big lolly. It just isn’t right for most of the city’s police force to be tied up trying to look after one man’s private property.”

“It’s bound to become dangerous with neglect,” Hasson said. “Maybe you could get an order to have it pulled down.”

“Maybe, but it would take years.” Werry gave an introspective sigh. “You can see the attraction it must have for some kids. They can have their own world up there — a world that no adults ever see. They can have their own society up there, with different rules, and no parents butting in to spoil things. The parents can be two or three hundred kilometres away, or more, not even knowing where the kids are, and that’s a bad thing, Rob.”

“I know, but the only way you could hope to link social units together again, the way they were in pre-flight days, would be to implant radio tracers in everybody — and that son of thing isn’t on the cards.”

“I don’t know,” Werry said moodily. “I think it’ll come to that some day. I really do.” He jumped to his feet and did his now- familiar parody of a military salute as May appeared in the doorway to announce that dinner was ready.

Hasson followed him into the kitchen and noted that the table had been set for four. “Where’s Theo tonight?” he said, realising that he had done very little in the past few days to rebuild his relationship with the boy.

“He took some milk and cold cuts up to his room,” May said. “He wants to listen to the radio in peace.”

“Oh?” Hasson recalled an earlier conversation with Theo. “I didn’t know he was keen on radio.”

“He listens quite a lot at night,” Werry said. “It’s a big help to him, having the radio.”

May nodded her agreement. “That’s right — it means a lot to him.”

Hasson sat down, thoughtfully stoking his chin, and turned his attention to the food his stomach so urgently craved. The main course was built around a spiced meat loaf which he found enjoyable, and he further disconcerted Ginny Carpenter by giving it lavish praise. Dessert was gin-flavoured ice cream with lychees, a combination he found slightly sickly, but he asked for a second helping and had developed a comfortable tightness around his middle by the time coffee was served.

“When somebody tells you to build yourself up you don’t fool around,” Werry commented jovially. “It seems to me …” He broke off and muttered with irritation as the police radio on his wrist emitted a shrill bleep. There was a moment of silence, during which he sat shaking his head, then the radio sounded again.

“Sorry, folks.” Werrv touched a button on the communicator and spoke into it. “Reeve Werry here. What’s your problem?”

“Al, this is Henry Corzyn,” the radio said in a thin, urgent voice. “I’m at the Chinook. You’d better get over here as fast as you can.”

“Henry, I said I’d be there nine o’clock. Can’t you wait till I…”

“This won’t wait, Al. There’s been some kind of explosion on the bottom floor of the hotel section — and I think there’s a fire starting.”

“A fire?” Werry looked around the table with arched brows. “There’s nothing to burn up there, is there?”

“The place is full of lumber and scaffolding and partitions, Al. The contractor just walked off and left the place full of stuff”

“Well, have you called the fire service?”

“Victor did that, but it isn’t going to help. The hotel’s four hundred metres up, and our hoses and sonics haven’t got a hope in hell of reaching that far.”

“You’re right! Know something, Henry? You’re dead right!” Unexpectedly, a peaceful, beatific smile spread across Werry’s features. “Do you think we stand any chance of saying goodbye to our local landmark?”

There was a pause before Corzyn spoke again, and this time his voice was curiously hesitant. “I don’t know about that, Al — I only saw a bit of a flare-up and it might die down again, for all I know.”

“We’ll just have to hope for the best,” Werry said.

“This is serious, Al,” the radio came back. “It looks like some people have been hurt bad.”

“People?” Werry sat up straight. “What in hell are you talking about? What people?”

“I told you there was an explosion, Al. Leastways, that’s what it seemed like to me. Some kid got blown right out of an elevator shaft and he’s hurt pretty bad.”

“Christ Almighty!” Werry sprang to his feet, sending his chair tumbling behind him, snatched his tunic from another chair and ran to the door. Hasson saw May staring after him, both hands pressed to her mouth, then he too was out in the hail and running behind Werry. They burst out into the breezy, star-crowned darkness surrounding the house and sprinted for Werry’s cruiser parked in the street.

Hasson paused at the car as an unnerving idea occurred to him. “Al, are you flying or driving?”

“I was going to fly.” Werry glanced into the car where his harness lay on the rear seat. “Hell, by the time I get strapped up I could be three-quarter way to the Chinook. Jump in!”

Hasson slid into the front passenger seat and in a few seconds the car was broadsiding out on to the main road which ran to-. wards the centre of Tripletree and the south side. As it plunged towards the massed lights and the whorls of glowing aerial highways Werry called up Corzyn on the car radio.

“I’m on my way, Henry,” he said briskly. “Give me that again about somebody falling out of an elevator shaft. Is he dead?”

“He isn’t dead, Al — broke up a bit and concussed. I’ve called an ambulance for him.”

“But if he fell four hundred metres…”

“No, he was up there when the explosion happened — sounds like a bomb to me, Al — and as far as I can tell he got blasted into the elevator shaft and hit the wall. Lucky for him his CG unit was all right and he had enough savvy left to switch it on. He was floating down the wind like a soap bubble when Victor and me put a line on him and brought him down.”

“Get an ID on him as soon as you can.” Werry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “How did he get in there, anyway?”

There was a sputtering silence. “Well … Victor and me got cold up there and we didn’t see any harm in calling in at Ronnie’s place for a cup of something to warm us up. I guess he could have got in then.”

“That’s wonderful,” Werry said. “That’s really wonderful, Henry.”

“Al, there’s fourteen Goddamn floors in the Chinook and it’s four or five hundred metres all round. Two of us flitting around in the dark can’t seal up a place that big. There could be a whole Goddamn procession going in and out, for all we would know about it.” Corzyn sounded hurt and aggrieved.

“All right, all right.” Werry glanced at Hasson and pulled a face. “What’s all this about a bomb?”

“That’s what it seems like to me, Al. What else would cause an explosion? I found out there’s a lot of paint stored on some of the floors, but that would only burn, wouldn’t it? It wouldn’t blow up.

“You could be right. Do you think the kid who got hurt was fooling around with explosives and blew himself up by accident?”

“He’s out cold now, Al, but it doesn’t look that way to me.”

“What do you say, then?”

There was an even longer crackling pause. “Victor saw Buck Morlacher at the hotel this morning.”

“Aw, no,” Werry groaned, shaking his head. “Henry, don’t say things like that over the air. In fact, don’t say them at all. Hang on-I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Werry accelerated past a group of slow-moving cars and the dark hulk of Weisner’s furniture store came into view ahead. The bilaser projector on its roof had created a gigantic dining table which glowed against the night sky. The sight of it caused an uneasy stirring in Hasson’s memory, but his thoughts were completely dominated by the conversation he had just heard. On the night of the barbecue Morlacher had seemed dangerously near his limit of control, and from what Hasson knew of the big man it seemed entirely possible that he would go as far as planting booby traps to clear his property of what he regarded as vermin.

“I don’t like the sound of this, Rob,” Werry said thoughtfully. “I don’t like it one bit.”

Hasson gave him a sympathetic glance. “You think Morlacher would have gone that far?”

“Buck thinks he can get away with anything.”

“So what’l1 you do?”

“Who says I’ve got to do anything?” Werry demanded, hunching his shoulders like a man warding off blows. “We don’t even know that Buck had anything to do with this. It seems to rue that I’ve got to have some kind of proof before I think about arresting a man like Buck.”

“Nobody’s going to argue with you on that one,” Hasson said, resolving not to raise the matter again. The flashing lights of an ambulance expanded out of the distance and momentarily washed the interior of the police car with ruddy brilliance as the two vehicles passed. The bleat of the ambulance’s siren dopplered away into a low growl. Werry swung his car into the cross-street from which the ambulance had emerged and the Chinook Hotel came into view as a vertical thread of grey light surrounded by a vague smudge of weak radiance.

Hasson, who had been looking out for something spectacular, had to remind himself that the hotel building itself was four hundred metes above ground, that a person standing on its lowest floor could have looked down on the old Empire State Building. The fantastic structure, made feasible only by 21st century materials and engineering techniques, was a monument to one family’s megalomania and arrogance. He could visualise, and almost condone, the poisonous rage which boiled through Morlacher’s mind each time he looked at the edifice which had annihilated the parental fortune and which, instead of repaying the investment with profit and prestige, had made him the butt of local humour and created a safe refuge for the gangs of delinquents he hated so much. It was even possible to imagine him reaching an extremity in which he was prepared to destroy the building altogether…

The police car abruptly slowed down as the street ahead of it became congested with other vehicles and groups of pedestrians all, as though taking part in an animal migration, converging on the site of the hotel. Werry swore and rolled down his window as he came to an intersection where a uniformed police officer was absent-mindedly controlling traffic while exchanging banter with two girls.

“Arnold,” he shouted, “stop trying to fix yourself up and get this street cleared right up to the hotel entrance. Do you hear me?”

Arnold gave him a friendly wave. “I hear you, Al. Some fun, eh?”

“That’s what I have to work with,” Werry muttered as he switched on the car’s warning lights and forced his way at dangerous speed up to the hotel grounds and across the line of the perimeter fence. Several other cars and two fire vehicles were parked in a loose cluster a short distance away, their headlights streaking the grass. Werry slid his cruiser into place beside them and got out, smoothing his tunic as he craned his neck to look up at the hotel. Hasson joined him as he was met by the bear-like, sag-bellied figure of air patrolman Henry Corzyn.

“It doesn’t look like there’s much happening up there, Werry”.

“You can’t see anything till you get up high.” Corzyn lowered his voice and moved closer to Werry. “I haven’t said anything to the television people, but I think there’s a bunch of angels still in the building, Al. I got as close as I could and shone a light in, and I think I saw somebody skulking about. Couldn’t be sure, though.”

“Why don’t they pull out? Aren’t they worried about being roasted?”

“Who knows what goes on inside their pointed little heads?” Corzyn shifted his position until he had his back to a man who was standing nearby aiming a television camera at the sky. “Besides, if there’s anybody dead up there…”

Werry looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to make me feel good?”

“It was one hell of an explosion, Al. Most of the glass is gone out of the first floor windows on this side — and those kids don’t go around singly, you know. A whole bunch of them might have got clobbered all at once.”

Werry walked three paces away from Corzyn, stood for a moment with a hand on his brow, then came back. “That isn’t very likely, is it? I mean, some of the others would have sent for help.”

Corzyn shrugged. “Young Terry Franz from the TV station is up there now with a big spotlight. Maybe he’ll be able to see more’n I could.”

“You better get up there with him, Henry. Try to check the place out. Take a megaphone with you.”

“Got one here.” Corzyn touched his breast pocket, revealing the square outline of an electronic voice magnifier, and shifted his hand to the control panel of his CG harness. Hasson turned away, chilled, unable to watch the take-off. He waited a moment and when he directed his gaze skywards Corzyn’s shoulder and ankle lights were like a small group of tracer bullets speeding towards the dim-glowing target of the hotel. The dinner Hasson had eaten became an unwanted mass in his stomach.

“Where’s Quigg?” Werry bellowed, striding towards the nearest knot of onlookers. “Has anybody seen Victor Quigg?”

“Here I am, Al.” Quigg, managing to appear thin and adolescent even when wearing a flying suit, detached himself from a group which was standing at a portable television transmitter. Werry gripped his arm and drew him into a private triad with Hasson.

“Victor,” he said quietly, “are you making unauthorised statements to the gentlemen of the press?”

Quigg glanced at Hasson, obviously wondering how he fitted into the picture. “You know me better than that, Al.”

“Okay. Did you tell anybody you saw Buck up at the hotel today?”

“Nobody “cept Henry. He was the only one I told.”

Are you sure it was Buck you saw?”

Quigg nodded vigorously, jiggling the magnifying visor of his flying helmet. “It was Buck, all right. I had a second look at him because he was all rigged up with panniers and he don’t usually like to load hisself down that way. He was taking something into the hotel.”

Werry made a clicking noise with his tongue. “But you didn’t try to find out what.”

“It’s his place, Al,” Quigg said reasonably. “I figured he was entitled.”

“You did right.” Werry gave the young policeman a sombre stare. “I want you to keep quiet about this till I say it’s all right to talk. Okay?”

“Sure, Al. By the way, nobody has contacted Lutze’s folks yet- do you want me to do it?”

Werry frowned. “Lutze? Lutze?”

“Yeah — the kid who got hisself blown up. Didn’t Henry tell you?”

“Is that Barry Lutze?”

“No such luck,” Quigg said. “This is his cousin Sammy. The family lives out Bettsville direction. They probably didn’t even know he was out of his own back yard tonight.”

“Probably not,” Werry agreed. “Call the station and get somebody down there to notify the Lutzes. I want you to stay here and…”

“Hey, Al!” One of the men at the television unit beckoned to Werry. “Come over and have a look at this, for God’s sake — old Henry’s trying to get into the hotel.”

Werry mouthed an obscenity and ran towards the group who were gathered around a television monitor. Hasson, beginning to feel bemused, hurried in his wake. The console of the television unit was illuminated with greenish light, but recessed into it were three wells of blackness which housed solid-image monitors. In the centre one was a small vivid projection which showed Henry Corzyn moving against a background of the hotel’s unevenly lit outer surface. The image was drifting slightly, due to the fact that it was coming from a camera held by a flier, but it clearly showed a window whose lattice bars had been cut away to make an aperture large enough to admit a man.

Hasson watched in fascination, trying to ignore the queasiness in his stomach, as Corzyn swooped towards the window. The policeman went in fast, came within field interference distance of the wall and immediately began to drop. Hasson pressed his knuckles to his lips. Corzyn made a grab for the window frame, managed to get a handhold and checked his fall.

“That’s his second shot at it,” somebody commented admiringly. “Who’d have thought old Henry had it in him?”

The miniaturised Corzyn clung to the frame for a moment, breathing heavily, and dragged himself through the opening into the interior of the building. A second later his head and shoulders reappeared and he waved his hand at the camera, grinning like a sports idol. Hasson tilted his head back and tried to see the actual event, but he could discern only a tiny star-like glimmering in the remote high darkness.

Werry raised his wrist communicator to his lips. “Henry, what do you think you’re doing? I sent you up there to look the place over — not to rupture yourself.”

“It’s all right. Al — I’m doing just fine.” Corzyn sounded breathless but triumphant. “This window I’m at is on the second floor, so I’m above the fire. It doesn’t seem like much of a fire, anyway — I might even be able to put it out.”

“That’s not your job.”

“Relax, Al. I’m going to have a quick look around and make sure the place is empty. I’ll have plenty of time to bail out if the fire gets worse. See you around!”

Werry lowered his wrist and stared accusingly at the man who had summoned him to the television unit. “This is your fault, Cec. Henry’s way too old and tubby to be making grandstand plays. He’d never have done it if you hadn’t been here.”

“He’ll be all right,” Cec replied carelessly. “We’ll give him an on-the-spot interview to himself when he comes down. Make his day for him.”

“You’re all heart.” Werry moved away from the group, taking Hasson with him, and looked up into the night sky where aerial spectators had begun to congregate, swarming like fireflies.

“Here they come,” he said. “The long-nosed rubbernecks — noted for their habit of gathering in large numbers at scenes of accidents, making loud honking noises and getting in everybody’s way. It looks like the whole city will be here in a couple of minutes.”

Hasson spoke in a low voice, choosing his words with the utmost care. “One citizen is notable by his absence.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Werry scratched the back of his head, a gesture which made him look boyish and handsome in the uncertain light. “Rob, there’s no two ways about this, is there?”

Hasson shook his head, feeling a dreadful responsibility. “After the evidence you’ve heard, the very least you can do is talk to Morlacher.”

“I guess it had to come to this some day.” Werry glanced up at the hotel. “Things seem pretty quiet up there — I’ll go and have a word with Buck now.” He turned and walked away through the battery of golden headlight beams, casting multiple shadows on the broken ground.

Hasson stood and watched him depart, recounting to himself every one of his reasons for not getting involved, then he too walked towards the waiting police car.