she said. "Are you trying to tell me what I can and can't do in my own house?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "But if you rise, I'll have to turn on my grav-plates and rise as well to be sure you don't try to call for help—which would be foolish since I don't wish to harm you. And since I would merely tell the police I was here for an interview and show them the notes I've made. I'd pretend you were a headline hunter."
"Notes? But—"
"I made them beforehand. Just for such an eventuality as this."
She smiled again. "You are clever, aren't you?"
"I like to think so, yes."
"Well, what is this favor?" She leaned back, sipped her own drink, her anger totally abated.
He hoped she would never meet someone who would be too sharp and cold to be won over by her charm and innocence. The proper sort of sadist could bring her world down in a day, could break and ruin her without half trying. It might have been nice to have been raised in a world where evil had not existed—but it could also be deadly never to have formed the proper methods to cope with enemies.
"You dated the late Klaus Margle, didn't you?" he asked.
He thought he saw her
eyes
get a little glassy, as if she were holding back tears. When she spoke, there was a tremble in her voice. This amazed him when he considered the Klaus Margle he knew, a man without scruples or morals, willing to kill when the need arose. He supposed that it was possible that there was a totally different side to the man, though such a realization surprised him. He was relieved that the papers had not reported how Margle had died, and that the actual shootout was implied to be the doing of the police. "I did," she said. "I went with him for a good while. He was like a little boy around me. Very gentlemanly. I just don't believe all these things in the papers."
"They're true," he said as gently as he could.
"So you say."
It was impossible to get angry at her, but he could feel anger at her almost cultured blindness to reality. He held his reaction in check and said, "His brother is trying to kill me."
Surprisingly, her response to this was not as naive as her comment about Klaus. "I don't like Jon," she said. "Klaus you could always have fun with. He enjoyed life. I never saw Jon smile. I think he would have liked to take me away from Klaus. But he frightened me a little."
"I want to get Jon Margle before he gets me," he said.
Her face went sickeningly pale, and she took a long sip of her drink.
He realized what had terrified her, and he attempted to explain what he meant. "I don't mean kill him. I just want to get him, for the police. If they want to execute him, they can. Or put him away for life. But I have to find some way to get something on him, or I won't have peace of mind."
She ordered another drink, took the plastic bulb out of the receival tray, broke it and poured the contents into her glass. "I don't understand what you want of me," she said, her hands trembling.
"You must know other people in the Brethren."
"No," she said, clearly meaning it.
Her answer unsettled him for a moment, and then he realized how ignorant she might have been of Klaus Margle's other self. "You know some of his close friends?"
"Yes, but they aren't—"
"Let me decide what they are and aren't," he said. "I want you to think very carefully about Klaus's friends. Was there any one of them who disliked his brother?"
"Many," she said.
"Good. But think about them and come up with the one who liked Jon the least. Maybe someone who was terrified of him. Or contemptuous. Someone who would not like working under him."
"I don't have to do any of this," she said, genuine anguish in her voice. "Why should I even sit here and listen to you tell me Klaus and his friends were gangsters?"
"Because they were," he said. "And if you don't cooperate on this little thing I want, I'll use the voice of
Enterstat
to discredit you, to ruin your career."
"Impossible!" she said, looking up, defiant. She was a good
"I'm sorry," he said. "But if you rise, I'll have to turn on my grav-plates and rise as well to be sure you don't try to call for help—which would be foolish since I don't wish to harm you. And since I would merely tell the police I was here for an interview and show them the notes I've made. I'd pretend you were a headline hunter."
"Notes? But—"
"I made them beforehand. Just for such an eventuality as this."
She smiled again. "You are clever, aren't you?"
"I like to think so, yes."
"Well, what is this favor?" She leaned back, sipped her own drink, her anger totally abated.
He hoped she would never meet someone who would be too sharp and cold to be won over by her charm and innocence. The proper sort of sadist could bring her world down in a day, could break and ruin her without half trying. It might have been nice to have been raised in a world where evil had not existed—but it could also be deadly never to have formed the proper methods to cope with enemies.
"You dated the late Klaus Margle, didn't you?" he asked.
He thought he saw her
eyes
get a little glassy, as if she were holding back tears. When she spoke, there was a tremble in her voice. This amazed him when he considered the Klaus Margle he knew, a man without scruples or morals, willing to kill when the need arose. He supposed that it was possible that there was a totally different side to the man, though such a realization surprised him. He was relieved that the papers had not reported how Margle had died, and that the actual shootout was implied to be the doing of the police. "I did," she said. "I went with him for a good while. He was like a little boy around me. Very gentlemanly. I just don't believe all these things in the papers."
"They're true," he said as gently as he could.
"So you say."
It was impossible to get angry at her, but he could feel anger at her almost cultured blindness to reality. He held his reaction in check and said, "His brother is trying to kill me."
Surprisingly, her response to this was not as naive as her comment about Klaus. "I don't like Jon," she said. "Klaus you could always have fun with. He enjoyed life. I never saw Jon smile. I think he would have liked to take me away from Klaus. But he frightened me a little."
"I want to get Jon Margle before he gets me," he said.
Her face went sickeningly pale, and she took a long sip of her drink.
He realized what had terrified her, and he attempted to explain what he meant. "I don't mean kill him. I just want to get him, for the police. If they want to execute him, they can. Or put him away for life. But I have to find some way to get something on him, or I won't have peace of mind."
She ordered another drink, took the plastic bulb out of the receival tray, broke it and poured the contents into her glass. "I don't understand what you want of me," she said, her hands trembling.
"You must know other people in the Brethren."
"No," she said, clearly meaning it.
Her answer unsettled him for a moment, and then he realized how ignorant she might have been of Klaus Margle's other self. "You know some of his close friends?"
"Yes, but they aren't—"
"Let me decide what they are and aren't," he said. "I want you to think very carefully about Klaus's friends. Was there any one of them who disliked his brother?"
"Many," she said.
"Good. But think about them and come up with the one who liked Jon the least. Maybe someone who was terrified of him. Or contemptuous. Someone who would not like working under him."
"I don't have to do any of this," she said, genuine anguish in her voice. "Why should I even sit here and listen to you tell me Klaus and his friends were gangsters?"
"Because they were," he said. "And if you don't cooperate on this little thing I want, I'll use the voice of
Enterstat
to discredit you, to ruin your career."
"Impossible!" she said, looking up, defiant. She was a good
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