The Galaxy Builder (17 page)

            " 'Us'?" Lafayette echoed wonderingly.
"What about us? I just met you, I hardly know you—"

            "And all I know about
you,
"
Mickey Jo cut in, "is you got a chipped knob. But what the hell, the night
is young, like they say, and so are we—so why be choosy? You can buy me a nice
dinner in a first-class restaurant, and we'll go from there."

            "I don't know if I have any cash,"
Lafayette said doubtfully, patting pockets. He brought out a crumpled Artesian
ten spot, a corroded copper coin, some gray lint, and the flat-walker.

            "... repeat, OK, Slim?" its tiny voice
peeped, even fainter now. "You're way overdue at the field office. You get
that address OK? One two eight South Canal, one flight up. Over to you,
Slim."

            "Uh, one two eight South Canal," Lafayette
repeated dully. "I never heard of it. But I'll try to get there
ASAP."

           
"South
Canal?" Mickey Jo
repeated in a dismayed tone. "You sure you don't mean
East
Canal?
And whatdaya mean, you never heard of it? It was you mentioned it. All I said
was—"

            "I know," Lafayette said quickly.
"I was just sort of thinking aloud, only I wasn't thinking. I mean—"

            "Skip it, Laugh." Mickey Jo patted
O'Leary's hand with a hard little palm. "We don't want to go and get you
all mixed up again. Let's just go chow down." She rose quickly, and
Lafayette was again impressed by her neat little body. He got to his feet and
glanced toward Special Ed, busy behind the bar.

            "What about the, uh ... tab?" O'Leary
muttered.

            "Don't kid me, Laugh," the girl said,
tugging at his arm. "I know all you guys got unlimited expense accounts.
So does Ed; know, I mean." She pulled at Lafayette's arm; he followed, and
in a moment they were outside in chill evening air, on a gritty sidewalk beside
a pitch-black street. The moonlight glowed pinkish-white on the upper stories
of the facades opposite.

            "Just a minute, Mickey Jo," O'Leary
said, hesitating before starting across. "You seem to know more about
things than I do. Do you know where the gray room is? I have to find it; that's
where Frumpkin hangs out, and he seems to be holding Daphne there, and—"

            "Who's this Frumpkin?" the girl cut
in. "I don't know anything about the Gray Room—lousy name for a
restaurant; let's go to the Schnitzel Haus over on Central."

            "It's not a restaurant: this is
serious," Lafayette corrected.

            "If it's so serious, why don't you just go
over there and break it up?" Mickey Jo asked reasonably. "After all,
it's
your
wife with the guy."

            "It's not like that. And anyway, I don't
know where it is."

            "Then, how do you know they're shacked up
there?" the girl wanted to know.

            "I saw them—lots of times—only it's not
what you're implying. He's holding her there against her will."

            "If you saw the place, you oughta remember
where it's at," Mickey Jo stated with finality.

            "Where it
is
," Lafayette
corrected automatically. "I have no idea where it is, otherwise I'd get
there as fast as I could. Poor little Daph ..."

            "What's he got, chains on her, ropes, kinky
stuff like that?" Mickey Jo demanded.

            "Why, no, she's wearing a simple white
dinner gown, very elegant."

            "Then what makes you say he's holding her
there? Maybe she likes a fellow provides her with elegant dinner gowns."

            "You don't get it at all," Lafayette
complained. "Who do you work for? Who do you think I am?"

            "My immediate chief is Mel Grunge,"
Mickey Jo said, "if it's any of your business. He's assistant chief,
Information Services—pretty big shot. And I think you're a poor boob named
Laugh, which your marbles is a little scrambled—which don't mean we can't put
on the feed bag together. Maybe we'll run into Daphne and her boyfriend."
She tugged at Lafayette's arm.

            He resisted. "It's not
like
that!"
he objected. "He's not her boyfriend!"

            Mickey Jo looked at him sympathetically.
"They say the husband is always the last to know," she murmured.
"But, what the hell, two can play at the game. I'll try and keep yer mind
off the whole thing."

            "Try
to
keep my mind off,"
O'Leary corrected tonelessly.

            "That's'what I said. Come on."

            "Wait," Lafayette objected. "Do
you know where the Y is ? And what time is it?"

            "You want the YM or the YW? The C or the J?
The YMCA's about two blocks north, and it's six-thirty. Why?"

            "She said 'Seven
p.m
. at the Y', Lafayette told her.

            "Oh. 'She', huh? I got a idea you don't
mean this Daphne dame—I mean Mrs. Laugh."

            "No. Docter Smith. She's rather
severe-looking, but not bad. But that has nothing to do with it."

            "So, you already got a date, Laugh? Whyn't
you say so? Hey, did you want them pictures you had? You left 'em on the table.
You're a deeper one than you look, I guess, Laugh. Well, it was nice knowing
ya, kid. So long. Mickey Jo Obtulicz ain't a gal to break up nothing you got
going. Good luck, and thanks for the beer."

            "Wait! I haven't asked you—" Lafayette
started.

            "I know," the girl cut him off.
"But it's A-OK, Laugh. I din't mean to butt in on nothing."

            There was a scrape of shoe-leather from the
darkness ahead; then a vague form took shape, moving directly toward them.
Mickey Jo yelped in alarm and clutched O'Leary's arm.

            "It's cool, lady," a blurry voice came
from the darkness. "How's it, Sir Al? Glad to see ya, an' all, you
bet." Then the mysterious figure was directly in front of O'Leary.

            "It's me, Marv, your old pal," Marv
said. "Doncha know me, Al? After all we been through." Marv's
calloused hands clutched at O'Leary as if afraid of losing him. Lafayette
disengaged gently and turned to the girl.

            "Nothing to fear, Mickey Jo," he said.
"This is my friend Marv I told you about."

            "Al, where you been? How'd you get
here?" Marv moaned. "When you done that neat sneak, right troo the
wall an all, I thought our troubles was over. But you never came back, and old
Cease come inta the cell to work me over and left the door open, so I clobbered
him good and took off. Only some guys said they was some kind o' Feds grab me
and quiz me plenty. I got lots to tell you—"

            "Later, Marv," O'Leary said
soothingly. "I'm sorry about ducking out on you, but I got lost—I'm
still
lost. This place seems a lot like Colby Corners, so maybe we're closer to
home than I thought."

            "Al!" Marv cut in. "You mean you
don't know? You poor guy, you got a awful shock coming."

            "Don't know what?" Lafayette asked,
absent-mindedly encircling Mickey Jo's slim waist and hugging her gently.

            "C'mere," Marv said soberly, tugging
at O'Leary's arm. He followed as Marv led him off a few steps to the
intersection, where the pink moonlight gleamed across the worn brick street
unimpeded. His face pale in the wan light, Marv looked at O'Leary earnestly.
"Now, easy, pal: Just turn slow and look up."

            O'Leary complied, squeezing Mickey Jo's hand,
which somehow he still held. She returned the pressure. Glancing up casually,
Lafayette allowed his gaze to drift to the bright orb of the full moon. He
gasped, tried to speak, but uttered only a croak.

            "My God!" he managed at last.
"Mickey Jo, look at it! Look at the moon!"

            "Sure, I see it, Laugh. Purty.
Romantic-like. But you got a late date, remember?"

            "Romantic my eye!" Lafayette yelled.
"It's falling! Ye Gods, look at it! You can see every crater—it can't be
more than a hundred thousand miles away! Doesn't anybody care? Isn't anybody
doing anything about it?" As he spoke, he was hastily measuring it with
his thumbnail held at arm's length. Nearly a full degree, he decided.

            "Easy, Al," Marv said. "It ain't
exactly fallin; it's already fell. I mean she's spiraling in real slow, about
half a mile a year, they say, and pretty soon it'll hit Roche's Limit and
then
we'll see some fireworks!"

            "But it can't, Marv!" Lafayette protested.
"That's the moon! It's been gradually receding for five billion years; it
can't just turn around and start coming in!"

            "I guess it can if it gets a big enough
push from a near-miss by a hundred-mile planetoid. Happened back in the
Cretaceous, they say; had something to do with killing off a lot o' big
critters they call deenersoors or like that. Not to worry: we still got another
fifty thousand years, about, before she breaks up; and then look out."

            "Do you realize what this means?"
O'Leary groaned. "We're in a totally different manifold of loci from
Artesia and all the old familiar places! I'll never get back! I'll never find
Daphne!"

            "Don't take it so hard, Sugar," Mickey
Jo said in a matter-of-fact tone. "After all, it ain't
your
fault."

            "But that's just it! It
is
my
fault," Lafayette moaned. "If only I hadn't started messing around
with the constellations, this would never have happened!"

            "That's what they call delusions of
grandeur, Sir Laugh," Mickey Jo protested. "Like calling yourself 'Sir',
only on a more ambitious scale. Better cool it. Come on, Marv, let's get him in
offa the street before somebody hears him and calls for the nut squad."

            After straining to keep the grossly swollen moon
in sight for as long as possible, Lafayette at length submitted to being led
off along the dark street; then there were lights, people—ordinary-looking,
well-dressed folk who seemed to take little notice of an apparent drunk being
led along the sidewalk by his friends. Then they were tugging him through a
revolving door, which thumped him on the back and propelled him into warmth,
quiet music, the babble of table-chatter and the clink of dishes, and a
heavenly aroma of roast beef, fried onions, fresh-baked bread and newly ground
coffee. At once, O'Leary found himself taking an interest; he hadn't noticed
how hungry he was until that moment. A head waiter appeared, impersonally
obsequious.

            "Table for three," Lafayette said
briskly. "In a quiet corner where we can't hear the kitchen or the
combo."

            Moments later, the trio was seated at a cozy
table agleam with white linen, polished silver, and sparkling glass. A waiter
materialized and took their orders.

            "Marv," O'Leary said to his whiskery
companion. " How did you find me?"

            "I never," Marv said quickly.
"You found
me.
I was just standing there, and you come up
and—"

            "I know that, Marv," Lafayette cut him
off. "But how did you happen to be on the corner for me to find?"

            "I had a hard day," Marv complained.
"Shot at, roughed up, throwed in the slammer—and they stuck needles in me,
some kinda dope; made me groggy. But I done a sneak and beat it. Din't know
where to go; just taking a, like, break when ya come along."

            "What about you, Mickey Jo?" Lafayette
transferred his attention to the girl. "Why did you come in as soon as I
sat down?"

            "Laugh," she replied seriously,
"what were them pitchers you had? Looked like somebody getting coronated
or something."

            "Ask Marv," Lafayette replied.
"He was in one of them."

            The girl looked at Marv. "That's
right," she acknowledged. "It must have been a big affair, Marv; tell
me about it. How did you happen to be there?"

            "Don't know whacha mean," Marv
muttered. "What pitchers you talking about?"

            "They were addressed to 'Global
Presentations', in the Bayberry Building. Ever heard of it?"

            "Not me," Marv dismissed the subject.
"How'd you get these here pitchers, Al?"

            "I'm afraid I stole 'em," O'Leary
admitted.

            "Cheese," Marv exclaimed softly.
"A straight-up guy like you, Al, it ain't like you to steal nothing.
What'd you do with the loot?"

            "I'm afraid I left it at Special
Ed's," Lafayette said.

            "Spose he turns you in?" Marv
speculated.

            "Don't be silly," Mickey Jo put in.
"Ed's no stoolie, and anyway, how'd he know they was stole?"