'We are not the same blood type.'
'Do I detect a note of regret?'
'Mr. Dragon's blood type is very rare,' she said with evident pride.
'In humans at any rate. May I go in now?'
She fixed a diagnostic glare on him. 'Any colds? Flu? Digestive disorder?'
'Only a mild pain in the ass, and that's a recent development.'
Mrs. Cerberus pressed the buzzer on her desk, and she waved him into the interlock without further comment.
The usual dim red light was not on, but the rising heat was as stifling as ever. The door to Dragon's office clicked open. 'Come in, Hemlock.' Dragon's metallic voice had a weak flutter in it. 'Please forgive the absence of the red light. I am more than usually fragile, and even that dim light is painful to me.'
Jonathan groped forward for the back of the leather chair. 'Where is my money?'
'That's my Hemlock. Directly to the point. No time wasted with the conversational amenities. The slums have left their mark.'
'I need the money.'
'True. Without it you will be unable to meet your house payments—to say nothing of purchasing that Pissarro you covet. By the way, I hear there is another bidder on the painting. Pity if you lost it.'
'You intend to hold out on me?'
'Permit me an academic question, Hemlock. What would you do if I were to withhold payment?'
'Light these.' Jonathan slipped his fingers into his shut pocket.
'What have you there?' There was no worry in Dragon's voice. He knew how thoroughly his men searched everyone who entered.
'A book of matches. Do you have some idea of the pain it's going to cause you when I strike them one by one?'
Dragon's thin fingers flew automatically to his eyes, but he knew that his colorless skin would afford little protection. With forced bravado he said, 'Very good, Hemlock. You confirm my confidence in you. In future, my men will have to search for matches as well.'
'My payment?'
'There. On the desk. Actually, I intended to give you the money all the time. I kept it only to assure your coming here to listen to my proposition.' He laughed his three arid ha's. 'That was a good one with the matches!' The laugh changed into a weak, wheezing cough, and for a time he could not speak. 'Sorry. I'm not really well.'
'To put you at ease,' Jonathan said, slipping the chubby envelope of bills into his coat pocket, 'I should tell you that I don't have any matches. I never smoke in public.'
'Of course! I had forgotten.' There was real praise in his voice. 'Very good indeed. Forgive me if I have seemed overly aggressive. I am ill just now, and that makes me tetchy.'
Jonathan smiled at the uncommon word. Occasionally Dragon's alien English was betrayed by just such sounds: odd word choices, overpronunciations, mishandlings of idiom. 'What's this all about, Dragon?'
'I have an assignment you must take.'
'I thought we talked about that. You know I never take jobs unless I need the money. Why don't you use one of your other Sanction people?'
The pink-and-red eyes emerged. 'I would if it were possible. Your reluctance is a nuisance. But this assignment requires an experienced mountain climber and, as you might imagine, men of such talents do not abound within our department.'
'I haven't climbed for more than three years.'
'We have considered that. There is time to bring you back into condition.'
'Why do you need a climber?'
'I could discuss details only if you were willing to cooperate on the assignment.'
'In which case, forget it.'
'I have a further inducement for you, Hemlock.'
'Oh?'
'One of our former employees—an erstwhile friend of yours, I believe—is involved in the affair.' Dragon paused for effect. 'Miles Mellough.'
After a moment, Jonathan said, 'Miles is none of your business. I'll take care of him in my own way.'
'You are a rigid man, Hemlock. I hope you don't break when you are forced to bend.'
'Forced how.'
'Oh, something will occur to me.' There was a heavy flutter in his voice and he pressed his hand against his chest to relieve the pain. 'On your way out, would you ask Mrs. Cerberus to come to me, there's a good fellow?'
Jonathan pressed back into the shallow entrance to Dragon's office building, trying to avoid the rain which fell in plump drops that exploded into a haze on the sidewalk. The liquid roar eclipsed the city's babble. An empty taxi came slowly up the street, and Jonathan jumped out to take his place in a line of supplicants who waved and shouted as the cab cruised majestically by, the driver whistling contentedly to himself, doubtless contemplating some intriguing problem of Russian grammar. Jonathan returned to the shelter of his meager cave and looked out glumly on the scene. Streetlights came on, their automatized devices duped into believing it was evening by the darkening storm. Another taxi appeared and Jonathan, knowing better, nevertheless stepped forward to the curb on the outside chance that this driver was not independently wealthy and had some mild interest in profit. Then he saw that the taxi was occupied. As he turned back, the driver sounded his horn. Jonathan stood still, puzzled and getting wetter. The driver beckoned him over. Jonathan pointed at his chest with a foolish 'me?' expression on his face. The back door opened and Jemima called out, 'Are you going to get in, or do you like it out there?'
Jonathan jumped in, and the cab turned out into traffic, disdainfully ignoring trumpeted protests from the car abreast that was forced into the oncoming stream.
'I don't mean to drip on you,' Jonathan said, 'but you really do look lovely. Where did you come from? Did I mention you look lovely?' He was boyishly glad to see her again. It seemed that he had thought of her often. But probably not, he decided. Why should he?
'I saw you step out,' she explained, 'and you looked so funny that I took pity on you.'
'Ah. You fell for an ancient ploy. I always try to look funny when I'm drowning in the rain. You never know when some passing stewardess will take pity on you.'
The cabby turned and looked over the back of the seat with classic indifference to competing traffic. 'That'll be double fare you know, buddy.'
Jonathan told him that was just fine.
'Because we ain't supposed to pick up two fares in the rain like that.' He deigned to glance briefly at the oncoming traffic.
Jonathan said he would take care of it.
'Hell, everybody and his brother would be picking up the whole damned city if we didn't charge double fare. You know that for yourself.'
Jonathan leaned forward and smiled at the driver politely in the rearview mirror. 'Why don't we divide up the labor here? You drive, and we'll talk.' Then he asked Jemima, 'How do you manage to look so calm and lovely when you're starving to death?'
'Am I starving to death?' The harlequin flecks of gold danced with amusement in her warm brown eyes.
'Certainly, you are. Its a wonder you haven't noticed it.'
'I take it you're inviting me out to dinner.'
'I am that. Yes.'
She looked at him quizzically. 'Now, you know that when I picked you up in the rain, I didn't pick you up in all the possible senses of that phrase, don't you?'
'Good Lord, we hardly know each other! What are you suggesting? How about dinner?'
She considered it a moment, tempted. Then, 'No-o, I think not.'
'If you hadn't said no, what would your second choice have been?'
