Chapter III
THE GRAFT IS GREEN
Izzy seemed surprised when he found that Gordon was turning in to thequasi-secret entrance to Mother Corey's. "Coming here myself," heexplained. "Mother got ahold of a load of snow, and sent me out tocontact a big pusher. Coming back, the goons picked me up and gave methe job on you. Hey, Mother!"
Bruce Gordon didn't ask how Mother Corey had acquired the dope. WhenEarth had deported all addicts two decades before, it had practicallybegged for dope smuggling.
The gross hulk of Mother Corey appeared almost at once. "Izzy and Bruce.Didn't know you'd met, cobbers. Contact, Izzy?"
"Ninety per cent for uncut," Izzy answered.
They went up to Gordon's hole-in-the-wall, with Mother Corey wheezingbehind, while the rotten wood of the stairs groaned under his grotesquebulk. At his questions, Gordon told the story tersely.
Mother Corey nodded. "Same old angles, eh? Get enough to do the job,they mug you. Stop halfway, and the halls are closed to you. Prettysoon, they'll be trick-proof, anyhow; they're changing over to electriceyes. Eh, you haven't forgotten me, cobber?"
Gordon hadn't. The old wreck had demanded five per cent of his winningsfor tipping him off. Mother Corey had too many cheap hoods among hisfriends to be fooled with. Gordon counted out the money reluctantly,while Izzy explained that they were going to be cops.
The old man shook his head, estimating what was left to Gordon. "Enoughto buy a corporal's job, pay for your suit, and maybe get by," hedecided. "Don't do it, cobber. You're the wrong kind. You take whatyou're doing serious. When you set out to tinhorn a living, you're acrook. Get you in a cop's outfit, and you'll turn honest. No place herefor an honest cop--not with elections coming up, cobber. Well, I guessyou gotta find out for yourself. Want a good room?"
Gordon's lips twitched. "Thanks, Mother, but I'll be staying inside thedome, I guess."
"So'll I," the old man gloated. "Setting in a chair all day, being anhonest citizen. Cobber, I already own a joint there--a nice one, theytell me. Lights. Two water closets. Big rooms, six-by-ten--fifty ofthem, big enough for whole families. And strictly on the level, cobber.It's no hide-out, like this."
He rolled the money in his greasy fingers. "Now, with what I get fromthe pusher, I can buy off that hot spot on the police blotter. I can goin the dome and walk around, just like you." His eyes watered, and atear went dripping down his nose. "I'm getting old. They'll be callingme 'Grandmother' pretty soon. So I'm turning my Chicken House over to mygranddaughter and I'm going honest. Want a room?"
Gordon grinned, and nodded. Mother Corey knew the ropes, and could betrusted. "Didn't know you had a granddaughter."
Izzy snorted, and Mother Corey grinned wolfishly. "You met her, cobber.The blonde you shook down! Came up from Earth eight years ago, lookingfor me. I sold her to the head of the East Point gang. Since she killedhim, she's been doing pretty well on her own. Mostly. Except when shemakes a fool of herself, like she did with you. But she'll come aroundto where I'm proud of her, yet.... If you two want to carry in the snow,collect, and turn it over to Commissioner Arliss for me--I can't passthe dome till he gets it--I'll give you both rooms for six months free.Except for the lights and water, of course."
Izzy nodded, and Gordon shrugged. On Mars, it didn't seem odd to beginapplying for a police job by carrying in narcotics. He wondered howthey'd go about contacting the commissioner.
But that turned out to be simple enough. After collecting, Izzy led theway into a section marked "Special Taxes" and whispered a few casualwords. The man at the desk went into an office marked private, and cameback a few minutes later.
"Your friend has no record with us," he said in a routine voice. "I'vechecked through his tax forms, and they're all in order. We'll confirmofficially, of course."
* * * * *
In the Applications section of the big Municipal Building, at the centerof the dome, there was a long form to fill out at the desk; but thecaptain there had already had answers typed in.
"Save time, boys," he said genially. "And time's valuable, ain't it? Ah,yes." He took the sums they had ready--there was a standard price--andstamped their forms. "And you'll want suits. Isaacs? Good, here's yourreceipt. And you, Corporal Gordon. Right. Get your suits one floor down,end of the hall. And report in eight tomorrow morning!"
It was as simple as that. Bruce Gordon was lucky enough to get a fairfit in his suit. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be inuniform.
Izzy was more businesslike. "Hope they don't give us too bad territory,gov'nor," he remarked. "Pickings are always a little lean on the firstfew beats, but you can work some fairly well."
Gordon's chest fell; this was Mars!
The room at the new Mother Corey's--an unkempt old building near theedge of the dome--proved to be livable, though it was a shock to seeMother Corey himself in a decent suit, and using perfume.
The beat was in a shabby section where clerks and skilled laborersworked. It wasn't poor enough to offer the universal desperation thatgave the gang hoodlums protective coloring, nor rich enough to havemajor rackets of its own.
Izzy was disgusted. "Cripes! Hope they've got a few cheap pushers aroundthat don't pay protection direct to the captain. You take that store;I'll go in this one!"
The proprietor was a druggist who ran his own fountain where thesynthetics that replaced honest Earth foods were compounded into sweetand sticky messes for the neighborhood kids. He looked up as Gordon camein; then his face fell. "New cop, eh? No wonder Gable collectedyesterday, ahead of time. All right, you can look at my books. I've beenpaying fifty, but you'll have to wait until Friday."
Gordon nodded and swung on his heel, surprised to find that his stomachwas turning. The man obviously couldn't afford fifty credits a week. Butit was the same all along the street. Even Izzy admitted finally thatthey'd have to wait.
"That damned cop before us! He really tapped them! And we can't takeless, so I guess we gotta wait until Friday."
* * * * *
The next day, Bruce Gordon made his first arrest. It was near the end ofhis shift, just as darkness was falling and the few lights were goingon. He turned a corner and came to a short, heavy hoodlum backing out ofa small liquor store with a knife in throwing position. The crookgrunted as he started to turn and stumbled onto Gordon. His knifeflashed up.
Without the need to worry about an airsuit, Gordon moved in, his armjerking forward. He clipped the crook on the inside of the elbow, whilegrabbing the wrist with his other hand. The man went sailing overGordon's head, to crash into the side of the building. He let out ayell.
Gordon rifled the hood's pockets, and located a roll of bills stuffedin. He dragged them out, before snapping cuffs on the man. Then hepulled the crook inside the store.
A woman stood there, moaning over a pale man on the floor; blood oozedfrom a welt on the back of his head. There was both gratitude andresentment as she looked up at Gordon.
"You'd better call the hospital," he told her sharply. "He may have aconcussion. I've got the man who held you up."
"Hospital?" Her voice broke into another wail. "And who can affordhospitals? All week we work, all hours. He's old, he can't handle thecases. I do that. Me! And then you come, and you get your money. And_he_ comes for his protection. Papa is sick. Sick, do you hear? He seesa doctor, he buys medicine. Then Gable comes. This man comes. We can'tpay him! So what do we get--we get knifes in the faces, saps on thehead--a concussion, you tell me! And all the money--the money we had topay to get stocks to sell to pay off from the profits we don't make--allof it, he wants! Hospitals! You think they give away at the hospitalsfree?"
She fell to her knees, crying over the injured man.
Gordon tossed the roll of bills onto the floor beside her; the injuryseemed only a scalp wound, and the old man was already beginning togroan. He opened his eyes and saw the bills in front of him, at whichthe woman was staring unbelievingly. His hand da
rted out, clutching it."God!" he moaned softly, and his eyes turned up slowly to Gordon.
"In there!" It was a shout from outside. Gordon had just time tostraighten up before the doorway was filled with two knife-men and aheavier one behind them.
His hands dropped to the handcuffed man on the floor, and he caught himup with a jerk, slapping his body back against the counter. He took astep forward, jerking his hands up and putting his Earth-adaptedshoulders behind it. The hood sailed up and struck the two knife-mensquarely.
There was a scream as their automatic attempts to save themselves buriedboth knives in the body of their friend. Then they went crashing down,and Gordon was over them.
* * * * *
The desk captain at the precinct house groaned as they came in, thenshook his head. "Damn it," he said. "I suppose it can't be helped,though; you're new, Gordon. Hennessy, get the corpse to the morgue, andmark it down as a robbery attempt. I'm going to have to book you andyour men, Mr. Jurgens!"
The heavy leader of the two angry knife-men grinned. "Okay, Captain. Butit's going to slow down the work I'm doing on the Mayor's campaign forre-election! Damn that Maxie--I told him to be discreet. Hey, you knowwhat you've got, though--a real considerate man! He gave the old guy hismoney back!"
They took Bruce Gordon's testimony, and sent him home.
Jurgens was waiting for him when he came on the beat. From his look ofhaving slept well, he must have been out almost as soon as he wasbooked. Two other men stood behind Gordon, while Jurgens explained thathe didn't like being interrupted on business calls "about the Mayor'scampaign, or anything else," and that next time there'd be real hardfeelings. Gordon was surprised when he wasn't beaten, but not when theracketeer suggested that any money found at a crime was evidence andshould go to the police. The captain had told him the same.
By Friday, he had learned. He made his collections early. Gable had soldhim the list of what was expected, and he used it, though he cut downthe figures in a few cases. There was no sense in killing the geese thatlaid the eggs.
The couple at the liquor store had their payment waiting, and theyhanded it over, looking embarrassed. It wasn't until he was gone that hefound a small bottle of fairly good whiskey tucked into his pouch. Hestarted to throw it away, and then lifted it to his lips. Maybe they'dknown how he felt better than he had. Mother Corey's words about hischange of attitude came back. Damn it, he had to dig up enough money toget back to Earth.
He collected, down to the last account. It was a nice haul; at thatrate, he'd have to stand it only for a few months. Then Gordon's lipstwisted, as he realized it wasn't all gravy. There were angles, or theprice of a corporalcy would have been higher.
One of the older men answered his questions. "Fifty per cent of the taketo the Orphan's and Widow's fund. Better make it more than Gable turnedin, if you want to get a better beat."
The envelopes were lying on a table marked "Voluntary Donations"; Gordonfilled his out, with a figure a bit higher than half of Gable's take,and dropped it in the box. The captain, who had been watching himcarefully, settled back and smiled.
"Widows and Orphans sure appreciate a good man," he said. "I was kind ofworried about you, Gordon, but you got a nice touch. One of my newboys--Isaacs, you know him--was out checking up after you, and the dopesseem to like you."
Gordon had wondered why Izzy had been pulled off the beat. As he turnedto leave, the captain held up a hand. "Special meeting tomorrow. Wegotta see about getting out a good vote. Election only three weeksaway."
Gordon went home. He'd learned by now that the native Martians--thosewho'd been here for at least thirty years, or had been born here--werebacking a reform candidate and new ticket. But Mayor Wayne had all ofthe rest of the town in his hand. He'd been in twice, and had lifted thegraft take by a truly remarkable figure. From where Gordon stood, itlooked like a clear victory for the reformer, Nolan.
He went into the meeting willing to agree to anything. He applauded allthe speeches about how much Mayor Wayne had done for them, and signedthe pledge expressing his confidence, along with the implied duty he hadto make his beat vote right. Then he stopped, as the captain stood up.
"We gotta be neutral, boys," he boomed. "But it don't mean we can't showhow well we like the Mayor. Just remember, he got us our jobs! Now Ifigure we can all kick in a little to help his campaign. I'm going tostart it off with five thousand credits, two thousand of them rightnow."
They fell in line, though there was no cheering. The price might havebeen fixed in advance. A thousand for a plain cop, fifteen hundred for acorporal, and so on, each contributing a third of it now. Gordongrimaced; he had six hundred left. This would take nearly all of it.
A man named Fell shook his head, fearfully. "Can't do a thing now. Mywife had a baby and an operation, and----"
"Okay, Fell," the captain said, without a sign of disapproval. "Freitag,what about you? Fine, fine!"
Gordon's name came, and he shook his head. "I'm new--and I'm strappednow. I'd like----"
"Quite all right, Gordon," the captain boomed. "Harwick!"
He finished the roll, and settled back, smiling. "I guess that's all,boys. Thanks from the Mayor. And go on home.... Oh, Fell, Gordon,Lativsky--stick around. I've got some overtime for you, since you needextra money. The boys out in Ward Three are shorthanded. Afraid I'llhave to order you out there!"
* * * * *
Ward Three was the hangout of a cheap gang of hoodlums, numbering somefour hundred, who went in for small crimes mostly. But they had recentlydeclared war on the cops.
After eight hours of overtime, Gordon reported in with every bone sorefrom small missiles, and his suit filthy from assorted muck. He had abeautiful shiner where a stone had clipped him.
The captain smiled. "Rough, eh? But I hear robbery went down on yourbeat last night. Fine work, Gordon. We need men like you. Hate to do it,but I'm afraid you'll have to take the next shift at Main and Broad,directing traffic. The usual man is sick, and you're the only one I cantrust with the job!"
Gordon stuck it out, somehow, but it wasn't worth it. He reported backto the precinct with the five hundred in his hand, and his pen itchingfor the donation agreement.
The captain took it, and nodded. "I wasn't kidding about your being agood man, Gordon. Go home and get some sleep, take the next day off.After that, we've got a new job for you!"