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Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
MODUS VIVENDI
By WALTER BUPP
_It's undoubtedly difficult to live with someone who is Different. He must, because he is Different, live by other ways. But what makes it so difficult is that, for some reason he thinks you are Different!_
_Illustrated by Schoenherr_
* * * * *
By the time I got to the office, I was jittery as a new bride. The daystarted out all wrong. I woke up weak and washed out. I was patheticwhen I worked out with the weights--they felt as heavy as thePyramids. And when I walked from the subway to the building where MikeRenner and I have our offices, an obvious telepath tailed me all theway.
I was ready for a scrap. St. Francis himself would have irritated thehell out of me, and I'd have gone speechless with rage at the meresight of sweet Alice Ben Bolt. The guy sitting with Mike in our lawlibrary didn't have a chance.
"What's this?" I growled, seeing Mike seated silent and staring at ourcaller across the big table. There wasn't a book or sheet of foolscapresting on the walnut. Work hadn't started. They were lying in waitfor me. Well, I was lying in wait for the first guy who opened hismouth.
"The Grievance Committee!" Mike said in a tone of stifled fury. "Thisis Horace Dunn."
"_Carpe Diem_," I snarled at Horace, a hammered-down heavyweight."What's Renner done now?"
"Me?" Renner demanded, letting his fat jowls quivver. He's one ofthose burly types who looks like he should be playing pro ball andinstead thrives on showing clients how to keep two sets of books whilestaying out of jail.
"Not Renner," Horace said. "You, Maragon. The Bar Association getsupset when reputable attorneys successfully defend one of these Stigmacases."
"Forgive me my hobbies," I sneered, sitting down beside my partner."But I try to win them all. You know I didn't seek thatbusiness--Judge Passarelli appointed me Public Defender when that Psi,Crescas, bleated that he was destitute."
Mike Renner apparently decided one of us had to be reasonable."Coincidence, Dunn," he said. "Pure coincidence. You can't hold itagainst--"
"No coincidence," I snapped. It wasn't my day to agree with anybody.Renner's fat little eyes opened wide.
"Judge Passarelli _knew_ I'd be in his courtroom," I said. "His Honorwanted to get my views on a point I'd made in that pleading theprevious week."
"Passarelli _again!_" Horace breathed. "Well, well. What do you know?And two weeks ago he found a Stigma case named Mary Hall 'Not Guilty'of bunco game against the 99th National Bank. You know the case?"
Renner was too upset for speech. He shook his head, looking over atme. I didn't give him the satisfaction. Mike hasn't any patience withmy interest in keeping abreast of Psi developments anyway.
"This Mary Hall is a hallucinator," Horace said. He leaned forward andgave it to us in not much more than a whisper. "This witch used her HCto pass five dollar bills off as hundreds, getting change. But theycaught her at it." He laughed harshly. "And tried her for it," headded. "Get the picture on that 'Not Guilty' verdict?"
"No," Renner admitted. I slouched down, scowling.
"She used HC on Judge Passarelli, too. Foozled his vision, whateveryou want to call it. When the 'cutor handed him the evidence, the fivedollar bill she had tried to pass for a hundred, all sealed up inplastic, Passarelli _saw_ a _hundred_, thanks to her Psi powers."
"Get out of here," I told Horace, getting to my feet.
"Pete! For heaven's sake!" Mike protested. You didn't talk like thatto the Grievance Committee. Did you ever see a guy wring his hands?Renner was pathetic.
"Can't you quit pussy-footing around, Renner?" I growled. "This comicisn't from the Grievance Committee!"
Horace Dunn paled on that one. "How do you know that?" he said. Hesounded a lot more dangerous.
"Too polite," I sneered. "And it ill becomes you. What's going on?"
"So I level," Horace conceded. "So I'm _not_ from the GrievanceCommittee, and I'm not all hot that Maragon defended Keys Crescas."
"Much better," I said, sitting down again.
"This guy Passarelli is coming up for re-election shortly," our callersaid. A light began to dawn. "We're making sure he doesn't makeit--and that _our_ man does."
My laugh was more a bark. "He can't find Mary Hall," I told Renner.
Horace's lower jaw shot out at me. "I don't like guys who know whatI'm thinking!" he snapped.
I had to laugh in his face. "Who needs TP? You want to tar Passarelliwith the brush of Psi--and this hallucinator would be Exhibit 'A'."
He subsided. "So I can't find her. What then?"
I shook my head. "You say it," I suggested. "Too early to have to washmy mouth with soap."
Dunn made his big pitch to Renner. "Maragon has a connection withthese Psis--it's all over town that he got Keys Crescas off. ThisCrescas can find Mary Hall--you know how Psis stick together." Rennernodded rapt agreement. "And," Dunn added, finally sticking it in us,"it would be good politics for Maragon to do it--would kind of sweetenup the stench of his getting Crescas off, eh?"
Renner thought he had to sell me: "Pete," he insisted, "You've _got_to! Defending Crescas was sure to hurt our reputation. That girl hasit coming for--"
I waved a hand in his face, shutting him up. "Why should I care whathappens to the girl?" I said, getting up. "Just make sure Horace paysus a fat fee. After all, it's tax exempt."
"Tax exempt?" he asked, frowning.
"Sure," I said, walking out. "Religious contribution. Thirty pieces ofsilver."
* * * * *
Keys Crescas is the kind of odd-ball you can't find till after dark.Good looking in a romantic, off-beat sort of way. No visible means ofsupport--a typical Psi. Renner made one white-jowled attempt to readme the riot act for failing to plead him guilty when Passarelli hadtapped me as Public Defender. I came close to throwing the meat-ballout of my private office.
What could I have done? Sure, Crescas has the Stigma--he doesn't tryto hide it. It's only TK, though, and I don't suppose much of that.Just enough, the cops will tell you, to make him a good man at pickinglocks and earn his nickname--Keys.
People like Crescas run to a pattern. I left my number in about ten ofthe spots he might turn up, and around six o'clock one of them hit paydirt.
I pressed the "Accept" key when the phone rang, and Keys Crescas'olive face and curly black hair filled the screen. His black eyes hadthat lively watchfulness you associate with Psis. He had the gain waydown and the aperture wide, so that he wasn't in focus any fartherback than his ears. And that scope setting hid from where he wascalling as effectively as a veil. Did you ever know a Psi who didn'tseem to be harboring a secret?
"Hi, Mouthpiece," he grinned, showing even white teeth. "How'd youknow where to find me?"
"Best place for worms is under a manure pile," I said. "I usedparallel logic."
That took that smug, Stigma grin off his puss. "What do you want?" heasked, sullen now.
"A lead to a Psi who's gone into hiding."
You know what he told me to do. "Mary Hall," I added. "She's gotStigma Troubles."
"Not even counting you, eh?" Crescas sneered. He made the samesuggestion again. I let it ride. "Go on," he dared me. "Make yourpitch. I'll laugh later."
"That 'Not Guilty' verdict doesn't mean a thing, Crescas," I told
him."That was a National Bank she tried to rob. There's a Federal rapstill to be settled. She has big Stigma troubles and needscounsel--and not one of those shysters who hang around the CriminalCourts building sniffing for Psi business."
"She's in no trouble till they find her," he said accurately, and Icould see his hand come up to cut the image. "For my dough they'vegiven up