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A few minutes later, he was in Eileen Sands' apartment. It was not his first visit. Eileen seldom danced or sang, anymore, herself. She was different, now. She wore an evening dress soft blue, tasteful. Here, she was the cool, poised owner, the lady. "Tiflin hasn't been around here for a long time, Frank," she was saying. "You know that his buddy entertained for me for a while.

Nelsen felt a tingle in his nerves very cold. "Hi what cooks, Tif?" he said mildly. "To you it's which?" Tiflin snapped. Nelson led him on. "Sometimes I think of all the dough in that bank," he said. "Yeah," Tiflin snarled softly. "That old coot, Charlie Reynolds' grandpa, sitting by his vault door. Too obvious, though here. Maybe in another bank in another town. We could get the cash we need.

"Aw-right, aw-right who's asking you guys to believe me?" Tiflin cut in. "I'll beam the twins for you since I'd guess your transmitter won't reach. You can listen in, and talk back through my set. Okay?" "Let's see what happens just for kicks," Ramos said softly. "If you're calling some friends to come and get us, or anything, Tif well, you've had it!"

In his and Hollins' cars, they got to the scene of the fragment's fall, two miles out of town, by following a faint, fading glow. They were almost the first to reach the spot. Tiflin and Ramos, who had been working on their jobs, came with their boss, along with a trailing horde of cars from town.

Besides, even with these notes for clues, who'd ever find out who they are, way out here?" Nelsen figured that all this was probably the truth. In the Belt, life was cheap. Death got to be a joke. "There was an ox of a guy with big teeth!" he hissed furiously. "Thought I saw Tiflin, too the S.O.B.! Cripes, do I always land in the soup?" "The bossman with the teeth, I remember," Ramos grated.

Joe Kuzak ran a steel wire from a pivot bolt at the hub of his ring, to tow Tiflin and his drum. Then everybody crawled into their respective bubbs, most of them needing the centrifugal gravity to help straighten out their fall-sickness. "My neck is swelling, too," Frank Nelsen heard Charlie Reynolds say. "Lymphatic glands sometimes bog down in the absence of weight.

Okay, let's not spoil my stomach. Turn him loose. It can't make much difference. Or maybe I'm sentimental about the old Bunch. He was our cracked, space-wild punk." "Thanks, Art," Tiflin laughed. In a minute he, and his comic, scarecrow pal who originated from the dark side of trouble, on Earth and out here, too, were fading against the stars.

Ramos and Tiflin, two wild characters with seldom-cut hair and pipe stem pants, who didn't look as if they could be trusted with a delicate unpacking operation, broke the Archer out with a care born of love, there in Paul Hendricks' big backroom shop, while the more stolid members and old Paul, silent in his swivel chair watched like hawks. "So who tries it on first?" Ramos challenged.

Tiflin snarled but obeyed. Ions jetting from the Earthward hub-ends of the rotating rings, yielded their steady few pounds of thrust. The gradual outward spiral began. "Cripes I'm not sure I can even astrogate to the Moon," Two-and-Two was heard to complain. "I'll check your ionic setting for you, Two-and-Two," Gimp answered him.

"Just that Tiflin is somehow involved with most of the bad luck that I've ever had out here," he said, grimly. "And if Pallastown were destroyed, everybody but the Tovies might as well go home from the Belt. The timing seems to me to be about right. They'd risk it, feeling we're too scared to strike back at home. The Jolly Lads who are international could be encouraged to do the job for them."