On the street level, torn, bleeding, rank with creosote fuel, he searched frantically for a Public Jumper. He couldn’t find a coin-Jumper. He managed to flag a piloted machine.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

Reich dabbed dazedly at the blood and oil that smeared him. “Chooka Frood!” he croaked in a hysterical voice.

The cab hopped him to 99 Bastion West.

Reich thrust past the protesting doorman, the indignant reception clerk, and Chooka Frood’s highly paid chargé d’affaires to the private office, a Victorian room furnished with stained glass lamps, overstuffed sofas and a roll-top desk. Chooka was seated at the desk, wearing a dingy smock and a dingy expression that changed to alarm when Reich yanked the scrambler out of his pocket.

“For God’s sake, Reich!” she exclaimed.

“Here I am, Chooka,” he said hoarsely. “So let’s have the trial run before we feed it to the dice. I used this scrambler on you once before. I’m warmed up for it again. You warmed me up, Chooka.”

She shot up from the desk and screamed: “Magda!”

Reich caught her by the arm and hurled her across the office. She side-swiped the couch and fell across it. The red-eyed bodyguard came running into the office. Reich was ready for her. He clubbed her across the back of the neck, and as she fell forward, he ground his heel into her back and slammed her flat on the floor. The woman twisted and clawed at his leg. Ignoring her he spat at Chooka: “Let’s get it squared off. Why the booby-traps?”

“What are you talking about?” Chooka cried.

“What the hell do I look like I’m talking about. Read the blood, lady. I’ve skinned out of three obituaries running. How long can my luck hold out?”

“Make sense, Reich! I can’t—”

“I’m talking about the big D, Chooka, D for death. I came in here and strong-armed the D’Courtney girl out of you. I beat hell out of your girl-friend and I beat hell out of you. So you got frabbed off and set those traps. Right?”

Chooka shook her head dazedly.

“Three of them so far. On the ship coming back from Spaceland. In my study. In my Jumper. How many more, Chooka?”

“It wasn’t me, Reich. So help me. I—”

“It has to be you, Chooka. You’re the only one with a gripe and the only one who hires gimpsters. That adds up to you, so let’s get it squared off.” He slapped the safety off the scrambler. “Ive got no time for a two-bit hater with coffin-queer friends.”

“For God’s sake!” Chooka screamed. “What the hell have I got against you? So you rough-housed a little. So you mugged Magda. You wasn’t the first. You ain’t gonna be the last. Use your head!”

“I used it. If it isn’t you, who else?”

“Keno Quizzard. He hires gimpsters too. I heard you and him—”

“Quizzard’s out. Quizzard’s dead. Who else?”

“Church.”

“He hasn’t got the guts. If he had he would have tried it ten years ago. Who else?”