marry it and be happy. If you think so highly of matrimony, why is it that you never married?”
“A Mr. Smith telephoned for an appointment. He wouldn’t say what he wanted.”
“Don’t change the subject. Why is it that you never married?”
“Nobody ever asked me,” Miss Schlupe said sadly. “Mr. Smith is on his way now.”
“From where?”
“He didn’t say.”
Darzek smiled. “John Smith?”
“I didn’t think to ask.”
“If his business brings him out in this weather, it must be urgent. Did he sound urgent?”
“He sounded like a dead fish.”
“I may not see him. If he was using a really original pseudonym, such as Rzeczywistosc—”
“Smith may be his name.”
“Mmm—I suppose it is possible. There must be someone somewhere whose real name is Smith, but the Smiths I meet professionally invariably turn out to be Joneses. Does Universal Trans have a terminal in Tahiti? I think I asked you that.”
“I’ll inquire.”
“Please do.”
Miss Schlupe closed the door quietly, leaving Darzek to commune with the storm.
He inventoried his detective agency’s current commitments. The poison pen letter writer would take at least another week. The employee who’d been tampering with the Arnado Company’s bookkeeping apparatus had been identified, and would be nabbed when he tried it again. The Murray Hill vending machine pirates were a problem for an engineer, but a boresome millionaire had insisted that Darzek take the job. He did, and turned it over to an engineer, who promised to have an answer for him shortly.
The other matters were trivial. With some help from Ed Rucks he could easily be free in two weeks. He stood looking out at the snow and thinking of Tahiti. He had never been to Tahiti. He wondered how he’d managed to overlook it.
Miss Schlupe knocked once and entered quickly, closing the door behind her. “There is no Universal Trans terminal in the South Sea Islands,” she announced. “The company confidently expects to establish one there no later than the fall of 1990.”
“Fine state of affairs,” Darzek grumbled. “The terminal on the moon starts operating next year and they’re making noises about putting one on Mars. How could they overlook Tahiti?”
“The nearest terminal is Honolulu.”
“All right. I’m going to Tahiti if I have to swim. What are you smirking about?”
“Mr. Smith is waiting.”
“I won’t see him. I’m not taking on any more work.”
Miss Schlupe straightened her spectacles and frowned disapprovingly. “Really! And he walked all the way over here in the snow!”
“I don’t care if he skated over on his—what are you smirking about?”
“It’s Dog!”
“Ah!”
“He looks as dead-fishy as he sounds.”
“Or dead-doggy?” Darzek went to his desk, seated himself, and announced grimly, “It’s cost me two thousand, seven hundred and forty-two dollars, plus whatever you paid Ed today, to not find out who this guy is and what he wants. It better be good. Send him in.”
Miss Schlupe smiled Smith-Dog into the room. He shuffled forward awkwardly, reached back to close the door, and seemed discomfited to find that Miss Schlupe had already done so. Darzek remained seated and coldly indicated a chair by his desk. He had seen Smith seven times previously, but never from closer than thirty feet. He watched narrowly while the man got himself settled on the edge of the chair.
Miss Schlupe was right. He looked like a dead fish.
“I understand,” Smith said, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Darzek’s face, “that you undertake dangerous commissions for hire.”
“I suppose you could put it that way,” Darzek said peacefully. “I wouldn’t, but you may if you like.” He thought he had seen mounted fish with more expressive faces. The fish Smith resembled was not merely dead, it was petrified.
“Then—you don’t undertake dangerous commissions for hire?”
“Certainly not.”
Without displaying a ripple of emotion Smith managed to convey the impression that he was dumbfounded.
“Occasionally one of my commissions turns out to be dangerous,” Darzek said. “When that happens I place it in the hands of the police at the earliest opportunity.”
Smith said slowly, “I was reliably informed that you undertook dangerous commissions for hire. I have such a commission for you, and I wanted to inquire as to your stipend, or fee.”
“I don’t undertake any kind of a commission without first knowing what it involves,” Darzek said. He had been trying to identify Smith’s accent, and he realized with a start that the man had none. His pronunciation was so precise that it sounded odd.
“Could you not at least give me some indication of your customary charges?”
Darzek shook his head. “They depend on the expenses I incur, on the time required, and to a considerable extent on the degree of ingenuity that I have to exert. I charge heavily for wear and tear on my brain. Without knowing what it is that you want, I can only say that I am an extremely expensive private detective.”
“I do not think that you would incur expenses,” Smith said. “The time required might be considerable.”
“What do you mean by ‘considerable’? Weeks, months—”
“Years,” Smith said flatly.
“With extensive travel, I suppose,” Darzek suggested with a smile.
“Yes, indeed. Very extensive travel.”
“And the commission would be dangerous?”
“Exceedingly dangerous. The odds would be overwhelmingly in favor of your losing your life.”
Darzek tilted back comfortably. “On the basis of that information I believe I can tentatively establish a fee, or stipend. I would require an advance payment of one million dollars. I would prefer small bills, ones, fives, and tens, though I wouldn’t mind a few twenties and an occasional fifty. When the job was finished to your entire satisfaction, I would then bill you for the balance of my fee. I couldn’t tell you ahead of time how much that would be, but I doubt that it would exceed another million.”
He had hoped to spark a glimmer of emotion in that disgustingly blank face, but he could detect none. Smith seemed to ponder the matter for a moment. Then he
