Illustrated by van DongenGUN FOR HIRE
By
MACK
REYNOLDS
oe Prantera calledsoftly, "Al." The pleasurable,comfortable,warm feeling beganspreading over him, theway it always did.
The older man stopped andsquinted, but not suspiciously, evennow.
The evening was dark, it was unlikelythat the other even saw thecircle of steel that was the mouth ofthe shotgun barrel, now resting onthe car's window ledge.
"Who's it?" he growled.
Joe Prantera said softly, "Big Louissent me, Al."
And he pressed the trigger.
And at that moment, the universecaved inward upon Joseph MariePrantera.
There was nausea and nausea uponnausea.
There was a falling through allspace and through all time. There wasdoubling and twisting and twitchingof every muscle and nerve.
There was pain, horror and tumultuousfear.
And he came out of it as quicklyand completely as he'd gone in.
He was in, he thought, a hospitaland his first reaction was to think,This here California. Everything different.Then his second thought wasSomething went wrong. Big Louis, heain't going to like this.
He brought his thinking to thepresent. So far as he could remember,he hadn't completely pulled the trigger.That at least meant that whateverthe rap was it wouldn't be tootough. With luck, the syndicate wouldget him off with a couple of years atQuentin.
A door slid open in the wall in away that Joe had never seen a dooroperate before. This here California.
The clothes on the newcomer werewrong, too. For the first time, JoePrantera began to sense an alienness—asomething that was awfullywrong.
The other spoke precisely andslowly, the way a highly educated manspeaks a language which he readsand writes fluently but has little occasionto practice vocally. "You have recovered?"
Joe Prantera looked at the otherexpressionlessly. Maybe the old duckwas one of these foreign doctors, like.
The newcomer said, "You have undoubtedlybeen through a most harrowingexperience. If you have anyuntoward symptoms, possibly I couldbe of assistance."
Joe couldn't figure out how hestood. For one thing, there shouldhave been some kind of police guard.
The other said, "Perhaps a bit ofstimulant?"
Joe said flatly, "I wanta lawyer."
The newcomer frowned at him. "Alawyer?"
"I'm not sayin' nothin'. Not until Iget a mouthpiece."
The newcomer started off on anothertack. "My name is LawrenceReston-Farrell. If I am not mistaken,you are Joseph Salviati-Prantera."
Salviati happened to be Joe's mother'smaiden name. But it was unlikelythis character could have known that.Joe had been born in Naples and hismother had died in childbirth. Hisfather hadn't brought him to theStates until the age of five and by thattime he had a stepmother.
"I wanta mouthpiece," Joe saidflatly, "or let me outta here."
Lawrence Reston-Farrell said, "Youare not being constrained. There areclothes for you in the closet there."
Joe gingerly tried swinging hisfeet to the floor and sitting up, whilethe other stood watching him, strangely.He came to his feet. With t