could zag in to take cover
beyond front steps and the like. I let my perception run up the block and
by the time I got to the end of my range, I knew that block just as well
as if I'd made a practise run in the daytime.

At this point I got a shock. The hot papa was coming up the sidewalk hell
bent for destruction. He was a mental sensitive, and he had been following
my thoughts while my sense of perception made its trial run up the street.
He was running like the devil to catch up with my mind and burn it down
per schedule. It must have come as quite a shock to him when he realized
that while the mind he was reading was running like hell up the street,
the hard old body was standing in the doorway waiting for him.

I dove out of my hiding place as he came close. I wanted to tackle him
hard and ask some pointed questions. He saw me as I saw him skidding to an
unbalanced stop, and there was the dull glint of metal in his right hand.
His needle-ray came swinging up and I went for my armpit. I found time to
curse my own stupidity for not having hardware in my own fist at the
moment. But then I had my rod in my fist. I felt the hot scorch of the
needle going off just over my shoulder, and then came the godawful racket
of my ancient forty-five. The big slug caught him high in the belly and
tossed him back. It folded him over and dropped him in the gutter while
the echoes of my cannon were still racketing back and forth up and down
the quiet street.

I had just enough time to dig his wallet, pockets, and billfold before the
whole neighborhood was up and out. Sirens howled in the distance and from
above I could hear the thin wail of a jetcopter. Someone opened a window
and called: "What's going on out there? Cut it out!"

[Illustration]

"Tea party," I called back. "Go invite the cops, Tommy."

The window slammed down again. He didn't have to invite the law. It
arrived in three ground cruisers and two jetcopter emergency squads that
came closing in like a collapsing balloon.

The leader of the squadron was a Lieutenant Williamson whom I'd never met
before. But he knew all about me before the 'copter hit the ground. I
could almost feel his sense of perception frisking me from the skin
outward, going through my wallet and inspecting the Private Operator's
license and my Weapon-Permit. I found out later that Williamson was a
Rhine Scholar with a Bachelor's Degree in Perception, which put h