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Barcelona take astand-offish attitude if some outsider were to lower the track odds bybetting a bundle on Flying Heels, Moonbeam, and Lady Grace."

  I said, "Lieutenant, you've a pickpocket to jug. Horse betting islegal."

  "Since wagering on the speed of a horse has been redefined as 'Thepurchase of one corporate share to be valid for one transaction only andredeemable at a par value to be established by the outcome of thisaforesaid single transaction,' horse betting is legal. This makes you an'Investment Counselor, short-term transactions only,' and removes fromyou the odious nomenclature of 'Bookie.' However, permit me to point outthat the buying and selling of shares of horseflesh does not grant alicense to manipulate the outcome."

  "You sound as though you're accusing me of contemplating a fix."

  "Oh no. Not that."

  "Then what?"

  "Wally, Flying Heels, Moonbeam, and Lady Grace were refused by theNational Association Of Dog Food Canners because of their substandardhealth. If I'm not mistaken, the Derby Association should have to runthe race early that Saturday afternoon."

  "Early?"

  "Uh-huh. Early. Y'see, Wally, the blue laws of the blue grass state makeit illegal to run horseraces on Sunday, hence the start of the Derbymust be early enough to let our three platers complete the race beforemidnight."

  "Lieutenant, there still stands a mathematical probability that--"

  "That the rest of the field will catch the Martian Glanders as they leadour three dogs past the clubhouse turn?"

  "Lieutenant, you are wronging me."

  "I haven't said a thing."

  "Then why have you come here to bedevil me, lieutenant? If Barcelona hasideas of arranging a fix--"

  "If Barcelona has such notions, Wally Wilson would know about it."

  "Everybody," I said, "entertains notions of cleaning up a bundle byhaving the hundred-to-one shot come in by a length. Even Barcelona musthave wild dreams now and then--"

  "Come off it," he snapped. "Something's up and I want to know what'scooking."

  * * * * *

  "Lieutenant, you're now asking me to describe to you how someone mightrig the Kentucky Derby in a world full of expert telepaths andperceptives and manipulators, a large number of which will be ratherwell-paid to lend their extrasensory power to the process of keeping theDerby pure."

  He eyed me sourly. "Remember, 'Fireman' O'Leary?"

  "That's an unfair allegation," I replied. "The rumor that he started theChicago Fire is absolutely unfounded."

  "As I recall, 'Fireman' O'Leary came by his nickname about one hundredyears after the holocaust that started on DeKoven Street in 1871. Itseems that 'Fireman' O'Leary was most useful in helping the fillies homeat Washington Park by assaulting them in the region of the bangtail withsmall bollops of pure incandescence. He was a pyrotic."

  "That is a false accusation--"

  "It was never proved," admitted the lieutenant, "because any one whoaccused anybody of making use of extrasensory faculties in 1971 wouldhave been tossed into that establishment out on Narragansett Avenuewhere the headshrinkers once plied their mystic trade."

  "Things are different now."

  "Indeed they are, Wally. Which is why I'm here. No one but a fumblingidiot would try anything as crude as speeding a dog over the line bypyrotics or by jolting the animals with a bolt of electrical energy."

  "So--?"

  "So considering the sad and sorry fact that human nature does not changevery much despite the vast possibility for improvement, we mustanticipate a fix that has been contrived and executed on a level thattakes full cognizance of the widespread presence of psi-function."

  "But again, why me?"

  "Was not 'Fireman' O'Leary an ancestor of yours?"

  "He was my maternal grandparent."

  "And so you do indeed come from a long line of horse operators, don'tyou?"

  "I resent your invidious implications."

  "And wasn't 'Wireless' Wilson the paternal ancestor from whom the familyname has come?"

  "I fail to see ... the allegation that my father's father employedtelepathy to transmit track information faster than the wire serviceshas never been proved."

  He smiled knowingly. "Wally," he said slowly, "if you feel thatallegations have somehow impugned the pure name of your family, youcould apply for a review of their several appearances in court. It'spossible that 'Fireman' O'Leary did _not_ use his pyrotic talent toenhance the running speed of some tired old dogs."

  "But--"

  "So I think we understand one another, Wally. There is also reason tobelieve that psionic talent tends to run in families. You're a psi-manand a good one."

  "If I hear of anything--"

  "You'll let me know," he said flatly. "And if Flying Heels, Moonbeam,_and-or_ Lady Grace even so much as succeed in staying on their feet forthe whole race, I'll be back demanding to know how you--WallyWilson--managed to hold them up!"

  After which the good Lieutenant Delancey left me to my thoughts--whichwere most uncomfortable.

  Barcelona had to be kept cheerful. But the dogs he'd picked could onlycome in first unassisted if they happened to be leading the field thatstarted the _next_ race, and even then the post time would have to bedelayed to give them a longer head start. That meant that _if_ our threeplaters came awake, _everybody_ would be looking for the fix.

  Anybody who planned a caper would sure have to plan it well.

  Barcelona hadn't planned the fix, he merely stated a firm desire andeither Barcelona got what he wanted or I got what I didn't want, and Ihad to do it real good or Delancey would make it real hot for me.

  I was not only being forced to enter a life of crime, I was also beingforced to perform cleverly.

  It wasn't fair for the law to gang up with the crooks against me.

  And so with a mind feeling sort of like the famous sparrow who'd gottentrapped for three hours in a badminton game at Forest Hills, I built astrong highball, and poured it down while my halluscene set was warmingup. I needed the highball as well as the relaxation, because I knew thatthe "Drama" being presented was the hundred and umpty-umpth remake of"Tarzan of the Apes" and for ninety solid minutes I would be swingingthrough trees without benefit of alcohol. Tarzan, you'll remember, didnot learn to smoke and drink until the second book.

  * * * * *

  The halluscene did relax me and kept my mind from its worry even thoughthe drama was cast for kids and therefore contained a maximum oftree-swinging and ape-gymnastics and a near dearth of Lady Jane'spleasant company. What was irritating was the traces of wrong aroma. Ifone should not associate the African jungle with the aroma of a cheapbar, one should be forgiven for objecting to Lady Jane with a strongflavor of tobacco and cheap booze on her breath.

  And so I awoke with this irritating conflict in my senses to discoverthat I'd dropped out of my character as Tarzan and my surroundings ofthe jungle, but I'd somehow brought the stench of cheap liquor and moistcigarettes with me.

  There was an occupant in the chair next to mine. He needed a bath and heneeded a shave but both would have been wasted if he couldn't changehis clothing, too. His name was Gimpy Gordon.

  I said, "Get out!"

  He whined, "Mr. Wilson, you just gotta help me."

  "How?"

  "Fer years," he said, "I been living on peanuts. I been runnin' errandsfor hard coins. I been--"

  "Swiping the take of a Red Cross box," I snapped at him.

  "Aw, Mr. Wilson," he whined, "I simply gotta make a stake. I'm a-goin'to send it back when I win."

  "Are you going to win?"

  "Can't I?"

  For a moment I toyed with the idea of being honest with the Gimp.Somehow, someone should tell the duffer that all horse players diebroke, or that if he could make a living I'd be out of business.

  Gimpy Gordon was one of Life's Unfortunates. If it were to rain goldcoins, Gimpy would be out wearing boxing gloves. His mental processesmeandered because of too much
methyl. His unfortunate nickname did notcome from the old-fashioned reason that he walked with a limp, but fromthe even more unfortunate reason that he _thought_ with a limp. In hisown unhealthy way he was--could we call it "Lucky" by any standard ofhonesty? In this world full of highly developed psi talent, the Gimp_could_ pick a pocket and get away with it because he often literallycould not remember where and how he'd acquired the wallet for longerthan a half minute. And it was a sort of