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"A legal entity," guessed Mundin. "A fictive person."
"No, boy." The old eyes were gleaming in the ruined face. "Forget that. Think
of an oriental court. A battlefield; a government; a poker game that never
ends. The essence of a corporation is the subtle flux of power, now thrusting
this man up, now smiting this group low. You can't resist power, boy, but you
can guide it." He reached shakily for the battered tin of pills. "Oh, you'll
manage," he said. "The thing for you to do now is to vanish. Get lost. Don't
be seen anywhere until you turn up at the meeting. I wouldn't go to my office
or my apartment if I were you." He glanced at Don Lavin, and Mundin cringed.
"What then," Mundin demanded. "You want me to stay here?"
"Anywhere. Anywhere out of sight."
Mundin looked at his watch. If he could sleep  if he could go to bed now, and
wake up just in time to start for the meeting. But it was far too early for
that;^and besides, he would scarcely be able to sleep. He had nearly
twenty-four hours to kill. Twenty-four hours in which to think and get nervous
and lose the sharp edge of his determination.
"I'm going out," he said. "I don't know if I'll see you before the meeting or
not."
Mundin said good-by to Don Lavin, who never noticed him, and wandered through
the growing dusk of
Belly Rave. It was relatively safe until dark; he changed direction a couple
of times when he caught sight of what looked like purposeful groups of men or
children ahead, but there was actually small chance of attack before the sun
went down.
He found himself nearing the General Recreations recruiting station, and felt
somewhat more secure in the shelter of the inviting, pink-spun-candy-looking
structure. General Recreations policed its area with its own guards; it was a
good place to get a cab to go into Monmouth City.
But there was no hurry. Mundin studied the gaudy posters and the shuffling,
gossiping men and women. It was the first time he had got really close to the
raw material that Stadium shows were made of, and he felt a little like an
intruder. He had seen the shows themselves, of course.
Plenty of them, in his time. He had gone religiously to the Kiddies' Days back
in Texas. As an adolescent, he had been a rootin', tootin' red-hot fan, as
able as any to spout the logbook records on hours in combat, percentage kills,
survival quotients and so on. Naturally, his enthusiasm had quieted down when
the Scholarship people approved his application and he started law school, and
he had never quite picked it up again. It didn't seem to go too well with
membership at the bar nothing against the games, of course; but an attorney
was expected to go in for more cerebral forms of amusement.
Like dodging creditors, he told himself bitterly.
Somebody called from the shuffling mob, "Mr. Mundin! Hey, Mr. Mundin!"
He started, half ready to run.
But it was only whatsisname Norvell Bligh, that was it The client Dworcas had
sent. But so shabby!
Then Mundin remembered: Bligh had quit on his contract
A contract with General Recreations, ironically enough and then to find him
here!
The little man panted up to Mundin and wrung his hands. There was moisture in
his eyes. "Mr.
Mundiny my God it's good to see a friendly face! Were you were you looking for
me, maybe?"
"No, Mr. Bligh."
Bligh's face fell. Almost inaudibly he said, "Oh. I uh thought perhaps you
might have a message for me as my attorney, you know maybe the company. . . .
But they wouldn't, of course."
"No, they wouldn't," Mundin said gently. He looked around; he couldn't stand
the little man's
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r-at-Law%20v1.0.txt misery, nor could he wound him by walking away cold. He
said, "Is there any place we can have a drink around here?"
"Is there!" Mundin thought he was going to cry. "My God, Mr. Mundin, the
things I've seen in the week I've been here  "
He looked around to get his bearings and led off, Mundin following. It was
only half a block to the nearest blind pig. Bligh knocked on an unlit door.
"Shep sent me," he told a bitter-faced woman through a peephole.
Inside, the place reeked of alcohol. They sat at plank tables In the wretched
living room, and through the careless curtains Mundin saw the gleam of copper
tubing and shiny pots. They were the only customers at that hour.
The woman asked tonelessly, "Raisin-jack? Ration-jack? Majun? Reefers? Gin?"
"Gin, please," Mundin said hastily.
It came in a quart bottle. Mundin gasped when she said, "Fifty cents."
"Competition," Bligh explained when she had gone. "If it was just me she
would've sold it for twenty-five, but of course she could tell you were just
slumming."
"Not exactly," Mundin said. "Health!"
They drank. At first Mundin thought that somebody had smashed him on the back
of the head with a padded mallet. Then he realized it was the gin.
Hoarsely, he asked Bligh, "How have you been getting along?"
Bligh shook his head, tears hanging in his eyes. "Don't ask me," he said
bitterly. "It's been hell, one day of hell after another, and no end to it.
How have
I been deiegTJt couldn't be worse, Mr. Mundin. I wish to heaven I  " he
stopped himself, on the verge of breakdown. He sat up straighten "Sorry," he
said. "Been drinking all afternoon. Not used to it."
"That's all right," said Mundin.
BHgh said, "Sure." He eyed Mundin with a curiously familiar expression;
Mundin, trying to place it, heard the words come tumbling out as Bligh
abruptly clutched his sleeve and said, "Look, Mr. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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