Job: A Comedy of Justice by Robert A. Heinlein Read Free Book Online Page B

a relief to know that we look so much alike. Fingerprints? We’ll cope with that when we have to. Seems the U.S. of N.A. doesn’t use fingerprints on passports; that’s some help. Occupation: Executive. Executive of what? A funeral parlor? Or a worldwide chain of hotels? Maybe this is not going to be difficult but merely impossible.
    Address: Care of O’Hara, Rigsbee, Crumpacker, and Rigsbee, Attys at Law, Suite 7000, Smith Building, Dallas. Oh, just dandy. Merely a mail drop. No business address, no home address, no business. Why, you phony, I’d love to poke you in the snoot!
    (He can’t be too repulsive; Margrethe thinks well of him. Well, yes—but he should keep his hands off Margrethe; he’s taking advantage of her. Unfair. Who is taking advantage of her? Watch it, boy, you’ll get a split personality.)
    An envelope under the passport contained the passenger’s file copy of his ticket—and it was indeed round trip, Portland to Portland. Twin, unless you show up before 6 p.m., I’ve got a trip home. Maybe you can use my ticker in the Admiral Moffett. I wish you luck.
    There were some minor items but the bulk of the metal box was occupied by ten sealed fat envelopes, business size. I opened one.
    It contained thousand-dollar bills, one hundred of them.
    I made a fast check with the other nine. All alike. One million dollars in cash.

V
    The wicked flee when no man pursueth:
but the righteous are bold as a lion.
    Proverbs 28:1
    Barely breathing, I used gummed tape I found in Graham’s desk to seal the envelopes. I put everything back but the passport, placed it with that three thousand that I thought of as “mine” in the little drawer of the desk, then took the box back to the purser’s office, carrying it carefully.
    Someone else was at the front desk but the purser was in sight in his inner office; I caught his eye.
    “Hi,” he called out. “Back so soon?” He came out.
    “Yes,” I agreed. “For once, everything tallied.” I passed the box to him.
    “I’d like to hire you for this office. Here, nothing ever tallies. At least not earlier than midnight. Let’s go find that drink. I need one.”
    “So do I! Let’s.”
    The purser led me aft to an outdoor bar I had not noticed on the ship’s plan. The deck above us ended and the deck we were on, D deck, continued on out as a weather deck, bright teak planks pleasant to walk on. The break on C deck formed an overhang; under it was this outdoor spread canvas. At right angles to the bar were long tables offering a lavish buffet lunch; passengers were queued up for it. Farther aft was the ship’s swimming pool; I could hear splashing, squeals, and yells.
    He led me on aft to a small table occupied by two junior officers. We stopped there. “You two. Jump overboard.”
    “Right away, Purser.” They stood up, picked up their beer glasses, and moved farther aft. One of them grinned at me and nodded, as if we knew each other, so I nodded and said, “Hi.”
    This table was partly shaded by awning. The purser said to me, “Do you want to sit in the sun and watch the girls, or sit in the shade and relax?”
    “Either way. Sit where you wish; I’ll take the other chair.”
    “Um. Let’s move this table a little and both sit in the shade. There, that does it.” He sat down facing forward; perforce I sat facing the swimming pool—and confirmed something I thought I had seen at first glance: This swimming pool did not require anything as redundant as swim suits.
    I should have inferred it by logic had I thought about it—but I had not. The last time I had seen it—swimming without suits—I had been about twelve and it had been strictly a male privilege for boys that age or younger.
    “I said, ‘What will you drink, Mr. Graham?’”
    “Oh! Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
    “I know. You were looking. What will it be?”
    “Uh…a Danish zombie.”
    He blinked at me. “You don’t want that at this time of day; that’s a skull splitter.