“What gets me,” Laker said, “is that I got absolutely naught from the whole bit. My scribe gets a pat on the back. The chick gets a chance to show frontage out of this world. She lands a spot on a good stereo because of that. Me, I get listed, and I get a Suzy Q.”
“Didn’t the scribe and the chick get them, too?” Van asked politely.
“Sure,” Laker agreed, “but you don’t groove me.”
“Straighten me then,” Van said.
“Gone,” Laker answered, nodding. “This is my point. My scribe got four paback offers after they saw what he did for that show. Four offers. The chick lands a stereo. Me, I get a Suzy Q.”
“You already said all this,” Van said. “Your scribe got a Suzy Q, and so did the chick. What’s your beef? You’re getting ten percent on the four pabacks, aren’t you?”
“Well, sure.”
“So stop batting the ball. You may get off without having to pay a cent.”
“That’s not my point,” Laker argued.
“Then what is your point, man?” Van asked. “Spit it out.”
“Hell, I don’t even know what the benefit was for!” Laker said. “I didn’t even go to the show. Now I’m getting sued; it isn’t fair.”
“The benefit was for a guy named Parke Reggery. He was once a top scribe, but he was blinded by a Ree fanatic who thought his work was degenerate. That’s who the benefit was for.”
“He doesn’t scribe any more?” Laker asked.
“No. He was a see it scribe; had to see that word appear on the page as he typed it. Couldn’t get used to audio methods.”
“Well,” Laker said sourly, “at least it was for a good cause.” He belched and Van turned his head away. “Still, I don’t see why I got a Suzy Q. Man, you know how many times I’ve been down here so far?”
“How many?”
“This makes four.”
“What?” Van asked, surprised.
“Yeah, yeah, four times. That cuts into your business, father. How can you keep your mind on an agency when you’ve got this damn thing hanging over your head.”
“Try Corradon,” Van said wearily. He thought over what Laker had told him, and then asked, “How come four times?”
“Do I know? Do I understand the law? I submit stuff to the pabacks. They send me contracts, and my scribes sign them. Do I ever get involved in lawsuits? Not me, not Hunt Laker. My nose is clean, Brant, believe me. Only once, some jerk maligned the president in a novel, and I missed it — mainly because I didn’t read the book before it went out. A rush job, you know, one of those things. Even then, it was the scribe got sued, and not me. I dropped him cold. So what do I know about the law? All I know is I’ve been here four times; and each time Pelazi was here, and each time they read off different charges, and Pelazi affirmed the charges. Man, I’m lucky if they don’t give me the chair for this. And all I did was say ‘Okay, write for the chick.’ That’s all.”
“Pelazi was here, you say?” Van asked.
“Sure. They read off the complaint, and then they ask if the complaint is correct. Pelazi stands there like some ghoul and he says, ‘Yes, the complaint is correct’ and then they let you go. The whole thing takes about five seconds. It’s this waiting that’s killing me. How am I supposed to run my business, sitting here in a courthouse?”
A man in uniform walked to the rail and said, “We are ready to verify complaints now. Will you step behind the railing when your name is called, show the recording clerk your summons, and then go directly to Room Fourteen? Thank you.” The uniformed man consulted a typewritten sheet, coughed, looked up, and then said, “Adams. Terr Adams.”
Laker belched. “You’re lucky, Brant; you got a B. I’m an L; I won’t get in there until midnight.”
“L of a thing,” Van said, and then he winced at his own pun. Laker didn’t even seem to notice. The uniformed man called off two more A’s, a B, and then he said, “Brant. Van Brant.”
Van rose and said good-bye to Laker, walking directly to the railing, opening the gate there, and then stepping behind it. He handed his summons to the recording clerk, and the clerk stamped it, and then checked off Van’s name on another typewritten list. He pointed toward a closed door, and Brant went to the door quickly, opening it manually, and stepping into a small room.
The room was bare, except for a desk and several chairs lined up on the wall opposite the desk. There was a bank of windows on one wall, and a man was seated in front of those windows, looking out, his back to Van. A second man sat at the desk, and Van walked to him, handed him the summons, and then waited.
The man studied it for a moment. He looked up disinterestedly, wet his lips, and said, “Dino Pelazi versus Van Brant, violation of Statute 431, Section 62-A, on June thirtieth. You are Van Brant, sir?”
“I am,” Van said.
“The charge is hereby repeated for verification by the plaintiff. Violation of Statute 431, Section 62-A, on June thirtieth. Is that correct, sir?”
“That’s...” Brant started.
The man seated at the window did not turn. He kept his back to Van, and said, “Yes, that is correct.”
“Are there no further charges?” the man at the desk asked.
“Not at this time,” the man at the window answered. “Plaintiff requests the right to further verify and validate the charges, as provided in Section 63-C on the Statute, before case is brought to trial.”
“Request granted,” the man at the desk said.
Van craned his neck for a better view of the man seated at the window. He could see nothing but a mane of white hair and a rather broad back.
“Is that Mr. Pelazi?” he asked.
“Yes,” the man at the desk answered.
Van turned toward Pelazi, his hands automatically moving to his hips. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Pelazi,” he said.
“Have you, Mr. Branoski?”
“Brant,” Van corrected.
“Brant, of course. Forgive me.”
“Do I get to see your face, or has that been censored by the Rees, too?” Van asked.
“I find the view here quite pleasant,” Pelazi answered. “Forgive me if I do not turn.”
“I’ve grown accustomed to Ree rudeness,” Van said stiffly.
“Then you certainly won’t mind a little more of it.”
“Do you really hope to win this case, Pelazi?”
“Naturally.”
“You haven’t a leg to stand on. I’m surprised at you, really, wasting your time like this. We’ll get a thousand people to swear you were nowhere near that benefit on June thirty.”
“And I’ll get one person to swear I was there all night. One person is all I need, Mr. Branoski.”
“Brant,” Van said more firmly.
“Brant, of course.”
“You must be pretty hard up, father,” Van said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“To pull a petty stunt like this one. All you’re doing is annoying us. Like mosquitoes. Like a bunch of mosquitoes bothering a lion. So you’ll disrupt our businesses for a while, so what? So you’ll take us away from them, and drag us down here while you verify and validate, and whatever the hell, so what? So you’ll bog us down in what you undoubtedly hope will be a long trial. So what? The trial will pass, too; if you win you’ve got a few hundred gee, and if you lose, you’ve got beans. In any case, we go right back to work again, as strong as ever.”
“Perhaps,” Pelazi said.
“No perhapses, Pelazi. Why don’t you smarten up? Why don’t you drop the whole thing, forget all this nonsense?”
“I prefer not to.”
“Why not?”
“That, Mr. Brant, is my business.”
“And my business is selling literary material, and your goddamned business is disrupting mine!” Van said heatedly.