He had thought himself clever. He had pieced it together into a connected tale, chuckling privately because she couldn't know how much he knew.
And all the while she had been a pickpocket in a dope joint, sold into it by her parents.
There was a knock on the door.
Virginia said through her teeth, "If that brat's come back before I told——" and swung it open. She screamed.
Norvell, greatly to his surprise, found he had the revolver in his hand. He was pointing it at the middle of the hulking, snaggle-toothed figure in the doorway.
The figure promptly raised its enormous hands over its small, shock-haired head and told him, grinning, "Don't shoot, mister. I'm harmless. I know I'm not pretty but I'm harmless. Came here to help you out. Show you where to register and all. The name's Shep. I'll give you a fair shake. Show you the best places for firewood, wise you up on the gangs. Hear you have a little girl. You want to sell her, I'll get you a price.
You want to go into business? I can put you next to a guy who'll start you out with hemp seed. If you got real money, I know a sugar dealer and a guy with a still to rent. I'm just Shep, mister. I'm just trying to get along."
Virginia said, "Keep the gun on him, Norvell. Shep, you come in and sit down. What do you want?"
"Surplus rations," the giant said, with a childlike smile. "Cash, if you have any. Always I'm desperate, but now I'm out of my mind." His arm swept at the open door. "See the rain? I have to catch it. It's the front end of the rainbow, mister. See it? I have to catch it; I never saw it before. And to catch it I've got to have some crimson lake. Some other things too, but the crimson lake. You don't see crimson in it, do you? Well, you won't see crimson in the canvas, but it'll be there—in the underpainting, and because it's there I'll have the pot of tears, the bloody, godawful rainsweep caught gloom-driving down on two hundred thousand desolations."
Norvell, lowering the pistol, said stupidly, "You paint."
"I paint. And for fifty bucks I can get what I need, which leaves me only the problem of getting fifty bucks."
Virginia said, "With your build you could get it."
Shep shrugged apologetically. "Not like you mean, not with rough stuff. Not since I started painting," he said. "You can't be half a virgin. So I run errands."
He put his hands down, peering at them out of his Neanderthal skull. "Any errands? I've got to raise the fifty before the rain stops."
Virginia appeared to come to a conclusion. "Norvell, give Shep fifty dollars." He shot his wife a horrified look; that would leave them with eighteen dollars and sixty-five cents. She said contemptuously, "Don't worry. He won't skip; there's no place to hide for long in Belly Rave." She told Shep, "You'll work for it. One week's hard work. The outhouse is probably brim-full. The chimney looks like it's blocked. We need firewood. This place needs patching all around. Also my husband doesn't know the ropes and he might get in trouble. You'll watch him?"
"For fifty, sure!" he glowed. "Want me to watch the kid?"
"No," she said shortly.
The giant nodded, his eyes dark. "You know what you're doing, lady. It'll be rough on her. Can I have the fifty now? It'll take two, three days to get the stuff. Ten bucks for the kid who does the running. I can't miss this rain."
Norvell counted out fifty dollars and handed them over. "Okay!" Shep boomed happily. "We'll get my crimson lake out of the way, then registration."
They walked through the driving rain to a tumbledown building guarded by a ratfaced boy of twelve. Shep told him cryptically, "Got a message for Monmouth."
The boy raised his head and hooted mournfully, "Wa-wa-wa-wa-wabbit twacks!"
Norvell blinked his eyes. Kids! Everywhere. From nowhere. Ratfaced, gimlet-eyed, appearing from the rainshroud, silently and suddenly before him as though they had condensed out of the watery air.
Shep told them, "Like last time, but with crimson lake too. Got it?"
A haggard girl of perhaps thirteen said dispassionately, "Cack like last time. The Goddams joined up with the Goering Grenadiers. It'll be a busted-bottle job getting through the West Side."
Shep said, "I'm in a hurry, Lana. Can you do it or can't you?"
She mildly told him, "Who said 'can't,' you or me? I said it'd be a busted-bottle job."
The ratfaced twelve-year-old said sullenly, "Not me. They know I was the one got Stinkfoot's kid brother. Besides—"
"Shut your mouth about Stinkfoot's kid brother," Lana blazed. "You stay here; I'll talk to you when I get back." The boy cowered away. Lana called to the kids, "Bwuther wab-bits, inspection harms!"
Jagged glass edges flashed. Norvell swallowed at what they implied.
"Good kids," Shep cried, and handed Lana the fifty dollars.
"Wa-wa-wa-wa-wabbit twacks!" She hooted mournfully, and the kids were gone, vanished back into the shrouding rain.
Norvell swallowed his questions, trudging after Shep through the floods. He had learned that much, at least.
The Resident Commissioner lived in an ordinary house, to Norvell's surprise. He had expected the man who was responsible for the allowances of thousands of people to be living in a G.M.L.; certainly his rank entitled him to one. There were only twenty commissioners scattered through Belly Rave.
Then Norvell saw the Resident Commissioner. He was a dreary old hack; he told Norvell dimly, "Carry your cards at all times. Be sure and impress that on your wife and the little girl. There's all kinds of work to getting duplicate cards, and you might go hungry for a week before they come through if you lose these. As head of the family you get a triple ration, and there's a separate one for the wife. Is the little girl a heavy eater?"
Norvell guessed so. He nodded vaguely.
"Well, we'll give her an adult ration then. Lord knows there's no shortage of food. Let's see, we'll make your hours of reporting on Wednesdays, between three and five. It's important to keep to your right hours, otherwise there's likely to be a big rush here sometimes, and nobody at all others. Is all that pretty clear? You'll find that it's mostly better to travel in groups when you come down for your allowance. Shep can tell you about that It—it prevents trouble. We don't want any trouble here." He tried to look stern. And pathetically added, "Please don't make trouble in my district. There are nineteen others, aren't there?"
He consulted a checklist, whispering to himself. "Oh. Your ration cards entitle you and the whole family to bleacher seats at all bouts and Field Days." Norvell's heart was torn by the words. The rest was a blur. "Free transportation, of course—hope you'll avail yourself—no use to stay home and brood—little blood clears the air—door always open—"
Outside in the rain Norvell asked Shep: "Is that all he does?"
Shep looked at him. "Is there something else to do?" He swung around. "Let's get some firewood."
Chapter Twelve
As a disappearing act, it was a beaut.
Mundin tried everything. No Norma Lavin. Gone. After Ryan's phone call, the track was lost.
Mundin went first to the police, of course, and when he told them Norma Lavin was a Belly Raver they tried not to laugh right in his face.
"Look, mister," a kindly missing-persons sergeant explained. "People are one thing. Belly Ravers are something else. Are these people on the tax rolls? Do they have punch-card codes? Do they have employment-contract identification tattoos? No. No, they don't. So what can we do? We can find missing persons, sure, but this gal ain't a person. She's a Belly Raver." The sergeant shrugged philosophically. "Maybe she just took a notion to wander off. Maybe she's got her toes turned up in a vacant lot. Maybe not. We just wouldn't know, see?"