"My name is Lansing," he said. "Come on. We're taking a little trip."
He steered Ollie to the copter tower at the park's center and with him boarded its endless-belt manlift. They were carried ten stories to the roof, and as they stepped off the manlift an empty copter hovered at hand. It bore on sides and bottom an address, a phone number, and the word Bailbonds, all in big letters.
The copter rose under the tower's control as soon as they'd entered it, and continued to rise till Lansing selected a prepunched destination card and slipped it into the auto-pilot. Then a knowing red light winked on, the copter levelled off and headed southwest, and Lansing took one of a pair of chintz-padded wicker seats, motioning Ollie into the other.
"How do you like the idea of going to a Home?" he asked abruptly.
"I'd rather be dead."
"I know someone who agrees with you. A fellow with bad health who wants to die but doesn't have the guts to do the necessary. Feel like helping him out?"
Ollie sighed, smiled grimly, and shook his head. "No, thanks!"
"You might die yourself, Hollveg." Lansing's voice was heavy with menace.
"I might," Ollie agreed hotly. "I might get murdered. And maybe the same thing will happen to this supposedly sick man you want me to help out. He may not want to die any more than I do. I've heard you suicide salesmen do a lot of murder-for-hire."
"You've heard too much, Hollveg."