And that, thought Hanlon, was just about as low and slimy a trick as he had ever heard, and the thought came and would not be denied, that if it was this leader he was to kill he could do it cheerfully and with a clear conscience.
He rose, though, and smiled as he held out his hand. "Glad to know you, Rellos. It'll be fun comparing your amusements with those of Terra."
The man was somewhat sullen, although it was plain he did not dare show it too much before their boss. Hanlon could read enough from the new man's mind to know how deathly afraid he was of the leader, and how he hated him.
"Wonder why he's in this, feeling that way?" Hanlon thought swiftly, and during the evening tried to find out, but without success—the man steered clear of any such thoughts.
As the two went outside, the Simonidean asked curtly, "Wine, women or song?"
"Why not some of all three?" Hanlon laughed lightly. "Anything you think would be a lively evening, and that you'd enjoy."
The other unbent a little. "We'll go to the Phobos first, then. They have good liquor and a nice floor show. Good looking wenches who don't wear too much."
He hailed a ground-cab, which the two entered.
Hanlon couldn't enjoy that evening. In the first place, he couldn't ditch all his drinks—and he hated alcohol—yet had to remain as sober as possible. Second, and most disturbing, was that horrible thing he had to do, and he knew it must be carefully planned. A gun, knife or poison couldn't be used now—it must look so much like an accident that no possible blame could be attached to him; so that the police could not hold him even for a short time.
He thought of and discarded one plan after another, then remembered something seen during his wanderings—a pedestrian bridge crossing a high-speed truckway where the inter-city freighters were so numerous they ran almost bumper to bumper. "I'll lead him up there, then throw him over and down. He's sure to be run over and killed."