"Never," I said. "How did you spot it in your courtroom? If I needed a TK, so did you. What about that?"
"That was different," he argued. "I had the—"
"Nuts," I told him. "Just because I have made as much of a study of Psi as you have, don't blackball me. You going to act the same way if I decide to specialize in Stigma cases?"
"Are you going to?"
"What else is left? I'll never get Normal trade after Renner finishes with me. I come back to it: A reputable attorney representing Psis."
Passarelli paused with his hand on the door. "It would have some interest, I guess," he conceded, "if I thought for a moment you could guarantee the behavior of your clients. But no Normal can, Maragon. That's the curse of the Logan Stigma. Normals are panicked by it. Look at the Bar Association and all the trouble that's gone to just to make sure no one with the Stigma is ever admitted to the Bar. Look at those pathetic social workers—trying to control what they can't even perceive. The color-blind man trying to make sure no one else sees red. No, only Psis will ever be able to make Psis behave. They will have to police themselves, and society is unwilling to give them any standing to do it. This I believe is called a dilemma."
"It's a mess, that's for sure," I said gloomily as he left.
Well, what do you do when the props have been pulled out from under your world? I like to believe that the reasonable man sits down and thinks. That's what I did, anyway. I was a guy with very little left to lose. It was time I bet the limit—shot my wad. There was one possibility....
I looked at my watch. It was well after one in the morning. Still, I tried Elmer's place again. He came sleepily to the phone.
"Mary there?"