"Heat?"
"A gun, a gun. Ya think I'm stupid? I come to give it to him and he gives it to me instead."
Dr. Reston-Farrell said, "Howard Temple-Tracy lives alone. He customarily receives visitors every afternoon, largely potential followers. He is attempting to recruit members to an organization he is forming. It would be quite simple for you to enter his establishment and dispose of him. I assure you, he does not possess weapons."
Joe was indignant. "Just like that, eh?" he said sarcastically. "Then what happens? How do I get out of the building? Where's my get car parked? Where do I hide out? Where do I dump the heat?"
"Dump the heat?"
"Get rid of the gun. You want I should get caught with the gun on me? I'd wind up in the gas chamber so quick—"
"See here, Mr. Prantera," Brett-James said softly. "We no longer have capital punishment, you must realize."
"O.K. I still don't wanta get caught. What is the rap these days, huh?" Joe scowled. "You said they didn't have no jails any more."
"This is difficult for you to understand, I imagine," Reston-Farrell told him, "but, you see, we no longer punish people in this era."
That took a long, unbelieving moment to sink in. "You mean, like, no matter what they do? That's crazy. Everybody'd be running around giving it to everybody else."