The Alternative Detective (Hob Draconian) by Robert Sheckley

still thinking about that old guy in the funny hat I’d hallucinated earlier. And I was thinking about this whole case involving Rachel and Alex, thinking vague, discontented thoughts which I wouldn’t care to reveal, but will anyhow. I was thinking that I was being pretty poorly paid for what was turning out to be a complicated and dangerous job. I was thinking that it was all getting to be a little much. I was approaching a dark moment; I could feel it; you always know when you’re going into a tailspin. I wondered what in hell I was doing back in Europe. I began to relaize, with dismay, that I had done it again, sold myself a bill of goods, plunged myself into complications and risk because of some romantic fallacy concerning a Paris that never existed, and a me who never existed, either. I had tried to make a livelihood out of a romantic halo, the warm glow of temps perdu in which I wrap my memories, building a kingdom of nostalgia and hot air. As if my years in Europe hadn’t been bad enough, here I was trying to do the whole thing again.
    Have you ever noticed that anyone can have a crisis in a detective novel except the detective himself? Well, just remember that you saw it here first—a detective turning resolutely away from his appointment with a prime informant. Instead, I went downstairs and asked the concierge if she could send a telegram for me. She could. I wrote, DEAR RACHEL, I QUIT. LOVE, HOB. and had it sent to the Crillon.
    You could say I was overreacting. But the fact is, I hate being dropped through floors. Especially when I’m not even making a profit on the case.
     
     

 
    RACHEL AGAIN
    25
     
     
    Two hours later I was taking a nap, when Rachel came to the door. “What do you mean, you quiet?” she asked.
    “Let me see that,” I said, taking the piece of paper out of her hand. It was my telegram. “I said ‘I quit,’ not ‘I quiet,’“ I told her. “The bloody frogs get everything wrong.”
    “Not so high on Europe today, are you?”
    “My enthusiasm began to fade at the precise moment I fell through the floor at Kremlin-Bicêtre.”
    “Well, you shouldn’t have been acting in a movie anyway. I hired you to find Alex, not start a new career.”
    “On the money you’re paying me, I need another job in order to support myself while I’m working for you. You know the motto of my guild: Don’t risk your life for bupkes. ”
    “I don’t know that word,” Rachel said, “but I guess I understand what you’re saying. I want you to continue. What do you want?”
    “First, a little honesty.”
    “Are you accusing me of lying?” Rachel asked. Her voice, as you might imagine, was cold.
    “No, not at all,” I said. “I just want you to tell me the truth.”
    “You’re contradicting yourself,” Rachel said. A little less coldly. “What do you want to know?”
    “Why do you want to find Alex?”
    “But I’ve told you,” she said. “He’s a friend. He’s missing. I care about him.”
    “Go on,” I said.
    “Go on where?”
    “What’s the payoff?”
    “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Rachel,” I said, “I like you. But if what you’ve just told me is the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, then we’d better call it quits. I should be back in the States for my daughter’s graduation anyway.”
    “But why are you suddenly going to quit like this?”
    “Because, Rachel, this thing is getting dangerous. Lots of people seem to be involved, and there seems to be something, or maybe several somethings, that I know not of. That puts me at a disadvantage, since everyone else knows more than I do. What I do know is this.” I paused dramatically.
    “What?” she asked.
    “I know that Alex hasn’t simply dropped out to go run with the bulls in Pamplona. I know he’s involved in something complicated and probably illegal. And I’ve got a feeling that a lot of money is involved.”
    “What makes you think so?”
    “A lot of