s out of a
sung-bush and says boo! at you. If you expected the cops to do
anything, you're naive. Or stupid. About those Martian workings, is
there anything to the yarn?"

Denver grunted. He knew he was talking too much but the urge to brag
is masculine and universal.

"Maybe, I don't know. Martian miners dabbled in heavy metals. Maybe
they found something there and maybe they left some. If they did, I'm
the guy with the treasure map. Willing to take a chance on me?"

Darbor smiled calculatingly. "Look me up when you find the treasure.
You're full of laughs tonight. Trying to pick me up on peanuts. Men
lie down and beg me to walk on their faces. They lay gold or jewels or
pots of uranium at my feet. Got any money--now?"

"I can pay ... up to a point," Denver confessed miserably.

"We're not in business, kid. But champagne's on me. Don't worry about
it. I own the joint up to a point. I don't, actually. Big Ed Caltis
owns it. But I'm the dummy. I front for him because of taxes and the
cops. We'll drink together tonight, and all for free. I haven't had a
good laugh since they kicked me out of Venusport. You're it. I hope
you aren't afraid of Big Ed. Everybody else is. He bosses the town,
the cops and all the stinking politicians. He dabbles in every dirty
racket, from girls to the gambling upstairs. He pays my bills, too,
but so far he hasn't collected. Not that he hasn't tried."

Denver was impressed. Big Ed's girl. If she was. And he sat with her,
alone, drinking at Big Ed's expense. That was a laugh. A hot one.
Rich, even for Luna.

"Big Ed?" he said. "The Scorpion of Mars!"

Darbor's eyes narrowed. "The same. The name sounds like a gangsters'
nickname. It isn't. He was a pro-wrestler. Champion of the
Interplanetary League for three years. But he's a gangster and
racketeer at heart. His bully-boys play rough. Still want to take a
chance, sucker?"

A waitress brought drinks and departed. Snowgrape Champagne from Mars
cooled in a silver bucket. It was the right temperature, so did not
geyser as Denver unskilfully wrested out the cork. He filled the
glasses, gave one to the girl. Raising the other, he smiled into
Darbor's dangerous eyes.

"The first one to us," he offered gallantly. "After that, we'll drink
to Big Ed. I hope he chokes. He was a louse in the ring."

Darbor's face lighted like a flaming sunset in the cloud-canopy of
Venus.

"Here's to us then," she responded. "And to guts. You're dumb and
de