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  THE AMBULANCE MADE TWO TRIPS

  By MURRAY LEINSTER

  Illustrated by Scoenherr

  [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding ScienceFiction April 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  _If you should set a thief to catch a thief, what does it take to stop a racketeer...?_

  Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald found a package before his door thatmorning, along with the milk. He took it inside and opened it. It was aremarkably fine meerschaum pipe, such as the sergeant had longedirrationally to own for many years. There was no message with it, norany card. He swore bitterly.

  On his way to Headquarters he stopped in at the orphanage where heusually left such gifts. On other occasions he had left Scotch, afly-rod, sets of very expensive dry-flies, and dozens of pairs of silksocks. The female head of the orphanage accepted the gift withgratitude.

  "I don't suppose," said Fitzgerald morbidly, "that any of your kids willsmoke this pipe, but I want to be rid of it and for somebody to know."He paused. "Are you gettin' many other gifts on this order, from othercops? Like you used to?"

  The head of the orphanage admitted that the total had dropped off.Fitzgerald went on his way, brooding. He'd been getting anonymous giftslike this ever since Big Jake Connors moved into town with bright ideas.Big Jake denied that he was the generous party. He expressed completeignorance. But Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald knew better. The gifts werehaving their effect upon the Force. There was a police lieutenant whosewife had received a mink stole out of thin air and didn't speak to herhusband for ten days when he gave it to the Community Drive. He wouldn'tdo a thing like that again! There was another sergeant--notFitzgerald--who'd found a set of four new white-walls tires on hisdoorstep, and was ostracized by his teen-age offspring when he turnedthem into the police Lost and Found. Fitzgerald gave his gifts to anorphanage, with a fine disregard of their inappropriateness. But hegloomily suspected that a great many of his friends were weakening. Thepresents weren't bribes. Big Jake not only didn't ask acknowledgments ofthem, he denied that he was the giver. But inevitably the recipients ofbounty with the morning milk felt less indignation about what Big Jakewas doing and wasn't getting caught at.

  At Headquarters, Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald found a memo. A memo wasroutine, but the contents of this one were remarkable. He scowled at it.He made phone calls, checking up on the more unlikely parts of it. Thenhe went to make the regular investigation.

  When he reached his destination he found it an unpretentious framebuilding with a sign outside: "Elite Cleaners and Dyers." There were noplate-glass windows. There was nothing show-off about it. It was just amedium-sized, modestly up-to-date establishment to which lessertailoring shops would send work for wholesale treatment. From some placein the back, puffs of steam shot out at irregular intervals. Somebodyworked a steampresser on garments of one sort or another. There was arumbling hum, as of an oversized washing-machine in operation. Allseemed tranquil.

  The detective went in the door. Inside there was that peculiar,professional-cleaning-fluid smell, which is not as alarming as gasolineor carbon tetrachloride, but nevertheless discourages the idea ofstriking a match. In the outer office a man wrote placidly on oneblue-paper strip after another. He had an air of pleasantself-confidence. He glanced up briefly, nodded, wrote on three moreblue-paper strips, and then gathered them all up and put them in aparticular place. He turned to Fitzgerald.

  "Well?"

  Fitzgerald showed his shield. The man behind the counter nodded again.

  "My name's Fitzgerald," grunted the detective. "The boss?"

  "Me," said the man behind the counter. He was cordial. "My name's Brink.You've got something to talk to me about?"

  "That's the idea," said Fitzgerald. "A coupla questions."

  Brink jerked a thumb toward a door.

  "Come in the other office. Chairs there, and we can sit down. What's thetrouble? A complaint of some kind?"

  * * * * *

  He ushered Fitzgerald in before him. The detective found himselfscowling. He'd have felt better with a different kind of man to askquestions of. This Brink looked untroubled and confident. It didn'tfit the situation. The inner office looked equally matter-of-fact.No.... There was the shelf with the usual books of reference on textilesand such items as a cleaner-and-dyer might need to have on hand.But there were some others: "_Basic Principles of Psi_", "_ModernPsychokinetic Theories_." There was a small, mostly-plastic machine onanother shelf. It had no obvious function. It looked as if it had someunguessable but rarely-used purpose. There was dust on it.

  "What's the complaint?" repeated Brink. "Hm-m-m. A cigar?"

  "No," said Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald. "I'll light my pipe." He did,extracting tobacco and a pipe that was by no means a meerschaum from hispocket. He puffed and said: "A guy who works for you caught himself onfire this mornin'. It happened on a bus. Very peculiar. The guy's namewas Jacaro."

  Brink did not look surprised.

  "What happened?"

  "It's kind of a strange thing," said Fitzgerald. "Accordin' to thereport he's ridin' this bus, readin' his paper, when all of a sudden heyells an' jumps up. His pants are on fire. He gets 'em off fast andchucks them out the bus window. He's blistered some but not serious, andhe clams up--but good--when the ambulance doc puts salve on him. Hewon't say a word about what happened or how. They hadda call a ambulancebecause he couldn't go huntin' a doc with no pants on."

  "But he's not burned badly?" asked Brink.

  "No. Blisters, yes. Scared, yes. And mad as hell. But he'll get along.It's too bad. We've pinched him three times on suspicion of arson, butwe couldn't make it stick. Something ought to happen to make that guystop playin' with matches--only this wasn't matches."

  "I'm glad he's only a little bit scorched," said Brink. He considered."Did he say anything about his eyelids twitching this morning? I don'tsuppose he would."

  The detective stared.

  "He didn't. Say aren't you curious about how he came to catch on fire?Or what his pants smelled of that burned so urgent? Or where he expectedburnin' to start instead of his pants?"

  Brink thought it over. Then he shook his head.

  "No. I don't think I'm curious."

  The detective looked at him long and hard.

  "O.K.," he said dourly. "But there's something else. Day beforeyesterday there was a car accident opposite here. Remember?"

  "I wasn't here at the time," said Brink.

  "There's a car rolling along the street outside," said the detective."There's some hoods in it--guys who do dirty work for Big Jake Connors.I can't prove a thing, but it looks like they had ideas about thisplace. About thirty yards up the street a sawed-off shotgun goes off.Very peculiar. It sends a load of buckshot through a side window of yourplace."

  Brink said with an air of surprise: "Oh! That must have been what brokethe window!"

  "Yeah," said Fitzgerald. "But the interesting thing is that the flash ofthe shotgun burned all the hair off the head of the guy that was doin'the drivin'. It didn't scratch him, just scorched his hair off. Itscared him silly."

  Brink grinned faintly, but he said pleasantly: "Tsk. Tsk. Tsk."

  "He jams down the accelerator and rams a telephone pole," pursuedFitzgerald. "There's four hoods in that car, remember, and every one of'em's got a police record you could paper a house with. And they've gotfour sawed-off shotguns and a tommy-gun in the back seat. They'r
e alllaid out cold when the cops arrive."

  "I was wondering about the window," said Brink, pensively.

  "It puzzles you, eh?" demanded the detective ironically. "Could you'vefigured it out that they were goin' to shoot up your plant to scare thepeople who work for you so they'll quit? Did you make a guess theyintended to drive you outta business like they did the guy that had thisplace before you?"

  "That's an interesting theory," said Brink encouragingly.

  Detective