 Who is with Red when Wayne enters the Four Aces Club?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1962. Wayne, unseen, sneered down from the head of the stairs. His slim mother with nervously polite smiles and voice fluttering, assuring the old man by her frailty that he was big in the world. They were squareheads one and all, marking moron time in a gray dream. School over, waiting for the draft and all. Squareheads going around either unconscious or with eyes looking dead from the millennium in the office waiting to retire into limbo. So he'd waited in his room, and it wasn't easy sweating it out alone waiting for the breakout call from HQ. "If you wanta walk. "Hell," Wayne said, grinning straight into the old man. He was still laughing as he whoomed the Olds between the pale dead glow of houses and roared up the ramp onto the Freeway. He strode under a sign reading Public Youth Center No. 947 and walked casually to the reception desk, where a thin man with sergeant's stripes and a pansy haircut looked out of a pile of paperwork. Draft call." He wrote on a slip of paper, handed the pass to Wayne. Then report to Captain Jack, room 307." "Thanks, sarge dear," Wayne said and took the elevator up to the Armory. Finally he said, "So make up your mind, bud. "Hold your teeth, pop," Wayne said, coolly and slowly lighting a cigarette. It's a big city and you're starting late. You can get a cat, not a mouse, and some babes are clever hellcats in a dark alley." "A corporal with no hair and still a counterboy. And throw in a Skelly switchblade for kicks—the six-inch disguised job with the double springs." The corporal waddled back with the revolver and the switchblade disguised in a leather comb case. He checked them on a receipt ledger, while Wayne examined the weapons, broke open the revolver, twirled the cylinder and pushed cartridges into the waiting chamber. He slipped the knife from the comb case, flicked open the blade and stared at its gleam in the buttery light as his mouth went dry and the refracted incandescence of it trickled on his brain like melted ice, exciting and scary. He slung the holster under his left armpit and tested the spring clip release several times, feeling the way the serrated butt dropped into his wet palm.
 A hefty psycho who has killed five people
 A hefty psycho who drinks too much  A hefty psycho who has killed five people  A hefty psycho with a cat’s face  A hefty psycho who has abducted Red