Special Deliverance

3

Lansing stepped out of the elevator on the first floor and headed for the door that opened on the mall. Andy, spotting an acquaintance at another table as they were leaving, had stopped to have a word with him. Doing his best not to seem to be doing so, Lansing had fled. But time was short, he told himself. The next elevator might bring Andy down, and by that time, he must be out of sight and reach. It would be like Andy, should he get hold of him again, to drag him off somewhere for dinner.

Halfway to the door he halted. The Rathskeller was just down those stairs to the right, and in an adjoining room, if Jackson had been right, was stored the fabulous slot machine. Lansing changed his course and scurried for the stairs.

He stormed mentally at himself as he went down the stairs. There’d be no storage room, and even if there were, there’d be no slot machine. Whatever had possessed Jackson to fabricate such a story he could not guess. It might have been, of course, nothing more than sheer impertinence, and while the student would be capable of that, it would stand to gain him nothing. Impertinence might be used to bait a faculty member, and there were faculty members who were often baited, who seemed to ask for it, most of them pompous fools who could benefit by a little taking down. But Lansing had always prided himself on his good relationship with his students. At times, he suspected, he was regarded as a soft touch. Thinking back on his relationship with Jackson, he realized he’d had no real trouble with him. At best Jackson had been a poor student, but that was neither here nor there. He had tried to treat the man with all courtesy and consideration, and at times had attempted to be helpful, although with a man like Jackson, he doubted that his attempts had been appreciated.

There were only a few people in the Rathskeller, most of them crowded around a table at the far side of the room. The man behind the bar was engaged in conversation with two students. When Lansing came in, no one noticed him.

There was a door opposite one end of the bar, exactly as Jackson had said. Lansing strode purposefully across the room to reach it. When he seized the knob of the door, it turned easily in his hand. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, then closed it quickly and stood with his back against it.

A single dim light bulb hung from a cord in the center of the ceiling. The room had an unfinished look, as if it were, indeed, what Jackson had said it was — a forgotten storage room. Cartons that had once held soft drinks were stacked against one wall, and a couple of filing cabinets and an ancient desk stood, not against a wall, but clustered in the center of the room. They had the look of having been placed there long ago with no attention paid them since.

In the far corner of the room stood a slot machine. Lansing drew his breath in sharply. So far Jackson had been right. But he could have been right, Lansing reminded himself, about the room and have lied about the rest. That the slot machine stood where he had said it was afforded no proof that the rest of his story had been true.

The light was dim, and Lansing made his way with exaggerated caution across the room toward the waiting machine, alert against any unseen obstruction catching his foot and sending him sprawling.

He reached the machine and stood in front of it. It looked like any other slot machine, like any of the hundreds that lurked in corners all around the campus, waiting for the coins that finally would find their way into the fund that would care for the indigent and other unfortunates of the nation.

Lansing thrust his hand into a pocket and fingered through the coins that were there. He found a quarter, brought it out and fed it into the machine. The machine gulped it down with patent eagerness, and as it did, its face lighted up to show the cylinders with the signs upon them. It chuckled softly at him, a companionable chuckling, as if the two of them might share a joke known only to themselves.

He seized the lever and hauled it down with unnecessary force. The cylinders spun madly and twinkling lights blinked at him. Finally the cylinders stopped and nothing happened. Exactly what happened with all other slot machines, Lansing thought. It was no different from any of the others. It took your money and stood there laughing at you.

Then the machine spoke.

“What is it, sir, that you require?” it asked.

“Why, I’m not sure,” said Lansing, startled. “Actually, I don’t believe there is anything I need. I only came to verify the fact of your existence.”

“That is unfortunate,” said the slot machine. “I have many things to give. Are you sure there is nothing that you need?”

“Perhaps if you gave me some time to think about it.”

“That’s not possible,” answered the machine. “People who come to me must have something in mind. They are not allowed to lolligag around.”

“I am sorry,” said Lansing.

“In any case, I am not so constructed as to give nothing for the coin you gave me,” said the slot machine. “I must give you something. I’ll tell you a story.”

So it told Lansing a very filthy story about seven men and one woman marooned on a desert island. It was a foul story, bestial and crude and extremely obscene, with no saving social significance whatever.

Once the story was finished, Lansing, out of disgust, said nothing.

“You did not like my story?” asked the machine. “Not overmuch,” replied Lansing.

“Well, then, I’ve failed,” said the machine. “I suspect that I misjudged you, and I cannot let it go at that. For your coin I must give you an item of some value.”

It made a coughing sound and something metallic fell out of its innards into the bucket in the middle of it. “Go ahead,” said the machine. “Pick it up.” Lansing picked it up. It resembled a motel key. Two keys, one larger than the other, were attached to an oblong piece of plastic with a number and an address printed on it.

“I don’t understand,” said Lansing. “Then attend most closely. Pay close attention to what I say. Are you listening?”

Lansing tried to speak, but stammered, then he said, “I am listening.”

“Good. Now close attention, please. You go to the address. If you go during normal business hours, the front door will be unlocked. If you go at another time, the larger of the two keys will open it. The smaller key will open the door of room one thirty-six. Do you follow me so far?”

Lansing gulped. “Yes, I do.”

“When you open the door of one thirty-six, you will find a dozen slot machines lined along a wall. Starting at the left, go to the fifth one — the fifth one: one, two, three, four, five — and insert a dollar in it. It will complete a certain transaction, and when that is done, you go to number seven and put another dollar in it…” “I put a dollar in,” said Lansing. “Do I pull the lever?” “Of course you pull the lever. Have you never played a slot machine?”

“Yes, of course I have. How could I avoid it?” “Precisely,” replied the slot machine. “Have you all of it in mind?”

“Yes, I think I have.”

“Repeat it, then, to be sure you have.”

Lansing repeated what the machine had told him.

“Fine,” said the machine. “Keep it well in mind. I’d suggest you go very soon, so there’s no chance of forgetting the instructions. You’ll need two silver dollars. Do you have them by any chance?”

“I am sure I haven’t.”

“Well, then,” said the slot machine, “here you are. We have no wish to place any roadblock in doing what we’ve asked of you. We are very anxious that you carry out the procedure as precisely as you’re able.”

Something plinked in the machine’s bucket.

“Go on,” urged the machine. “Go on and pick them up.”

Lansing bent and picked up the two silver dollars. He put them in his pocket.

“You’re sure that you have it well in mind?” asked the slot machine. “You have no questions?”

“Yes, I suppose one question. What is this all about?”

“I cannot tell you specifically,” said the machine. “That would be against the rules. But I can assure you that whatever happens will be to your great advantage.”

“And what would that be? What to my advantage?”

“That is all, Professor Lansing. That is all that I can tell you.”

“How come you know my name? I didn’t tell you who I was.”

“I can assure you,” said the machine, “that there was no need for you to tell me. I already knew you.”

With that the machine clanked off, became dark and silent.

Lansing hauled off and kicked the machine. Not perhaps a kick at this machine alone, but at all the other machines that, through the years, had gulped down his quarters and then sat sneering at him.

The machine kicked back and caught him in the ankle. He did not see how it kicked him, but it did. He backed away from it. It was still sitting dark and silent.

Then Lansing turned about and went limping from the room.