"Unfortunately not." I was ashamed to tell the whole story, and I've told Beach some pretty raw ones in the past without flinching. "In effect, I've defied a court order concerning my son. Obstructed justice, you might say." "Leave the legal definitions to me," said Beach tersely. "Tell me what you did." "Well, the principal was turning my son Freddie over to some guy from the Special Training and Re-Education School. Without any advance notice. Just bang! Like that. Called Celia and me in this morning to tell us. As though it were already an accomplished fact. Well, I knew it was illegal on his part. Imagine that! Taking a kid away from his parents for five years! So I snatched up Freddie and left him with Celia in a safe place and came directly to you. Beach, I want to fight this. I want you to take a law book and beat the city's brains in!" Beach stood up. He would not look me in the eye, but the hard lines on his face showed up like steel cables. "I won't touch the case. You'll have to find someone else." A wave of shock and fear surged through my veins. "Beach, you're the best man in the city! You've got to take it!" "I couldn't win. No one could. You're in trouble, Bart. You'd better hand over your son to the school." He was thinking out loud. "Plead emotional upset on your part. It's a terrible thing for a father, a Top Competitor, to be told he has a non-competitive son. You momentarily lost control of yourself. Bring him to the school voluntarily. Say you thrashed him within an inch of his life. Say you've been too busy competing to pay much attention to your son's upbringing. But now you're turning him over to the school, and you want them to indoctrinate him thoroughly in the principles of democracy. "You'd have a scandal, of course, but people would sympathize with you. Applaud your resoluteness. "Yes, you would get off that way. I still couldn't handle the case, naturally, but I can recommend someone." "Beach," I said firmly, "I won't give the boy up." He was silent for a moment. "Then you're ruined. You're a fugitive from justice. Your only hope is in Australia." That was a slap in the face. "Australia!" I shouted. "That crummy socialist state? That shlub society? No sir, I'm staying right here, in the free competitive world!" Beach looked ostentatiously at his watch. "You'll have to excuse me. I have a case in court. A murder case, where I can do my client some good." He picked up his briefcase and went to the door, and stood there courteously showing me out. "I don't imagine I'll be seeing you again, Bart. Take a lawyer's parting advice. Don't go home. Don't go to your office. Put your family on the next ship for Australia." He put his hand on my shoulder, adding, not unkindly, "I also advise you to leave this building quickly. You realize that I must report you to the police." * * * * *