The man was somewhat sullen, although it was plain he did not dare show it too much before their boss. Hanlon could read enough from the new man's mind to know how deathly afraid he was of the leader, and how he hated him. "Wonder why he's in this, feeling that way?" Hanlon thought swiftly, and during the evening tried to find out, but without success--the man steered clear of any such thoughts. As the two went outside, the Simonidean asked curtly, "Wine, women or song?" "Why not some of all three?" Hanlon laughed lightly. "Anything you think would be a lively evening, and that you'd enjoy." The other unbent a little. "We'll go to the Phobos first, then. They have good liquor and a nice floor show. Good looking wenches who don't wear too much." He hailed a ground-cab, which the two entered. Hanlon couldn't enjoy that evening. In the first place, he couldn't ditch all his drinks--and he hated alcohol--yet had to remain as sober as possible. Second, and most disturbing, was that horrible thing he had to do, and he knew it must be carefully planned. A gun, knife or poison couldn't be used now--it must look so much like an accident that no possible blame could be attached to him; so that the police could not hold him even for a short time. He thought of and discarded one plan after another, then remembered something seen during his wanderings--a pedestrian bridge crossing a high-speed truckway where the inter-city freighters were so numerous they ran almost bumper to bumper. "I'll lead him up there, then throw him over and down. He's sure to be run over and killed." The nakedness of the girls at the Phobos, the coarse jokes of the so-called comedians, the raucous, ribald laughter of the drunken patrons disgusted Hanlon, and he was glad when they left. "Let's walk a bit and see the sights," he suggested, and Rellos agreed after some argument--he wanted to visit more night clubs. They had walked a couple of blocks along a residential street when a little, roly-poly puppy waddled out onto the sidewalk to greet them. "What a cute ..." Hanlon began, but with an oath, Rellos savagely and viciously kicked the little mite, sending it howling with pain across the low hedge. A growl of anguish broke out, and Hanlon sent his mind searching for that deeper note. He found it, the mother dog, and was instantly inside that mind, controlling it. With a leap the huge shepherd was over the hedge, straight at Rellos. The dog's weight bore the man backward, fighting for his life, trying to hold back those gleaming fangs straining for his throat. Hanlon threw himself into the melee, but while ostensibly trying to drag the dog away, delayed the few seconds it took for those slashing fangs to rip out Rellos' throat. People came running up, and as the first reached the spot they saw Hanlon struggling to hold back the snarling, blood-flecked dog, while Rellos lay dead in a pool of blood. The dog's owner rushed up and snapped a leash on the dog.